She Is Not a Witch

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Bard, from Gray Thorn County.”

In a wide alley beside the street, the boy had stopped crying and answered quietly, head lowered.

Loranhil looked at the boy without offering any words of comfort.

“Do you hate that person?”

“I… I don’t know. I did do something wrong,” he said in a dejected voice.

“Yes, you did make a mistake,” the girl didn’t deny it.

Hearing Loranhil agree, the boy lowered his head even more, his hands hanging awkwardly at his sides, unsure where to put them.

“What will you do if something like this happens again?”

“I’ll, I’ll keep track of every transaction carefully. I won’t make mistakes again.”

“Have you ever heard of someone who never makes mistakes in their entire life?”

“…No.”

“So what will you do next time? Just stand there stupidly waiting for a kind person to save you?”

“…I don’t know.”

Loranhil looked at the boy, suddenly understanding the feelings of Pullman from years ago—sorrow for the unfortunate, anger at their lack of fight.

She wasn’t the type of saint who wanted to save everyone. The path of life is ultimately one’s own choice. Sometimes helping too much can even breed resentment, with the other person saying it wasn’t what they wanted, that you forced it on them.

Enough, the girl prepared to turn and leave.

“Thank you!” came the boy’s shout from behind, his voice somewhat suppressed yet urgent, like driving a car while stepping on both the brake and gas.

Loranhil turned to look at the boy, his face flushed red with urgency, wanting to say something but not knowing what.

“If one day you feel too overwhelmed to go on, just imagine yourself as an emotionless stone. It might make things a bit easier.”

Loranhil walked away from the alley in her gray boots, her black robe gently rising and falling in the sea breeze, leaving only her back view for the boy.

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In the northern part of the Western Wind Kingdom, layers of clouds rolled across the sky. On the dry Gobi Desert, only sparse weeds grew. The southern trade winds, after passing through mountains and wilderness to reach here, had long been stripped of the moist air from the sea, becoming dry and mixed with the smell of dust.

The sun hung high, its scorching light baking the earth. Rows of soldiers marched forward in neat formations on the battlefield, then stood still. The blue flag with the starlight wheat emblem fluttered in the wind, occasionally making flapping sounds.

Two camps were arrayed on the vast wilderness, totaling about 200,000 people. Their extended battle lines stretched from one end of the Gobi to the other horizon. The dense mass of heads on the ground looked like ants, spreading across the entire wilderness, filling the entire field of view to the ends of sight.

On one side was the noble alliance army of the Western Wind Kingdom, led by Duke Wabuk of the northern Rock Wall. They had gathered the armies of 37 large and small families from the north, with various flags flying over their ranks. The soldiers’ attire varied, some wearing chain mail, some simple leather armor, and a small number in full steel plate armor.

They were roughly divided by family, with each family responsible for a part of the battle line. Overall, the troops in the center and on the two flanks were stronger, while the rest were somewhat weaker.

Behind the Western Wind alliance was Duke Rock Wall’s personal army. They wore copper-colored metal armor that reflected golden light in the sun. These private soldiers of Duke Rock Wall were the famous [Mountain Copper Legion] of the north. Their armor was made of steel mixed with mountain copper, heavy but extremely tough and strong in defense. The long spears and round shields they held also contained a small amount of mountain copper, reaching the extraordinary silver grade in strength.

Duke Rock Wall’s territory contained a rare mountain copper vein, excellent for crafting armor. Even ordinary craftsmen could easily make silver-grade armor with it. Unfortunately, the yield of mountain copper was low. It took the duke over ten years of accumulation to outfit this elite legion of over a thousand men.

The soldiers of the [Mountain Copper Legion] were all Sequence 2 or above, which was Duke Rock Wall’s greatest pride. Through harsh taxation in the north, he had amassed great wealth to support such a powerful army.

On the other side of the battlefield, the flags were more uniform, all bearing the starlight wheat emblem. The armor they wore was also made of steel, though from the ill-fitting edges and burrs, it was clear that most of this armor had been hastily produced recently. These warriors had dark complexions, most with calluses from long-term labor on their hands. The clothes under their armor were also old and washed gray.

The soldiers in front held long spears and shields, forming extremely neat square formations. Only a small number of archers were in the rear, unlike the noble alliance army which had many crossbowmen.

The current Duke Rock Wall, mounted on a tall horse, looked at the rebel army opposite and smiled, his gray beard splitting open.

“I didn’t expect the rebel leader to be an academic,” he said with an amused and mocking expression.

“Wilfred, when you lead troops in the future, don’t learn from them.”

“Why not, Father? Their neat formations look quite strong to me.”

“Strong my ass,” the old duke swore, looking disdainful.

“I can’t stand these bookworms who’ve read themselves stupid.”

“When I was young and fighting the barbarians, the commander sent by the royal family was one of these academics who graduated from Emenas.”

“He started off talking about battle plans, logistics, task allocation, and even wanted to do formation training. What an utter fool.”

“What did he think this was? Those soldiers were just there to earn a living. You talk to them about glory, but all they care about is how to make money and visit brothels.”

“Sure enough, later on, the men below couldn’t be bothered with him. When orders came down, they’d only follow if he was personally present, just to save face for the king. If he wasn’t around, who’d be stupid enough to stand in the sun doing drills?”

“What happened then?” Wilfred, the old duke’s son, asked curiously.

“Later he wisened up and asked the king for a supervisory team to monitor the training and formations below. He managed to get things into some kind of shape.”

“But it was useless in the end. Once on the battlefield, life and death happen in an instant. Who the hell cares about formations then? It’s just about hacking away if you’re feeling good, or running away if you’re getting cut up. As long as you keep the overall battle line from scattering and slowly surround the enemy, you basically win.”

“What if we can’t win?”

“Then we run, you silly boy.” The old father looked at his son as if he were an idiot.

Wilfred fell silent, turning to look at the opposing army. After a while, he asked, “So how did we end up defeating the barbarians?”

“Although that commander’s ideas were too naive, he was undeniably a genius. With his Sequence 7 strength, he broke through the enemy lines directly, spearing their leader’s head on his lance. Then the barbarians fled. Without that, the outcome of that great battle would have been uncertain.”

“That’s why I told you to educate your son well and send him to study at Emenas. Don’t be like you, always thinking about fancy tricks. Strength is the only truth.”

“As for that rebel leader over there, he has no real ability. He thinks he’s smart because he’s read a few books and is messing around with formations. You’ll see, once the fighting starts, it’ll be chaos with people pushing against each other. Who’d be stupid enough to stand still and take a beating just to maintain formation? Hahaha!”