Witch Training Manual: My Water Magic Is Wrong

Forty miles to the northwest, north of the maple forest.

The official road forked here, one branch heading west to the Kingdom of Kande, the other north into the mountains. The convoy of trucks neither went west nor north; they stopped at the fork in the road.

On the side of the first truck, seven men were tied together, the rope wrapped three times from their shoulders to their chests and then from their chests to their waists. Their mouths were gagged with strips of cloth, their eyes were closed, and their breathing was heavy.

Xiulasa jumped off the second truck. She was in her thirties, short, with a large frame and hands wider than the average woman's. She walked to the back of the first truck, lifted the curtain, and peeked inside.

"Still not awake?"

The assistant came around from the other end of the vehicle.

"It should be soon. The dosage is quite high, and these few are in good physical condition, so they'll wake up faster than the others."

Shurasha nodded. She took a water pouch from her waist, uncorked it, poured some water into her palm, and flicked a few drops onto the face of the nearest person.

Lance frowned slightly.

Shurasa flicked a few more drops. Lance's eyelids twitched, and he slowly opened them. At first, everything was blurry, and he couldn't see anything clearly. The wood grain of the truck bed, the tarpaulin of the truck, and a woman's face gradually became clearer, layer by layer, from far to near. He tried to raise his hand to rub his eyes, but he couldn't lift his hand; the rope was wrapped around his wrist, and he couldn't move.

Shurasha looked at him. "Awake?"

Lance didn't speak. He looked away from Shurasa's face and glanced to his left and right. The other six people were still lying there, breathing evenly, their chests rising and falling, one after another, bound to the same rope.

"Who are you people?" Lance's voice was hoarse, as if he had a wad of cotton stuffed in his throat.

Xiulasa smiled.

"Businessman."

Lance looked at her. His mind was still foggy; the effects of the drug hadn't completely worn off, and he was slow to react. A businessman? What business? He remembered what had happened yesterday evening: the caravan, the food and wine, the woman handing him the wine bowl. He took it and drank it. Then he remembered nothing more.

"You drugged us."

Xiulasa did not deny it.

"Yes."

Lance clenched his fists; the rope cut into his wrists, hurting, but he needed that pain to clear his head.

"We are members of the Church, the Holy Knights under the Pope."

Xiulasa smiled again.

"oh."

Lance waited for the reply after that "oh," but Shurasa just stood there with that smile on her face, as if she had heard a bad joke.

"Aren't you afraid?"

"What are you afraid of?" Shurasha tilted her head. "You're from the Wiggins Church, not the Church of St. Hilde."

Lance's face turned pale.

Xiulasa looked at him with the same gaze she would give a piece of merchandise, scrutinizing him from head to toe, from shoulders to waist, and from waist to legs.

"The Wiggins Church," she said slowly, "the Southern Continent Alliance has never recognized it."

She crouched down to be at Lance's eye level.

"Your system won't be recognized outside of Wiggins' territory. Pope? Paladin? In the Kingdom of Kande, those titles are less useful than a toll receipt."

Lance's lips moved, but he didn't say anything.

Xiulasa stood up and dusted off her knees.

"Accept your fate," she said. "Once you get there, work hard. If you're obedient, you'll suffer less."

She turned to leave.

"Wait." Lance's voice came from behind.

Xiulasa stopped in her tracks but didn't turn around.

"Where are you going to sell us?"

"The mines," Shurasa said. "Siberkand is short-handed. You're strong enough to fetch a good price."

Lance's face paled even further. He was a paladin under the Pope, having slain magical beasts in the Southern Continent and fought barbarians in the Northern Territory. Now he was to be sold into slavery in Kant. His lips pressed into a thin line.

You'll regret it.

Shurasha turned around.

"Regret what?"

"I'm a member of the church," Lance's voice was forced out of his throat, hoarse as sandpaper. "My companions are too. You've wronged us, and the church won't let you get away with this."

Shurasha looked at him and then smiled.

"The Church?" She laughed. "Which church? Your scumbag church that even the Southern Continent Alliance doesn't recognize?" She took a step forward, bending down to get close to Lance's face. "Young man, get one thing straight. This is the territory of the Kingdom of Kande, not Wiggins. Your Pope is nothing but a fart in this land."

Shurasha straightened up, untied the water pouch from her waist, uncorked it, and tilted her head back to take a gulp. She wiped her mouth and looked down at Lance.

“There’s one more thing,” she said. “Every year, at least eight hundred to a thousand people from Wiggins are sold to Kant by human traffickers. Has the Church ever intervened? No. Has the Pope ever intervened? No.”

She tied the water bag back around her waist.

"You can't even protect your own countrymen, yet you want to act all high and mighty abroad? Give me a break."

She turned and left.

When they came back in, a group of people surrounded them.

……

at the same time.

In Frosttown, Wayne went to bed early.

He then turned his attention to the new message.

[Northwest direction, Kangde border, human trafficker camp]

[Knights' Status: Gradually regaining consciousness.]

【Shulasa - Current Operation】

She had her deputy unload the seven men from the wagon and drag them to the fire in the center of the camp. This wasn't for warmth, but to get a better look at them. The firelight illuminated their faces, and Shurasa looked them over one by one, from Lancelot to the youngest apprentice knight, and then back to Lancelot.

After examining it, she said two things. First, "The quality is indeed quite good." Second, "Keep them for breeding." The deputy asked how many to keep. She glanced at Lancelot. "Keep them all."

[Note: Xiu Lasha's rule is to "inspect" the goods upon receipt. This isn't just a physical check; it's her personal habit. She's been in this business for six years, handling hundreds of items, and she personally inspects them before each sale. Her assistants call this a "test drive."]

[Operational Instructions: This is a long-standing tradition within female human trafficking gangs. Long-distance trafficking takes time; the goods are held for anywhere from ten days to two months, sometimes even a month or two. This time cannot be wasted; the men are used for breeding, and the women for having offspring. This is their perk. Shurasha's gang is particularly meticulous about this; each male trafficker must be "used" at least three times before being sold. In her words, "It's better to have some free time anyway."]

[Group composition: Besides Xiulasa, there are twelve female members, ranging in age from their early twenties to their forties. They are all experienced, having worked in this line of work for at least three years. They call this kind of work "overtime," and overtime pay is calculated separately per person.]

[Note 1: Shurasha was in a great mood tonight; she was the first to go for a test drive. Meanwhile, Lance thought he would feel nauseous, humiliated, and so angry he would want to kill. But when the abyss truly swallowed him, his body made the choice for his soul.]

[Note 2: Lance felt comfortable. Not the kind of comfort that comes from "humiliation but physical gratification," but genuine comfort. His body was telling his soul: Stop pretending, you like this. Even Lance's repeated recitation of the holy scriptures with his eyes closed was useless; when Shurasa got up, his waist involuntarily lifted half an inch. Only half an inch. He told himself it was a muscle spasm.]

[Note: This is probably the most devastating defeat the Holy Knights have suffered since the founding of the Wiggins Church. Not dying on the battlefield, not sacrificing their lives for the cause, but being drugged and "tested" by a group of human traffickers, who then discovered they actually quite liked it.]

[P.S.: Mortals truly cannot understand the arrangements of a goddess.]