She Is Not a Witch

The caravan carrying passengers trudged along the bumpy gravel road. This main route connecting the Western Wind Kingdom and Vegar was relatively smooth, with deep ruts worn by years of traffic.

The carriages of this era had poor suspension, and combined with the uneven road, passengers inside swayed back and forth.

After the initial excitement wore off, travelers began to doze off. Some closed their eyes to rest, while others leaned back in their seats and started snoring.

Loranhil sat with her head lowered, reading a long letter. It was delivered by a silver-winged oriole from the Tisilan Mountain Range, reporting on recent daily events in the mountains.

The silver-winged oriole was a Primal Sequence 2 magical beast. Small in size with gray feathers that gradually transitioned to metallic silver at the wing edges, these birds flew extremely fast and were hard to spot, making them excellent messengers.

Before leaving, she had taught more military formations and strategy to Kanda, hoping to train a group of officers. From now on, unless it was harvest season, she had the rabbits organize military training. All adult rabbit-eared tribe members were to participate in rotation.

Loranhil had put in a lot of effort to ensure every rabbit had basic military knowledge and wouldn’t just scatter in panic when facing danger.

Sometimes they would bring in Sequence 3 Gray Bone Gorillas as training opponents. These magical beasts had tough hides resistant to blades, and immense strength, making them excellent for practical combat exercises.

After reading about the progress of various plans, Loranhil put the letter away in an inner pocket of her robe.

Currently, everyone’s training morale was high. Perhaps due to abundant food and improved living conditions, the rabbit-eared tribe had become much braver than before. Some were even volunteering for training, expressing their desire to join the army. At present, the military forces in the Tisilan Mountain Range consisted of city guard units and a small number of magical beasts. A large army was still only in the planning stages.

Just as Loranhil was contemplating what style of army to build, the carriage suddenly stopped. Shouts and commotion could be heard from the front.

“It’s not good, something’s happened up ahead. Many people are dead,” a burly man from the front carriage ran over, threw open the door, and shouted.

The passengers became panicked and started getting off the carriage.

Five passenger carriages had stopped by the roadside. Many travelers had already disembarked and were gathering at the front.

Loranhil, curious, also went over and heard a clamor of voices.

“Listen everyone, we should quickly turn back and travel with a large merchant caravan in a few days. It’s too dangerous to continue.”

“It can’t be that serious. This group was probably killed for revenge, not by highway robbers. Look at those guards in iron armor—ordinary bandits couldn’t defeat them.”

On the road ahead lay seven overturned, burning carriages, riddled with arrows like porcupines. Over twenty dead guards were strewn along the roadside, most killed by arrows, some cut down by swords after putting up a fight. Not a single survivor remained.

The flames on several carriages hadn’t completely died out, emitting smoke. Some burned structures had turned black and occasionally collapsed with a crackling sound. The air carried the scent of charred flesh.

“This doesn’t look like the work of bandits. They left no survivors and burned the carriages to destroy evidence. Bandits wouldn’t be so wasteful. Besides, burning carriages is too conspicuous. This road is a trade route between two countries, and armies often come to clear out nearby bandits.”

The black-haired youth who had sat opposite Loranhil calmly analyzed the situation. Though he spoke softly, the girl’s keen ears caught every word.

Indeed, these weren’t bandits, the girl thought as she looked at the dead guards. Some were Sequence 2 experts—ordinary bandits couldn’t have defeated them.

“Look everyone, there’s the emblem of the Carithes Merchant Association!”

A middle-aged man shouted, and everyone gathered around. They discovered that one of the overturned carriages, on the side that hadn’t burned, bore the image of a night-blooming cereus.

The Carithes Merchant Association was a well-known large merchant group in Vegar. Though only established for about ten years, it had expanded rapidly, mainly dealing in cotton textiles, citrus fruits, furs, timber, and shipbuilding. The night-blooming cereus was their exclusive emblem.

“Tsk tsk, daring to attack people from the Carithes Merchant Association. Aren’t they afraid of retaliation? I’ve heard Carithes has several fleets equipped with cannons.”

“Who knows? Maybe the Carithes leader died here, and the association’s future is now uncertain.”

“That can’t be. Isn’t Angus the head of Carithes? How could he die here?”

“It’s possible. I saw him in Seabuckthorn City a few days ago.”

“Really? If he truly died here, this would be a huge issue.”

Hearing this, the onlookers became fearful and began turning over the bodies one by one to check.

After a while, they confirmed that Angus’s body wasn’t among them.

“It’s good he’s not here. What bad luck—if Angus had really died here, we’d be living scapegoats if conflict broke out between the two countries.”

The group, somewhat relieved, decided to turn back and quickly report the situation to the Western Wind Kingdom. The Carithes Merchant Association had extensive connections from years of trade between the two countries. Once reported, important figures would handle the matter.

Loranhil observed the chaotic scene, noticing tiny blood droplets on the grass at the edge of the road, trailing off into the distance. The drops were so small and far apart that others hadn’t noticed them.

Taking advantage of the others’ distraction, she slowly left the main group. Soon after, the passengers boarded the carriages and returned the way they came.

Following the blood drops, Loranhil traveled for a while before the trail ended.

Looking at the clearly trampled grass, she guessed the injured person must have bandaged their wound and then flown away.

Not many people possessed supernatural flight abilities; most relied on tools to achieve it.

But even with bandages, they couldn’t escape Loranhil’s notice.

To a master of the Demon Sequence, the faint scent of blood in the air was unmistakable.

Loranhil no longer concealed herself, moving swiftly through the forest. Her black robe fluttered in the wind, yet she made not a sound, silent as a ghost.

After rushing three or four kilometers, she slowly came to a stop. Faint voices could be heard from behind a rock ahead.

“Master, are you feeling better?”

“I’m afraid not, Ceres. Put me down.”

Then came the sound of coughing up blood. Though the voice was hoarse, Loranhil couldn’t mistake it—it was Angus, with whom she had spoken a few days ago.