Witch Training Manual: My Water Magic Is Wrong

The church's confessional has never been so busy.

From dawn till dusk, the door opened and closed more times than all the previous bishops had done in a month. Among the visitors were respectable ladies from town, daughters of merchants, the blacksmith's wife, and several familiar faces from Cuiying Street.

They came for different reasons.

Some say they had a nightmare, some say they felt uneasy, some say they wanted to light a candle for their deceased relatives, and others say they just wanted to go in and sit down when they passed by a church.

But in the end, they would all go into that small confessional, sit on the other side of the carved wooden window, and reach their hands through the gap under the window.

Wayne's magic comes in handy every day.

Some people truly need cleansing, while others need "cleansing." The panel scrolled before his eyes again and again, each note telling him that neither this woman nor that woman had truly come to repent.

Lisa is now an unofficial member of the church staff, arriving and leaving on time every day, even more punctual than Vera. Her job is to receive the women who come to confess, register their names, arrange the order, and maintain order.

She did a very good job, so good that Wayne felt she should be paid. But she refused, saying that the church had given her a second life, and she could never repay it by working like a slave for the church for the rest of her life.

Wayne said that the wages would still be paid.

Lisa thought for a moment and said, "Then why donate your wages to the welfare home? Some of the children of those sisters on Cuiying Street can't even afford to eat."

Wayne agreed.

In the afternoon, Wayne saw off the last penitent.

The church fell silent as sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows. Wayne stood by the pulpit, the scroll just closed.

The panel popped up.

[Confessional Room - This Week's Statistics]

Number of visitors: 47. Of these, 31 were repeat visitors and 16 were new visitors. Average waiting time: 15 minutes. Average treatment duration per session: varied from 7 minutes to 30 minutes, depending on the specific "symptoms".

[Note: The church threshold has been badly worn lately. It's not because more people are coming to pray; it's because their legs are weak from walking, and the threshold gets rubbed raw by their shoes. Aunt Grace muttered yesterday while mopping the floor: "Why is this floor always patchy, sometimes dry and sometimes damp?" Wayne didn't reply.]

[Note 2: Once word gets out, it can't be taken back. Your current position in Frostham is delicate: men think you're a good priest, women think you're an even better one. As for why you're good, the men don't understand, and the women don't explain. This is currently Frostham's biggest secret, and also its greatest tacit understanding.]

Wayne finished looking at the panel and took a sip of tea.

He remembered someone.

Elena.

The woman Charman was going to send over.

Wayne planned to write a letter to reject him.

The minotaurs were still too powerful, and Charman's enthusiasm always made him feel strange.

The writing motion is slow, each stroke is deliberate and neat.

[From Bishop Charman:]

May the goddess be well.

I appreciate your thoughtfulness.

The fact that the medicine was able to be used is thanks to the goddess's blessing.

I've heard about Elena's situation. Last night, the goddess gave me a revelation in a dream; she said: People are not gifts, and should not be given away.

The goddess gave me a revelation last night, saying that everything should be done in moderation, and that excess is as bad as deficiency. I appreciate your good intentions, but this matter ends here.

The paladins over there have already left and won't be coming to Frosttown again anytime soon. You don't need to worry about me, and you don't need to send anyone else. The road to the north is too dangerous, and you're too old to handle the journey.

May the goddess bless you.

—Wien

The northern border, the official road.

A carriage stopped in the woods by the roadside. The curtain was lifted slightly, revealing a young face. The childishness on his face hadn't completely faded, and there was a shallow scratch on his chin that had already scabbed over.

He was the youngest knight in the order.

His name is Leon.

Three nights ago, he escaped from the human traffickers' camp. He didn't escape by climbing over the wall; he walked out through the main gate. The women trusted him completely, thinking he had resigned himself to his fate and wouldn't run away again.

They were wrong.

He had been running for three days, surviving on wild fruits and stream water. His horse had fallen and died halfway there, and he had walked dozens of miles, his boots worn out and his feet covered in blisters. He dared not take the main roads, choosing instead to venture into forest trails, fearing that "those devils" would catch up with him.

Now he's hiding in this abandoned carriage, waiting for nightfall.

The sound of horses' hooves came from outside.

Leon tensed, his hand gripping the short knife at his waist. He'd snatched it from a dead man on the road; it wasn't quite right for him, but something was better than nothing.

The sound of horses' hooves grew closer.

It wasn't one horse, it was two.

Leon peered through the gap in the carriage curtain and saw a young man riding a horse down the official road. The man was dressed in dark hunting attire, with a sword at his waist, its scabbard adorned with silver decorations—clearly not an ordinary weapon.

The young man dismounted and led his horse into the woods, as if to rest. He walked to the abandoned carriage, noticed the curtain moving, and paused for a moment.

"Who's inside?"

Leon did not answer.

The young man frowned, placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, took two steps forward, and used the scabbard to lift the carriage curtain.

Eyes facing each other.

The young man looked at Leon, and Leon looked at him.

Who are you?

Who are you?

The two spoke at the same time.

The young man introduced himself first and then put his sword away.

"Ace Wilford. From Frosttown."

Leon's eyes lit up.

"Frosttown? You're from Frosttown?"

"yes."

"Do you know Bishop Wayne?"

Ace frowned.

"That priest?"

"Yes! That's him!" Leon climbed out of the carriage, his legs almost giving way and he nearly knelt on the ground. He steadied himself by holding onto the carriage shaft. "I'm here to find him."

Ace looked him up and down.

"What do you want with him?"

Leon opened his mouth, but no words came out. He couldn't very well say, "We're here to arrest him," because if he did, this guy would probably just leave him to die in the woods.

"I...I am his follower," he said. "I came from Audrian, specifically to seek refuge with him."

Ace looked at him for two breaths.

"You look like you're seeking refuge? You're half-dead."

Leon gave a wry smile.

"I ran into some trouble on the way."

Ace didn't ask any further questions.

He took a water bag from the horse's back and tossed it to Leon.

"Drink it."

Leon took the water and tilted his head back to gulp it down. The water was cold, cooling him from his throat all the way down to his stomach, making him feel a little more alive.

Thanks.

"You're from Audrien?" Ace tied up his horse, walked back, and sat down opposite him.

"Um."

"How long have you been walking?"

"I can't remember, I was delayed on the way."

Ace glanced at him but didn't ask any more questions. He took a piece of dry rations from his saddlebag, broke it in half, and handed over the larger half.

Leon took it, took a bite, chewed it twice, and swallowed. The dry rations were as hard as rocks, making him choke and his eyes roll back. He then gulped down a mouthful of water to calm himself down.

"Did you come alone?" Ace asked.

"one person."

"You've got guts."

Leon didn't reply. He leaned against the wheel of the broken carriage, having eaten most of his dry rations and drunk half a bag of water.

Soon, Ryan became confused.

"You..." he began, his voice already trembling, "What did you give me to drink?"

Ace looked at him.

"water."

"What's in the water...?"

Ace did not answer.

Leon tried to stand up, but his legs wouldn't obey him; they were like two lead pillars, unable to support his weight.

He slid off the wheel, sat on the ground, his back against the spokes, his head drooping, and his chin resting on his chest.

Ace smiled...