Witch Hunter (1)
Vivian's growing familiarity with the boy soldiers of the Disciplinary Unit was reshaping the atmosphere of Rondore Castle.
No one was foolish enough to miss why she was doing it, or what she intended by it.
Everyone knew how precarious her position was. With two assassination attempts already exposed, it was plain that someone wanted her dead.
So her efforts to befriend the boy soldiers were understood for what they were: the first steps toward building a force of her own.
Among the rest of the knight orders, discontent began to stir. It was only natural. Buried beneath Vivian's actions was an unspoken message—that she could not trust the remaining knights.
But Vivian ignored the grumbling. Her position was simple: she could not advance by trying to please everyone.
Inside the Disciplinary Unit itself, reactions varied wildly. Some were overjoyed to have been chosen by Vivian. Others made it clear they had no intention of walking a path of thorns for her sake. Whether those feelings would shift with time, no one could say.
One thing, however, was certain. Wherever Vivian moved, a tension that had never existed before began to course through the entire castle. When Vivian stirred, her enemies stirred with her. The factional struggles that had long simmered beneath the surface were starting to take solid form.
And as if that were not enough, Vivian began another peculiar habit.
At first it circulated only as rumor, but as more people experienced it firsthand, the story hardened into fact. Vivian had taken to summoning one retainer or maid each day and putting questions to them—two or three at a time. Sometimes the questions were sharp. Sometimes they were absurdly trivial.
Once that ridiculous tale reached my ears, I could not contain my curiosity. At one of our shared meals, I asked her.
"I hear you've been calling people in and questioning them lately. What's that about?"
Vivian answered with a halfhearted air.
"...I think I've recently become able to tell when someone is lying. I've been testing it."
I let out a hollow laugh at that nonsense. She was no all-knowing god. How could she possibly know such a thing?
I pressed on, intending to needle her.
"So? How's it going?"
But she met my sarcasm with a look of pure confidence.
"Well."
The number of times she could distinguish truth from falsehood was three per day. Even three was pushing it.
As Elena had explained, Vivian's vessel as a witch was still small, and so her capacity for witchcraft remained limited. After using the craft three times in a single day, Vivian found she could believe Elena's words completely. Exhaustion flooded her body all at once, and sleep crashed over her without mercy.
Elena had said it would improve as time passed and the vessel grew, but Vivian took careful precautions all the same.
For several days she tested the ability. She asked obvious questions and expected obvious answers.
"Serena, can you tell me the color of this cloth I'm holding?"
She held up a white cloth before the maid and activated the witchcraft. Serena looked flustered, glancing between Vivian's face and the fabric, then stammered her reply.
"Wh-white, my lady."
Elena had said that a lie would make the eyes flash red for an instant, and the truth would make them flash blue. The moment Serena answered, her eyes glowed blue.
Days of such foolish questions continued. With only three uses available each day, progress was slow. She had wanted to try the questions on Kailo as well, whom she saw at every meal—but without knowing whether the witchcraft truly worked, she never attempted it.
And so time passed, until Vivian arrived at a single conclusion.
The power was real. Three times a day, at critical moments, she could verify the truth.
From then on she began summoning her retainers one by one and putting questions to them. That alone sent another wave of unrest through the castle. Vivian's sudden actions were shattering the quiet of daily life without restraint, filling everyone with tension.
Even so, she did not recklessly ask the most sensitive questions. She had time. There was no need to rush. Putting a question like Are you my enemy? to someone's face was hardly going to produce a favorable reaction.
So she kept to small questions. Or small requests. Something like, I hope you'll continue to work hard on my behalf—and then she waited for the response.
When Lady Rinne answered yes, her eyes glowed blue. Her manner was strict, her methods not always efficient, and her blunt conversations sometimes left faces flushed with embarrassment—but her heart, it seemed, was sincere. Two years later, Vivian was only now beginning to understand why her mother had appointed Lady Rinne as her tutor. Her abilities were nothing extraordinary, but her heart had always been straight and true.
Every other retainer's eyes glowed red.
At first she was startled—but when it was all of them, Vivian could not fully grasp what their lies meant. The uncharitable reading was that they all wished her dead. She did not think that likelihood was particularly high. The charitable reading was that none of them yet trusted her enough to offer genuine loyalty. People were selfish creatures, after all. The retainers were still calculating which faction to attach themselves to.
...Of course, understanding it that way did not mean she intended to leave them alone. In Vivian's heart, she was already deciding whom to cut away and whom to keep at her side.
This small witchcraft—the ability to discern lies—was quietly bringing about an enormous change.
In truth, she had already known about the hostility. She had always known her retainers did not care for her. But confirming it with her own two eyes was a different feeling entirely. Having seen it for herself, a measure of fear, a measure of helplessness, and a measure of fighting spirit all rose within her.
Had she known this witchcraft earlier—had she realized how many of the adults around her were her enemies—she might have collapsed under the terror. But the Vivian of now was not the Vivian of the past. Something she hated was holding her upright. When she thought of him, even the fear became bearable.
"..."
And yet, with that very person, Vivian could not bring herself to use the witchcraft.
At first she had told herself it was because she did not want to test an unproven craft on him. But the more certain the power became, the more her faith in it grew, the more she realized that was not the reason.
"...What?"
Kailo, shoveling food into his mouth, looked up at her with a puzzled frown at her silence. Vivian realized she had been staring at him blankly and pretended nothing was wrong, returning to her meal.
"...Nothing."
If she thought about it, Kailo was the one person with whom there would be no fallout. Whatever she told him, whatever she asked him—none of it would matter. And still, Vivian could not use the witchcraft on him.
She understood the reason only belatedly.
She was afraid that if she asked, Kailo's eyes might glow red. Afraid that everything he had ever told her might be revealed as a lie. And so she kept turning her head away, refusing to face the problem.
"We're going where?"
On Vivian's orders, I pulled out my leather armor, a real sword, and the red bear helm. The fifty boy soldiers under my command did the same. The order that had come down through Burgor in the early morning was already shaking our monotonous routine.
"We're going down into the city. To face the Las Church."
Vivian answered, dressed in clothes far more authoritative than her usual attire—fine fabric, clean finishing, and the sun of Rondore set into the cloth at every turn.
"Why the Las Church?"
I asked, though I could already tell she was going to meet someone important. She shrugged and deferred the answer, as if to say I would find out once we arrived.
I swallowed my curiosity and pulled the helm over my head. My comrades were already in formation. All that remained was for me to finish preparing.
Once the helm was on, Vivian looked up at me for a long moment. Then a faint smile touched her lips, and she murmured,
"...The more I look at it, the better it seems."
I pointed at my helm.
"...This humiliating thing?"
"Why is it humiliating?"
"You put an animal's head on a person's head. If that's not humiliation, what is?"
"It's your house's animal."
"Stop pretending you don't know. It wasn't even made for me."
Vivian laughed softly at that. She swept her smooth hair back over her shoulder and said,
"Fine. The truth is, it was made to insult you. But I mean it when I say it's well made. Especially... that red."
"..."
My helm was the exact same red as Vivian's hair. Had that been intentional too? I had no way of knowing, and eventually I stopped thinking about it.
Before long, Vivian walked over to the boy soldiers and said,
"Are you ready?"
A robust chorus of assent came back, and she gave the order.
"Then let's go. I hope you'll all protect me well."
.
.
.
Once again, I led the horse Vivian rode. Today, at least, almost nothing came flying at me. Not nothing entirely—but every time something was about to be thrown, Vivian set her face in a cold warning, and the projectiles dwindled sharply.
She had not brought a large force, either, so we could move through the city with a measure of quiet. We still drew attention, of course, but nothing like the crowds that gathered when the full knight order marched.
"Kailo, this way."
Ballon, who knew the city's layout thoroughly as a commoner, guided us. He claimed to know a great many of the hidden side streets, but Vivian could not go down those paths, so we stuck to the main roads.
Wandering Loktana at this leisurely pace, the lives of the common folk came into clearer view. I had never really looked before—they had always been too busy throwing stones and rotten fruit at me. Some seemed to live ordinary lives, but most looked poor. Ragged clothes, gaunt bodies, dirty skin and filthy faces.
When I first arrived in Loktana, I never imagined I would feel pity for them. But two years had passed. The feeling was different now—undeniably so.
"No matter how I look at it, it seems impossible."
Vivian spoke suddenly. I turned to her, puzzled.
"What does?"
"You being loved by these people."
She was bringing up our wager. When I stayed silent, she went on.
"...But were you serious back then? When you said you'd win their love?"
"I was serious."
"How, exactly, do you plan to do that? I truly don't understand. Honestly, your situation seems more hopeless than mine."
"...Just watch."
"Do you even have a plan?"
...Of course not. But from the moment their rage toward me had cooled even a little, I had begun to think, vaguely, that there might be something I could do for them.
When I failed to answer, Vivian spoke with a mocking edge.
"See? You don't. Too bad, Kailo. Looks like you'll rot here for the rest of your life."
"...If you cry even once, that won't be true either."
"I'm not going to cry anymore. I told you."
"We'll see about that too."
"..."
After a brief silence, Vivian shoved my helm again.
—Thok.
The sudden gesture sparked a flicker of irritation. I turned to look at her. She sat on the horse looking somewhat drained—but her gaze was sharp as she asked,
"...Do you want to go back that badly?"
The words caught in my throat. Why did she look so lonely in that moment? She was always lonely, after all.
I wrestled with the thought, then realized my answer had come late and hurried it out.
"Would you let me go?"
"Are you insane?"
Her fierce reaction—from someone who had looked so listless a second before—drew a short laugh from me. Then, turning the thought over carefully, I spoke my honest mind.
"...It's home. Of course I want to go. There's so much I miss."
She was quiet for a moment. Then, with a faintly desolate expression, she asked,
"...For example?"
That unfamiliar look sent a strange twinge through my chest, but I answered as if it were nothing.
"Family. The food. Ah—and the snow falling from the sky. It's too hot here. It's hard."
And so much more. Too much to list. Every time I felt these differences, I was reminded that I was living in a foreign land.
"..."
Vivian bit her lip lightly and looked at me. Something complicated and unreadable moved in her eyes. Then she turned her head slightly and spoke in a low voice.
"Give up on the snow. As for family... I can't see mine either, because of your house, so we're the same. And if it's food... I can have that made for you here."
There was something tender in the words, and something clinging. Was she feeling sentimental today, of all days? Unable to make sense of her mood, I deliberately needled her.
"Sounds like you're saying you'll give me everything here so I shouldn't leave. Would you actually miss me if I were gone?"
Her expression twisted for an instant. She narrowed her eyes coldly and spoke in a frigid tone.
"...I'm telling you to give up already. You have to rot here. If you keep longing for something you'll never see again... you'll only make it harder on yourself."
"..."
A strange silence settled between us. I wondered how the conversation had drifted in this direction, then closed my mouth. Vivian made no further effort to speak to me either.