She Is Not a Witch

Under a sky of rolling clouds stretched an endless plain, green as far as the eye could see to the horizon where earth met sky.

A great river meandered through the plain in an S-shape, with a magnificent city nestled in its central curve. City walls over ten stories high were punctuated by arrow towers every hundred meters.

The afternoon sun glared on the light yellow walls, reminiscent of beach sand. Years of wind and sun had given the walls a warm, sun-baked feel with a grainy roughness. Yellowish-green moss could occasionally be seen in the cracks between stones.

Picking at a small piece of dried moss with a finger would bring out traces of soil hidden in the crevices. The occasional breeze would stir up particles and dust from the wall’s surface.

Guards on the walls moved sparsely under the scorching sun, just enough to avoid criticism from the nobles inside for leaving the walls unmanned. Most sheltered in the arrow towers where it was cooler.

One could hardly accuse them of neglecting their duties, as the plain outside the walls offered clear visibility for miles. A few observers on the towers were sufficient to spot any approaching enemies.

Perhaps long ago they had patrolled diligently every day, but over time, complacency had set in.

Solande’s tall walls encircled the entire city, with water on three sides and open plains to the west. Within rose a grand hill.

At the hill’s base was another ring of walls, even higher than the outer ones, enclosing the residences of Western Wind’s great nobles.

Various courtyards of differing styles ringed the hillside, with another wall near the summit enclosing the royal palace of Western Wind. A beautiful and majestic castle of snow-white marble crowned the hilltop, its towers adorned with colorful glazed tiles and spires of various hues, visible from throughout the city.

It was in these beautiful towers that the descendants of Roland, the former king of Western Wind, resided.

As Western Wind’s largest city and a crucial nexus of north-south trade, Solande was home to over 3 million people. Every day, vast quantities of livestock, vegetables, fruits, and grains were transported by river to feed the city’s populace.

As the massive floodgates on the eastern riverside opened, countless small boats began to ply the city’s canals. Residents would call out to passing boats when they saw something they liked. The merchants would then dock their boats, haggling with housewives or elderly customers to strike deals.

Of course, this was only one aspect of commerce in the city, with most transactions taking place in the markets.

Long wooden poles supported colorful awnings of red, blue, and yellow to shield from the afternoon sun. Beneath them, open wooden crates displayed fresh fruits, specialty products from north and south, and various daily necessities.

Wealthier households tended to shop in the morning. As evening approached, shopkeepers would discount their remaining stock—items picked over, no longer fresh, or damaged. This was when those of limited means would come out to find bargains.

Though in the same city and market, rich and poor seemed to have an unspoken agreement to avoid crossing paths in their transactions.

As night fell, shopkeepers would overturn their crates, shaking out accumulated dust, leftover leaves, and rotten or crushed fruits into small buckets. They’d fetch water from the market well to wash down the crates and shelves.

Left to dry overnight, the crates would be ready for new goods the next day. Before the shopkeepers left, a worn cart would come by to collect the small buckets of waste, emptying them into a large container on the back. This refuse might become fertilizer for farms outside the city or slop for pigs.

The main streets of the city were about thirty meters wide, paved with large cyan stone slabs. Each slab was about half a meter long, cool to the touch and extremely solid.

Over time, the stone surface had developed some pits and dents where yellow soil had accumulated. As horses passed, they’d kick up faint traces of yellow dust.

A cavalry unit on white horses trotted down the main street. They carried white banners, wore curved swords at their waists, and were clad in scale armor and leather robes—gear that allowed for great mobility while remaining relatively light.

These skilled riders easily navigated around carts and crowds on the street, maintaining a brisk pace. They passed through checkpoint after checkpoint, raising their banners and displaying shoulder emblems. Guarding soldiers hastily made way, until the riders finally reached the white castle atop the hill.

With the clanking of turning gears, an iron drawbridge lowered, and the cavalry unit entered the castle.

Solande, Throne Hall.

The current ruler of Western Wind, a man in his forties, sat on the throne wearing golden-bronze armor with a wide, bright red cloak trimmed with white fur. He sat with his sword across his lap, majestic as a lion.

Below the throne stood nobles in purple robes, most richly attired. Among them were several generals in full armor and some grey-robed scholars holding staves, with intricate pocket watches hanging from their chests like badges of office.

“Your Majesty, envoys from the White Horse tribe have arrived.”

“Let them enter,” the Western Wind ruler nodded.

“Yes, sire!”

After entrusting their curved swords to the guards, these warriors of the plains entered the hall, gazing up at the figure on the throne.

“Greetings, Your Majesty. I am Daren, envoy of the White Horse tribe. The current chief is my father.”

“As requested, 50,000 warriors of the White Horse tribe have assembled and are now encamped fifty miles downstream.”

“Good,” the Western Wind ruler said approvingly, then instructed an attendant to present a reward—an exquisitely crafted short sword with a glowing ruby set in its hilt, clearly a supernatural artifact of gold grade.

“Thank you, Your Majesty, but… this reward is too generous. I am unworthy.”

“Nonsense! The White Horse tribe and Western Wind are blood brothers, intermarried for generations. You could be considered my nephew. Take it without hesitation, ha ha!”

The Western Wind ruler laughed heartily, every inch the enlightened ruler. The other great nobles joined in with praise and agreement.

Indeed, Western Wind had always valued family ties and clans, often favoring relatives and friends. The great nobles were long accustomed to this, using blood relations to bind various interest groups together. Being born into a great family meant most of the nation’s upper echelons were your relatives—a distinctive feature of Western Wind’s upper class.

These family and kinship ties had forged Western Wind’s early unity, shared joys and sorrows, and care for old retainers. But they also sowed the seeds of future troubles in governance. Class solidification and proliferating conflicts left many sighing in regret.