Chapter 303: The Tin Knight and The Invitation of Memories (3)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 303: The Tin Knight and The Invitation of Memories (3)
Dorothea was a brilliant girl.
This was evident from the fact that a girl who couldn't even read or write before meeting the Witch of the East had mastered basic necromancy in just four years and survived a year of clawing her way through all sorts of harsh environments.
However, 'common sense' was not the kind of skill one could acquire just by being brilliant.
It was an ability that could only be gained by interacting with others, blending into society, and gradually learning what was 'strange' and what was 'normal'.
In other words.
It was impossible to cultivate common sense by the side of the Witch of the East—an embodiment of the nonsensical who ate only when she felt like it, slept for three days and nights straight yet at other times stayed awake for over a week without issue, and treated ordering undead to do chores more casually than a stroll around the neighborhood, making it impossible to tell if she was human or a personification of death descended upon the mortal world.
Dorothea had lived with her parents until she was eight, but even they had never taught their daughter, 'You shouldn't try to enter a city with a summoned undead.' In fact, it would be terrifying if there were parents who gave their daughter such an education.
“There! Seize her! Seize the evil necromancer!”
“Don't let your guard down just because she looks like a child! I've heard some of those vile necromancers have the ability to parasitize the bodies of others!”
“How wicked!” “To think she sacrificed such a young child!?”
“Huh? Huh?”
Thus, even as the soldiers charged at her, seething with righteous fury, Dorothea had no idea what she had specifically done wrong.
To put it in more common terms, it was like taking a dog out for a walk to act as a bodyguard, only to have people suddenly treat her like a murderer.
Regardless of its master's bewilderment, the skeleton automatically moved to protect Dorothea according to its basic functions. This only solidified the soldiers' belief that Dorothea was an evil necromancer, yet they couldn't bring themselves to charge in recklessly.
The town Dorothea had visited was one of the larger ones in the area, but even so, the soldiers were no better than a local militia.
To men who had never seen a single Fireball in their lives, the threat of a skeleton was comparable to that of a legendary ogre.
In truth, while not quite on the level of an ogre, the skeleton blocking their path was a considerably powerful specimen, having been enhanced by Dorothea's exceptional mana.
Considering it could fight without regard for the fear of death or injury, it could have easily taken down four ordinary soldiers who couldn't wield a lick of mana. Thus, their hesitation to charge blindly wasn't such a bad decision.
The problem was Dorothea.
Just as a modern person who had stopped by a convenience store while walking their dog would panic if suddenly threatened by police with stun guns and batons, Dorothea too fell into a panic, unable to comprehend the situation.
Dorothea still lacked the experience to become the kind of witch who would threaten to curse a soldier attempting to sexually harass her.
Unable to confidently demand what the problem was, nor to order her skeleton to strike them down, the fidgeting Dorothea eventually threw another bone fragment to the ground.
The bone fragment fed on Dorothea's mana, grew rapidly, and transformed into another skeleton, causing the soldiers to gasp in terror.
If that new skeleton attacked, they would be dead for sure.
However, the newly appeared skeleton didn't even glance at the soldiers. Instead, it swiftly scooped Dorothea into its arms and took off running.
“Huh? H-Hey! Stop right there!”
That's right.
Dorothea fled.
The soldiers, flustered, tried to catch her, but the other skeleton kept holding them back, rendering their pursuit futile.
After she had run far enough to be out of sight.
Dorothea was lost in thought.
Recalling the soldiers' horrified reactions to her skeleton bodyguard, she thought.
“Evil necromancer… I guess I shouldn't let them know I'm a necromancer. I shouldn't summon undead carelessly.”
In any case, she could no longer go to the town she had just been heading for.
Dorothea decided to stop by another village first and gather more information.
“A village or city where I can buy clothes? If that's what you're looking for, just over that hill—”
“Is there anywhere else besides that village?”
“Hmm? Well then, see that mountain way over there? If you walk along the edge of it, you'll come to a city called ‘Glückstadt.’ But don't you have a grown-up with you? It's a pretty long way for a little girl to go alone.”
“I'll be fine.”
Dorothea's words were not an empty boast.
For Dorothea, who had survived crossing mountains in the wilderness, a plain that was merely a bit far was neither dangerous nor difficult to traverse.
“Here, for your trouble.”
“What?”
The village woman, who had been enjoying her conversation with the sharp-witted little stranger—who, despite her shabby clothes, looked like she would grow up to be quite a beauty—was taken aback when the girl suddenly offered her a coin.
“Oh, no. It's not like I did anything amazing.”
“No. My teacher said a witch must be thorough with her transactions.”
“A witch…?”
The village woman's heart skipped a beat.
Dorothea had thought she just needed to avoid being found out as a 'necromancer,' but in this region, the title of 'witch' was just as feared. In fact, quite a few people mistakenly believed that witches were necromancers.
This was partly due to the Witch of the East's formidable reputation, but the influence of other necromancers who had come from all over the continent after hearing of her fame was even greater.
Among them were those who wished to become the Witch of the East's apprentice and learn her skills, and others who sought to make a name for themselves by challenging her.
The ones with actual skill and prudence kept a low profile, but those with bloated egos and not a shred of talent caused trouble in the nearby villages until they were dealt with by the soldiers.
This was also why the soldiers had chosen to fight rather than flee when they discovered Dorothea was a necromancer; the common perception of necromancers was that they were 'disgusting, but not unbeatable.'
Of course, Dorothea knew nothing about this.
She mistook the village woman's hesitation as mere reluctance to accept money.
“Just take it. If you don't want it, should I give you something else?”
“S-Something else?”
“Hmm… Like a powder that keeps bugs away if you sprinkle it, or an ointment that makes wounds heal faster if you put it on your skin. Oh, I also have a powder that makes laundry dry quickly. You just have to shake it off after it's dry, so you don't have to worry.”
“Oh…”
The expression of the village woman, who had been dreading what sort of wicked and terrifying witch's secret would be revealed, turned peculiar.
They were certainly useful, but they weren't the kind of magic one would typically associate with the name 'witch.' They were more like everyday life hacks.
Furthermore, the little girl staring at her with wide, clear eyes didn't seem like the evil being from the stories.
“That ointment… does it last long?”
“As long as no water or blood gets in the container, it's good for about a year. If you keep it in a dry place, it can last up to three years.”
“Then I'll take that, please.”
Dorothea nodded, rummaged through her leather pouch, and took out something like a palm-sized seashell, holding it out to the woman.
The woman looked curiously at the gray, greasy lump inside, then carefully applied it to the many small cuts on her hand.
When she suddenly felt an itch like insects crawling on her skin, the woman grew frightened, thinking she had been too hasty. But soon, seeing the wounds visibly healing at a rapid pace, a grin as wide as a washbasin spread across her face.
In an era where proper hospitals didn't even exist, a time when most illnesses and injuries had to be dealt with on one's own.
A medicine this effective was, in a sense, a valuable item no different from a spare lifeline.
Naturally, the village woman's attitude toward Dorothea became much friendlier.
“Oh my, thank you so much. I feel bad, like I've received too much. Would you like to stay for a meal before you go?”
“No, thank you. I'm in a hurry.”
“Is that so? What a shame. Well then, hmm, is there anything else that might help… Ah.”
The woman told her to wait a moment and ran off somewhere, returning shortly to hand Dorothea a fist-sized loaf of bread.
“Eat this on your way. And… you shouldn't carelessly tell people you're a witch.”
“Why?”
“It seems there are good witches like you, but around here, there are more evil witches who just cause trouble for everyone. You might get the wrong idea, so it's best to hide the fact that you're a witch.”
Hearing about the 'exploits' (?) of the 'self-proclaimed witches' and 'self-proclaimed necromancers' from the woman, Dorothea's mouth fell open in a small 'ah' of understanding.
'So it's because of them that I was chased away for no reason!'
In reality, trying to enter a town accompanied by a skeleton soldier was in itself a criminal act, but unfortunately, it would take a little more time and experience for Dorothea to clearly recognize that.
Convinced of her own innocence, Dorothea set off again on her quest to buy clothes, feeling a little excited.
And so she arrived at a new city: Glückstadt.
It was the largest city Dorothea had ever seen, crowded with people, and… it looked like a place where just as many incidents occurred.
She didn't have to look far. Not even three minutes after entering the city, this was the scene Dorothea witnessed.
“Hey, you bastard, watch where you're going!?”
A rather burly-looking young man had grabbed a boy and was threatening him.
The boy, held by the collar, already had bruises on his face as if he'd been hit a few times, and the young man's companions, far from stopping him, were snickering.
The boy's eyes darted around, pleading for help, but no one responded.
Passersby merely glanced over as if this were a common occurrence before continuing on their way without much interest. Even the soldiers, who were supposed to maintain public order, ignored the boy's silent plea.
Just then, the eyes of the collared boy met Dorothea's.
Unlike the others, Dorothea didn't look away.
Instead, she just stared back with challenging eyes, as if to say, "What do you want?"
This time, however, it was the boy who looked away.
It was a gesture of resignation, as if he had looked at Dorothea's appearance and given up on any hope of being saved by her.
Dorothea felt a surge of anger for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure.
She had her own purpose, and whatever happened to the boy was none of her business.
Above all, Dorothea had just learned that she shouldn't carelessly summon undead or reveal herself as a witch in the middle of a city.
It was impossible for her to fight several young men, all bigger than her, without using magic.
Therefore, she ignored the boy's plea for help.
“Hey, let him go.”
—Or rather, she had tried to ignore it.
At Dorothea's sudden intervention, the young men reacted with a mixture of annoyance and bewilderment.
“Who the hell are you? Are you his friend or something?”
“Friend? Don't be ridiculous. He's my guide.”
“What?”
Helping the boy for no gain would be irrational. However, if the boy were to become Dorothea's guide, it would be a fair transaction.
Compared to wandering aimlessly in an unfamiliar city, having a guide would allow her to move much more efficiently.
Having quickly rationalized her actions, Dorothea slapped away the hand of the young man reaching for her and backed away.
Of course, a little slap from a small girl wasn't going to do any real damage. If anything, it only served to anger the young man further.
However, the young man's attempt to grab Dorothea this time was thwarted.
A sudden sensation, as if something was crawling all over his skin, tormented him. He instinctively looked at the wrist Dorothea had touched and recoiled in horror.
A massive swarm of ants was crawling all over his skin.
“Whoa, whoaaaaaah!?”
The young man panicked and tried to brush the ants off, but they wouldn't fall.
Instead, they clung to his other, untouched hand and began to crawl up toward his torso.
“Water, shit, water!”
“Huh? Hey, where are you going! Hey!”
The young man desperately ran off somewhere to get the ants off, and his bewildered companions chased after him.
Dorothea let out a sigh of relief.
Thankful that her extremely basic curse—no, hallucination—had worked properly.
The boy stared at Dorothea, dumbfounded, before his eyes began to well up with tears.
Dorothea recoiled, taking a step back.
“Th-Thank you. Thank you. You saved me…”
“Ahem, well, it's fine. Like I said, I didn't do it for free. You can at least guide me around, right?”
At Dorothea's words, the boy wiped his tears with his forearm and nodded.
“Yeah, anywhere I know. But… what's your name?”
“My name?”
She was about to say 'Dorothea,' but she hesitated for a moment.
Even though she had gotten away with it for now, she had still used magic in the city. The thought occurred to her that someone with a sharp eye might figure it out later.
'It would be a pain if rumors about a witch with my real name started spreading, wouldn't it?'
“Dorothy. Call me Dorothy.”
The black-haired boy's eyes sparkled as he held out his hand.
“Hi, Dorothy. My name is Tip.”