Chapter 27
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 27
Chapter Title: The Witch’s Sacrament
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#
A sacrament.
It signified a religious rite performed by mortals.
Praying for rain in a drought, wishing the dead a smooth journey to the afterlife, dedicating oneself to the heavens to receive holy orders—their number was truly vast.
As the Ecumenical Church, commonly called the Pantheon, was an assembly of countless sects, the number of rites was bound to be large. Yet, there was one truth they all acknowledged, despite their differing words.
It was the answer to the question of which sacrament was the most important.
While every sacrament was important, the foremost among them was the Infant Sacrament. Why? Why the Infant Sacrament? Because it was the ritual that connected the creator to the created.
When the gods exerted their power to create life, the force they sent from the heavens to the earth was mana. Mana scattered across the world, creating life and promoting growth according to the gods’ solemn will.
Even after the gods departed and the celestial order crumbled, mana remained in the world. It was proof that the creator once existed in our world, proof of the will by which all things were made.
The Infant Sacrament was the rite that granted the qualification to wield that very mana.
Occasionally, a special child could wield mana freely without receiving the sacrament, but such cases were so extraordinary they were considered gifts from the gods. The vast majority of humans, no matter how skilled, would find it difficult to even sense the existence of mana without the Infant Sacrament.
Almost no human goes without the Infant Sacrament. It is administered as early as right after birth, and at the latest, before the age of two. It is considered essential once an infant’s body is deemed capable of fully accepting mana.
Therefore, there are virtually no humans who cannot feel mana. There are only differences in degree. All humans feel mana in their daily lives and sense the presence of the gods.
But what if one were to become unable to feel mana?
“How… h-how… could this be…”
Oksana Narces gasped as if she were about to faint.
Lying collapsed on the ground, both her legs were twisted at grotesque angles from the fall. Bones had torn through her flesh, spilling blood. The pain was indescribable, and she grimaced, drenched in a cold sweat.
But a pain greater than the physical agony assailed her mind. She felt a weariness and weight she had never experienced before, a sensation unknown even after staying awake for days and nights on end.
She looked at her hands and saw that the skin, taut just moments ago, was now a seething mass of wrinkles. It was as if she had reached the final stage of aging, and she knew why. She had returned to her original form.
Just as Oksana had transformed Lord Matthias’s daughter into something not human, she had also smoothed her own body. When the power she wielded vanished, she reverted to her true self.
She frantically covered her face with her hands. She felt the wrinkles. She felt her hollowed cheeks. Her eyelids were sunken. The years she had so desperately hidden were now laid bare.
“No… I can’t… not like this… so miserably…!”
She tried time and again to move the flow of mana, but even sensing it was a struggle. It was as if she had suddenly gone blind, lost her sense of smell, lost all sensation whatsoever; she could not feel the mana.
“Answer me! Answer my call!”
How could this be possible?
One could sever or obstruct the flow of mana, but the connection between a person and mana could not be broken. As far as she knew, no one could do it. The moment one received the Infant Sacrament, that life was inscribed in the celestial registry.
Who would dare erase a name from the heavens? The authority of the Ecumenical Church, the Pantheon, and the priests was recognized precisely because they were the agents who added names to that registry.
Not even the Cormillius family, who claimed the first emperor as their ancestor, nor the Pope himself would dare. How could this have happened? It was beyond her comprehension.
Was she being punished, as if a god from the ancient myths were looking down upon the earth and smiting a sinner? If so, why her? Why now? With so much evil in the world, why her of all people?
“Oksana.”
She flinched and lifted her head.
“What was given to you was not a right.”
A young man stood before her, looking down. Just then, the clouds parted, revealing the moon, which hung behind him and cast a deep shadow. She could not see his face.
“It was mercy. A mercy from the heavens, which could have been reclaimed after the world prospered but was left out of pity for the things of the earth. A mercy you all forgot.”
“N-no…”
“With my own two eyes, I have seen you misinterpret that mercy and defile the name of Narces. What am I to do about this?”
Oksana trembled like a leaf in the wind. The words wouldn't come. She opened her mouth to say something, but only a shaky breath escaped instead of sound. She was so shocked, her throat had forgotten how to speak.
Who could understand her feelings? Who could know what she had realized? Every human here would be mistaken, making absurd guesses that her mana flow had simply become twisted and caused this disaster.
It was absurd, but understandable. How could others comprehend a reality that even she, who had borrowed the name of the Wise Narces, found difficult to accept?
Only Oksana knew. Because his words pointed to the truth she had failed to grasp.
“Life is experience, and I have had so much of it that I know forgiving you would be futile. You may shed tears and confess your sins now, but you will eventually return to your original path. Therefore, I have taken it back. That which was never truly yours.”
In that moment, the tangled mass of questions she could never solve unraveled.
How the Duke of Dithmarschen could live for centuries and remain young, why the Hilderson Clan despised the Pantheon, why the Pantheon had tried to make him king—she understood.
“You are—”
But that was as far as she got.
He knelt on one knee and reached his right hand toward her. Terrified, she tried to flee, but her broken, bleeding legs would not move.
When his hand finally touched her head, the senses she had lost returned for a moment. But there was no joy. Instead, dread washed over her as what little mana remained in her body began to drain away.
The very life that had sustained her was disappearing.
“Ah, ahh…! Please! P-please, forgive me!”
She struggled, trying to push his hand away.
“This is the last mercy I can give you, child who borrowed the name of Narces.”
A wave of drowsiness swept over her. She fought to keep her eyes open. It was a sleep from which she would never wake. She pushed with her hands, turned her head, resisting with all her might just to live. But the hand would not let go.
Soon, her ragged breaths turned into a deflating hiss, and her head fell.
#
‘What just happened?’
Roberta stood at the stable entrance, blinking.
She had seen the lord’s wife, the witch Oksana, fleeing from her. The witch had transformed into a crow and flown into the sky, and with no way to stop her, it seemed she would escape.
‘Why did that witch fall?’
But then the situation had changed drastically. Oksana had fallen to the ground and transformed into an old woman. No, it was more like she had returned to her true form. Her youthful appearance had been a lie, her aged one the truth.
‘She had twisted the flow of mana enough to call down lightning, but then it suddenly returned to normal. It was as if the mana was refusing the witch’s call.’
Then Ulrich had approached the witch, spoken words she couldn’t comprehend, and the witch, unable to command mana to the very end, had died at his hand. The process and the result were bizarre.
Why had Oksana collapsed?
She had cried out that the mana wouldn't answer her call. A mage who borrowed the name of Narces would not have made such a fundamental mistake. There had to be another reason, one Roberta didn't know.
‘It’s definitely related to the Lord.’
She didn't know what, but the circumstances were clear.
Just then, a rustling sound came from behind her.
“Ah…”
A girl lay on the straw, stirring. She let out a breath as if waking from a long sleep and rubbed her eyes. Moonlight streamed through a hole in the stable roof, illuminating the girl, who wore not a single thread of clothing.
The girl sat up and looked at Roberta with a dazed expression. Though the late summer night air was warm, the girl shivered slightly. She rubbed her shoulders, and then her eyes widened.
She slowly looked down at her own body. The girl who had been turned into a young horse had regained her original form. She was naked, but she felt no shame. Instead, a foolish grin spread across her face. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Marika!”
Lord Matthias rushed to his daughter. He embraced her, his face contorted. Having realized the truth, he now felt the pain it brought. Though he had not committed the crime himself, he felt a crushing guilt, a guilt as deep as his love for his daughter.
“Has the spell been broken?”
Roberta came to Ulrich’s side and asked.
“To be precise, the fixation was released.”
“Yes, I heard that. The witch used magic to fix her form differently. But was it released because Oksana died?”
Ulrich shook his head.
“No, it’s because all of Oksana’s actions lost their efficacy.”
Lost their efficacy?
“Oksana’s death has nothing to do with it. Didn’t she say something similar? It was a problem that was difficult to handle unless she moved the mana of her own will.”
“In that case—”
Just as she was about to ask how the spell had been broken, Ulrich walked over to Lord Matthias.
“It is fine to take in mages, but when you keep them close, always have someone in holy orders by your side. Even if not an ordained priest, someone sensitive to the flow of mana should be there to keep them in check.”
“I suppose I was too complacent.”
The lord, having wrapped his daughter in a cloth received from Fritz, let out a deep sigh. In retrospect, the witch Oksana’s actions had been reckless. As Ulrich said, if someone in holy orders had been nearby, she would have been discovered immediately. Of course, Oksana would have known that and planned differently.
“As you know, my relationship with the Pantheon has been severely strained. Especially recently, after the recall order was issued, the number of clergy remaining in this country is far too small. The friar who was originally here has also left.”
He wore a bitter expression.
“That’s why I trusted Oksana all the more, but to think it would come to this…”
“Wait a moment! What do you mean? They issued a recall order?”
Roberta’s voice was laced with bewilderment. A recall order? Not for one or two people, but for all of Osnover? It was news she hadn't heard, despite holding a position in charge of a diocese.
“You haven’t heard? The Emperor has convened a council regarding the right to elect the Pope. To divide the electoral power monopolized by the Cormillius family. Osnover agreed to it, and in retaliation, the Pantheon issued an excommunication and a recall order.”