She Is Not a Witch

At night, the gentle sea breeze lifted and dropped the curtains. Through the tall windows, one could see the myriad lights of Hopland, twinkling like stars. The occasional sound of insects chirping drifted in from the courtyard outside.

Loranhil sat at her desk, reading letters from the merchant association by the bright candlelight.

The papyrus felt rough and thick to the touch, but the black writing was clear in the orange candlelight.

To the esteemed Lady Lacy:

I am Lucas from the Western Wind northern branch, writing to report some matters. Recently, in the northern Nied County, a large-scale uprising of miners and farmers has erupted. These miners refuse to pay the heavy taxes and mineral tributes, and have broken into many warehouses in the county, obtaining large amounts of steel and other metals. Under the organization of some individuals, they are forging weapons and armor to arm themselves.

One point I need to emphasize is that they are very organized, or rather, highly disciplined. There must be a group of well-educated people leading them. After gaining independence, they immediately maintained good order in the local area. Many of our shops in the county have not been looted or damaged.

After the incident, Duke Rock Wall in the north began summoning his vassals and other nobles to the castle, eventually forming an allied army of nearly 120,000 to suppress the rebellion. As I write this letter, the two sides engaged in a decisive battle three days ago in the Red Desert wilderness. The independence army did not avoid battle; they defeated the allied forces led by Duke Rock Wall on the open battlefield. The elite cavalry [Mountain Copper Sheep] were completely annihilated. Duke Rock Wall fled after the battle, disguising himself as a rural farmer, but was captured yesterday because his skin was too fair and his hands lacked the calluses of labor. Perhaps he would have fared better disguised as a merchant.

Now the independence army is preparing to seal the city and conduct inspections. It is said they intend to settle accounts for the crimes committed by the former nobility and wealthy merchants. Although our association has not broken any Western Wind laws, we are under close surveillance. I wrote this letter in secret at midnight, sending it out via the association’s messenger bird. I cannot predict what the outcome will be. If I should meet with misfortune, I humbly request that the young lady provide some care for my family, who live in Red Cedar County in Vegar.

Lastly, from the occasional discussions among the independence army, I’ve learned that their leader is named Pullman. He claims to have received teachings and revelations from a great sage, and intends to establish an ideal nation on the continent. If this were before, I would have merely laughed at their fanciful ideas, but after observing these past few days, my views have been shaken. They truly might be capable of replacing Western Wind in a few years. I hope the association’s upper management will take this matter seriously and make early preparations.

Night of August 24, 1684

Lucas, from Gravel Stone City

The corner of the letter was slightly damp, suggesting the messenger bird had encountered rain en route. On the back of the letter were a few hastily scribbled words:

“The great sage is named Loranhil. No one has seen his appearance.”

The girl read it over several times, her emotions complex—surprise, sighs, joy, worry, unease, and more swirled in her heart.

Who could have imagined that the small twig casually planted back then would now have grown into a towering tree, one that shook the world, no less.

The feathered hawk that delivered the message stood motionless on a special perch on the desk, its eyes fixed on the girl. This creature had Sequence 1 strength, and every Carithes branch had one. They were generally only used to deliver messages for urgent matters, as they flew so high that ordinary people could not intercept them.

The girl slowly stroked the letter paper with her hand. It was a long while before her thoughts gradually calmed. Looking up at the feathered hawk that had not yet flown away, she remembered she hadn’t given it a “reward” yet. She rang a bell to have the maid outside prepare a good meal for the little fellow.

Now that Pullman had come this far, he couldn’t turn back. Should she help him or not?

Since she had imparted this knowledge to Pullman, she couldn’t completely ignore the situation. She definitely needed to help.

But to what extent? Merely some verbal advice, or help with planning, or fully commit herself to this great undertaking?

Just verbal advice felt somewhat irresponsible to the girl, but she wasn’t prepared to fully commit herself, to plunge into the great vortex of this era, this violent eye of the storm.

She felt she wasn’t yet that strong or resolute. Here, “strong” included strength, mentality, awareness, and more.

For now, she decided not to meet Pullman in person. Thinking of the former youth, Loranhil maliciously speculated that he would probably cling to her and refuse to let her leave if they met, making it difficult to extricate herself.

However, she would still provide some covert assistance to Pullman, and when necessary, write letters to him, solving and answering some of his questions.

As the girl pondered, she twirled her hair in her hand, constantly wrapping and unwinding it.

Ah, how troublesome, Loranhil thought as she rested her chin on her arm, tilting her head to look at her own hair.

She had planned to return to the forest and continue her seclusion after resolving the matters in Vegar. She was the type who disliked trouble and preferred solitude. But her upbringing and personality gave her a strong sense of responsibility.

She couldn’t carelessly avoid these things, nor could she let them go. She could only keep her promises and do what needed to be done. Though she didn’t hate it, she still preferred a freer life.

It seemed she’d have to speed things up, she thought to herself, burying her head in her arms. Her silky hair slipped from her fingertips and fell across her shoulders.

⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱⊰⋆⋅⭑⋅⋆⊱

Three days later, the Carithes Merchant Association headquarters sent out various letters, instructing branches throughout Western Wind to begin contracting, leaving only essential personnel while others withdrew to Vegar to avoid being caught up in the war.

The association’s three major fleets—”Swordfish,” “Trade Wind,” and “White Bird”—were all recalled. Branch managers from various locations were summoned to attend a conference in Hopland.

The Carithes Merchant Association organized personnel to establish an intelligence analysis department to adjust trade strategies in the future.

No longer refusing invitations from other families in Hopland, Loranhil would attend some upcoming banquets to interact with representatives and heads of other merchant associations.

Finally, Loranhil instructed the various managers below her to select and recommend outstanding young people to impart supernatural knowledge to and organize training. She would provide advanced materials on supernatural professions based on their specialties and aptitudes.

The girl sat at her desk, earnestly writing various plans, her golden long hair draped over her red dress.

She began to plan out various matters, and even prepared several tables for organizing and analysis.

The burning candle flickered in the evening breeze, casting a long shadow of her figure on the desk.