[No title provided]
Witch hunts are a medieval folk game. It's been roughly three years since I reincarnated into this isekai world. Or maybe even longer—who knows. Truth be told, "opening my eyes" isn't exactly the right phrase for me. My body doesn't have eyelids, optic nerves, or anything remotely human-like anymore. I'm just ballparking that about three years have passed since my consciousness roughly woke up, drawing on vague sensory memories from my human days long ago. My past life's memories are now fuzzy, like an old faded film reel. The only thing I'm dead certain of is that I'm not a person anymore—I'm a book. And not just any book, but a grimoire covered in bizarre symbols, oozing an ominous aura that screams bad news from a mile away.
Life as a grimoire wasn't as bleak as you'd think. All the crap that plagued me as a human—chronic insomnia, nagging colds, anxiety about the future—vanished the instant I became this thing. No more hellish commutes on packed trains, no more fake smiling for the boss. I don't know if it's some reincarnation perk, but I didn't feel like I was going insane or getting my mind corrupted or anything. It was just boring as hell.
My pages—my body—are crammed with grotesque spells and profane incantations. With nothing better to do, I pored over every one etched inside me, dissecting and mastering them. Before I knew it, I'd gotten pretty damn good with all the powers packed into this grimoire. From summoning otherworldly minions to turning people's brains into bugs. Each page detailed mind-blowing, powerful spells straight out of Cthulhu mythos or urban fantasy—complete with sacrifices, magic circles, and activation methods.
The problem? The mana inherent in me is pathetically low. I've got an overflowing arsenal of spells, but zero energy to cast them. If I just had a scrap of magical power, I could blow this damn cave to kingdom come in seconds! Why did God give birth to me but skimp on the mana?! Stuck on this damp, dark underground altar, all I could do was listen to water droplets falling from the cave ceiling and kill time alone.
Drip, drop. How to waste another day? "Hey, locals! Grab me and become a grand archmage with this SSS-grade grimoire!!!" I bellowed into the void again today, but my desperate cries vanished without even an echo. Ah, am I doomed to play the tragic heroine locked in a tower, waiting for my prince to save me? Not that this is a tower or I'm a princess. Sometimes I even wished a passing goblin would pick me up.
As I drifted into idle fantasies and shifted my gaze to the stalactites dripping water, a faint noise echoed from outside the cave. At first, I figured it was just mountain beasts fulfilling their ecological duties. But the sound grew louder, proving it was anything but ordinary. Rough footsteps pounding, dogs growling, weapons clanking. No mistaking it—this was the prelude to some serious shit!
These rhythmic noises shattered my endless silence, enough to make my nonexistent heart race. As they drew closer, I waited expectantly for whatever came next. Why only somewhat expectantly? If I got my hopes up too high and nobody picked me up, I'd just feel bummed out all over again.
"There she is! The witch ran inside!"
"After her! If you let her escape, no sleep for anyone tonight!"
By the footsteps, about seven guys? The hounds' panting echoed creepily off the cave walls. From the context, it sounded like they were chasing some innocent village girl, branding her a witch. Makes sense—witch hunts are that timeless medieval pastime. Snag a pretty village maiden, legally loot her stuff, and give the locals their dopamine hit.
Sure enough, a girl soon dashed into the cave depths. Moonlight-silver hair spilled from her torn, thorn-scratched dress. Her skin was transparently icy, her sharp nose leading to cool blue eyes that gleamed mysteriously. Even in her ragged, hunted state, an undeniable nobility and beauty radiated from her. Holy crap, a total knockout! Knew it!
She spotted the dead end and spun to flee, but the burly men and dogs chasing her forced her back. Damp cave dust swirled in their heavy breaths. Torchlight flickered, painting her pale face red.
"Luna! You vicious bitch! After the village raised you, you betray us and use your evil sorcery to seduce good folk!!"
The wrinkled old geezer up front—village chief, no doubt—glared daggers at the girl called Luna and spat his accusations.
"Ha-!"
Luna scoffed at the old man like he'd spouted nonsense and fired back. "Seduce? What bullshit! You chase me down like a witch just 'cause I turned down your son's confession?!"
"Wh-what?! Max never confessed to...!!"
The chief flushed beet-red, denying it in a panic. The men around him started murmuring.
"I ain't done! You all forget how I played herbalist, healing folks whenever they got sick? Who stayed up all night brewing potions during last winter's plague? Have you all lost your minds or what?!"
Her impassioned plea softened the villagers' murderous glares; they sheepishly lowered their weapons.
"True, Luna healed my mom last time she got hurt."
"She fixed my Hans when he swallowed a snake."
"Wait, swallowed a snake?"
The mob frenzy ebbed under Luna's logic. Weapons dropped, the tide turning. The chief scanned frantically, face crimson, hunting for slander fodder. But in this tiny cave? Just mossy rocks and century-old dust. Case dismissed in Luna's favor... or so it seemed.
"Wai---it---!!!"
A bellow exploded from the dying old man's throat, shaking the cave. Luna, the villagers, and I all jumped and stared. The chief jabbed a bony finger at me.
"Look at that altar! A sinister grimoire, reeking of evil! See those creepy covers? Luna lured us here for a wipeout! Why else run to a dead end?!"
His red-faced rant fell on deaf ears. Yeah! I don't look that ominous! The young men who'd brandished weapons at Luna now eyed the chief like a senile fool.
"Ha! Ridiculous. What could this book even do?"
Luna snorted and approached me, lifting me up to prove it was harmless.
Whoa, wait—seriously?
The moment her hand touched my cover, I finally uttered the line I'd waited eons for.
[Do you desire power?]
Luna froze, eyes rolling cartoonishly to me. Shock, disbelief, a flicker of hope it was a mishearing. I followed up, smashing that hope flat.
[Haha, you heard right. That's the book you're holding. Oh, and since it won't come off your hand anyway, no point struggling.]
Luna flailed in panic, but I clung like a magnet. Exhausted, lips quivering, she forced an awkward smile at the chief.
"Ah... haha. See? This old rag can't be a grimoire. Just... some antique. Kinda sticky from age, though."
Luckily, the chief missed her stiff act and tone. No more ammo, he slumped and turned away. Villagers filed out, holstering weapons. The chief glared at Luna, hawked a spit that died under her icy stare, then coughed and scurried off.
"Right... sorry. Guess I'm going senile. Let's go, everyone!"
Sheepish villagers trickled out. Luna alternated stares between their backs and the tattered book glued to her hand. Her blue eyes twitched.
"...Why won't this come off?"
[Told you. It's not coming off.]
Luna sighed deeply, grabbed me, and followed the procession. Faint sunlight from outside lit her silver hair.
[Haha! Freedom at last! Bye, you shitty cave! The world's mine now!]
Squeeze—! Her grip tightened—was that my imagination? But hey, my first outing in a century made up for it. Luna's face mixed dread, emptiness, and worry about the future. But who wouldn't be thrilled picking up an SSS-grade grimoire like me?