Witch Training Manual: My Water Magic Is Wrong

Wayne held back his strength when he threw that punch.

The fist slammed into Vincent's chest, dissipating most of its force, leaving only 40%, but 40% was enough.

Vincent was completely stunned.

He lay on the ground, panting like a dead dog, and it took him two or three breaths before he could catch his breath. Then he looked up at Wayne, his eyes bloodshot.

"superior!"

His voice cracked.

"All of you, attack! Kill him! Kill him!"

The four men behind him moved.

The first one to rush up was the one carrying a wooden stick. He swung the stick around and smashed it down on Wayne's head, making a whooshing sound.

Wayne stepped aside, the stick grazing his shoulder before slamming into the doorframe, sending splinters flying.

He reached out with his right hand, grabbed the man's wrist, and pulled him forward. The man fell forward, his face hitting the door frame with a dull thud, and he went limp on the ground, motionless.

The second man, still holding the knife, hadn't even pulled it out when Wayne's knee was already on his stomach. He curled up like a shrimp, vomited bile, and couldn't get up from his knees.

The third man, empty-handed, his knuckles cracking, charged forward with a straight punch. Wayne didn't dodge; he raised his left hand, caught the fist in his palm, clenched his fist, and twisted it downwards. The sound of dislocated knuckles was crisp, and the man yelled, clutching his wrist and crouching down.

The fourth man stood still, his feet seemingly nailed to the stone slab.

He looked at the three men in front of him: one lying face down, one kneeling, and one squatting, all groaning. His fingers rested on the hilt of his knife, not pulling it out, then releasing it, then resting it again.

Wayne glanced at him.

He took a half step back, completely loosened his hand from the hilt of the knife, and raised it to shoulder level with his palm facing outward.

"I...I just followed along."

People around them were talking about it.

"Father, you actually..."

"Knocked flying with just one punch?"

"Those guys are from a mercenary group! They're like thugs in town!"

"Am I seeing things? The priest hit someone?"

Vincent lay sprawled on the ground, the pain in his chest still lingering, but what was more unbearable than the pain was the humiliation. He braced himself against the ground and finally managed to get up, kneeling on the stone floor, looking up at Wayne.

He lost two of his front teeth.

"You..." he gasped, "You dare hit me? Do you know whose side I work for?"

"I know." Wayne stood on the steps, looking down at him. "Dias. You just said that."

Vincent choked for a moment.

He thought the priest would ask, "Who is Diaz?", "What is the mercenary group?", and "What is the premium?" Previous bishops had all asked these questions, and after that, one should be afraid. But this priest didn't ask any of those questions; after listening, he immediately attacked.

"Aren't you...aren't you afraid?"

"What are you afraid of?" Wayne pulled down his sleeve, which had been wrinkled from the punch earlier. "Afraid that Diaz will come looking for me to drink milk?"

Vincent was stunned.

They were stunned at the church entrance.

Drinking milk?

Everyone was confused.

How did this priest know about drinking milk?

No one in the mercenary group dared to mention Diaz drinking milk. Very few people knew about it; you could count them on one hand. He was Diaz's confidant, having followed him for six years, and only stumbled upon it by chance last year.

That night, he went to deliver a letter, and when he opened the door, he saw Diaz sitting in a chair, holding a widow in his arms...

He closed the door and stood outside for a long time, then pretended not to have seen anything the next day. Diaz didn't mention it, but from then on trusted him even more.

How did this visiting priest know about this?

Vincent stood up from the ground, his legs still trembling.

He swallowed hard, swallowed his anger, and composed himself.

"Let's go!"

The church entrance was quiet for a few moments.

Then someone spoke up.

"Your Excellency the Bishop is truly amazing!"

"Those guys are from a mercenary group; they act like they own the place in town, and nobody dares to mess with them."

"Well done! These guys should have been dealt with a long time ago!"

"Exactly! Fifty dollars a month? Are they robbing us?"

"Your Excellency, don't be afraid! We support you!"

Yes! We all support you!

Wayne raised his hand, and his voice gradually faded.

"Ladies and gentlemen," his voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear. "The church is the place of the goddess. If anyone comes to cause trouble, I will handle it. You just need to do your own thing, pray if you need to pray, see a doctor if you need to see a doctor. Don't worry about anything else."

Some nodded, while others whispered among themselves.

Lisa stood in the doorway, still clutching the rag she used to wipe the table. Her complexion was not good; her lips were pursed, and her fingers crumpled the rag.

She took two steps forward and lowered her voice.

"Sir, that Diaz..."

"Um?"

"She's not someone to mess with." Lisa's voice lowered even further. "There used to be a girl on Cuiying Street who caught the eye of one of his men, but she refused and disappeared the next day. The madam reported it to the police, and the mayor sent people to investigate for three days, but they couldn't find anything and the matter was dropped."

Wayne looked at her.

"What about the girl?"

Lisa shook her head.

"Never appeared again."

Wayne didn't say anything.

Lisa tightened her grip on the rag.

"Sir, I'm not saying you can't beat them. I mean... those people aren't legitimate mercenaries, they're bandits. You're alone in town, what if they try something underhanded..."

"I see."

Wayne turned and walked into the church. Lisa stood there, watching his back, wanting to say something, but her mouth opened and then closed again.

Emma peeked out from the side door and bumped into Wayne walking in. She jumped out from behind the door and looked up at him.

"Master! You were amazing just now!"

Wayne glanced at her but didn't say anything.

Emma followed behind him, her steps light and quick.

"He was sent flying with a single punch! I didn't even see it!"

She clenched her fist and mimicked his punching motion, swinging her arm out and creating a gust of wind with her sleeve.

Is that right?

"almost."

"Then I want to learn too!"

"When you're older."

"That same thing again." Emma pouted, but only for a moment before widening her lips. "Master, will that mercenary group come back?"

"meeting."

"Are you scared?"

"I'm not afraid."

"I'm not afraid." Emma puffed out her chest and held her chin high. "I'm not afraid of anyone."

Ella caught up from behind and tugged at her sister's sleeve.

"Stop fooling around, Master has things to do."

Emma glanced back at her sister, then turned back.

"My sister was worried too."

"I don't……"

"You did. Your hands were clenched tightly just now."

Ella didn't say anything, but her ears turned red again.

Wayne walked deeper into the corridor, with the two little ones following behind, one on the left and one on the right, like two little tails.

Vera poked her head out from the kitchen.

"Sir, lunch is ready."

Wayne responded and turned to look at the two little ones.

"Let's go eat."

"Master, aren't you going to eat?"

"I'll be there in a bit."

The two little ones looked at each other, and Emma took her sister's hand and ran towards the front yard, but after a couple of steps she turned back.

"Master, come quick, or the food will get cold!"

Wayne watched their retreating figures and stood in the corridor for a while.

The panel pops up.

[Dias Mercenary Group Intelligence Update]

[Current Status: Still unaware of what happened at the church. Vincent is on his way back. At his pace, he will arrive at the mercenary camp in about half an hour.]

[Expected reaction: Outrage. Not because you hit him, but because you knew about the milk incident. He'll first deny it, then threaten, and finally beg for forgiveness. His psychological defenses are far weaker than his fists.]

[Note: The greatest fear of a mercenary leader who kills without hesitation is not death, but being found out that he huddled in a widow's arms calling for his mother in the dead of night.]

[P.S. He is currently nestled in the arms of a widow.]