novelraw Chapter 70 : Eden, the Garden (9)
Chapter 70 : Eden, the Garden (9)
Chapter 70: Eden, the Garden (9)
Silken platinum hair.
Sapphire-filled eyes.
Thin, red lips.
Snow-white skin.
Hestia was a beauty no one would have doubted even if someone had called her a witch.
Back in Vilnogos, plenty of foul men had thrown lewd looks at the young girl. Each time, Maximilian or Nike had taken care of those men’s lower halves.
Maybe that went without saying though.
The Witch of Motherhood only kidnapped children who were fit to become witches and smothered them with affection. Only she knew the exact criteria, but beauty had certainly been an objective measure.
All the girls who’d been abducted were beautiful.
Even among them, Hestia stood out. The breathtaking beauty squeezed Nike’s wrist.
“Nike. Let’s go in. Mother’s waiting.”
“Tia. The archbishop’s in danger.”
“What does that matter? The archbishop’s a black-hearted viper.”
“Hah…?”
Nike scowled. This wasn’t the Hestia he knew. She spoke and looked like a different person.
Hestia wasn’t someone who put force in her eyes like that. She didn’t speak quickly either.
The Hestia Nike knew always had languid eyes that made it impossible to know what she was thinking, and she opened her mouth slowly.
There was no way Nike wouldn’t notice the difference. In the Order of the Silver Blades, no one knew Hestia better than Nike.
“Tia. Get a hold of yourself.”
A twitch flickered under Hestia’s eye. She spoke with an unpleasant look.
“My mind’s clearer than ever. I’m in the best mood. I finally came home. I’d love for you to feel what it’s like to return to your hometown too, Nike.”
“Hometown?”
Nike pictured his hometown.
The village of Sinain, turned to ash, rose in his mind. He had no fond memories. It had been a string of lonely days.
“My hometown is bad.”
“Then this is your hometown now. Isn’t that nice?”
Hestia tugged on Nike’s hand. There was strength in her grip.
‘Archbishop. And the mission?’
Worried about Elena, Nike glanced back, then let himself be pulled along.
Elena was a problem right now, but he couldn’t just leave Hestia behind. His fellow classmate mattered more than some archbishop.
‘Tia first.’
His precious fellow recruit had gone wrong.
He had to save her right now.
‘Tia’s lost it. Should I hit her in the head!?’
Nike wrestled with the thought.
Among the most effective ways to break mental-type magic was physical trauma. Vigo and Morgana had proven that firsthand.
Nike raised his hand.
He never hesitated to use violence. Because he loved his fellow recruit, he meant to hit hard.
“Nike. Hitting me won’t help. I’m not crazy, and I wasn’t brainwashed.”
“Hah?”
“I’m truly happy. More than ever. So my mind’s fine. I’m not in the state you think I am. You can tell, can’t you, Nike?”
Hestia smiled.
To Nike’s eye, she didn’t look brainwashed. There were no traces of magic being forced into her body either.
Hestia really did look like someone who’d come home.
There was no way to know if it was a subtle act.
Everything that happened in this flowered garden was unknown.
‘Tia. You’re not in your right mind.’
Of course, Nike didn’t believe her.
He was sure Hestia’s true feelings were different. Behind his fellow recruit’s smile, a lonely expression had to be hiding.
He wanted to bring that smile back.
Nike’s face turned grave.
‘Witch of Motherhood. I’ll kill you.’
All traces of mischief drained from him, leaving a chill that raised goosebumps.
“Are you finally ready to follow quietly?”
“Lead the way. To the witch.”
The Witch of Motherhood had hurt his fellow recruit.
He couldn’t forgive that evil witch.
Nike began the hunt in earnest.
“…Good choice. Let’s go in.”
Only then did Hestia let go of Nike’s wrist. The spot she’d gripped had risen red. Nike stared for a moment at the imprint of her hand.
The marks from that tight grip seemed to speak of unease.
What was her true feeling?
The truth had to lie beyond.
The plot of the Witch of Motherhood was weaving, and Hestia’s true heart.
Creak, thud.
The dining hall door shut.
Nike had been invited as an honored guest to the witch’s breeding ground. The banquet of blood began.
* * *
The far end of the dining hall reeked of blood. Even the wooden floor looked stained, dark red as if soaked through. It wasn’t a simple blood smell either.
‘Human. A young girl’s blood.’
The stench was truly vile, but Nike didn’t shy from stepping into a place just because the air was thick with blood.
There was another reason he didn’t move so easily.
Nike’s hair stood on end and his pupils dilated. He stared into the darkness pooled at the back of the hall.
‘Dangerous. Huge.’
Most witches didn’t threaten Nike. The witches he’d met in this short span had been colossal in scale.
He’d never been one to frighten easily, and as his experience piled up, his boldness only grew.
Even so, he hesitated. He couldn’t move lightly. The witch coiled in that darkness was truly dangerous.
‘Witch of the Sword?’
If anything felt similar, it was the absolute powerhouse he’d met recently, the Witch of the Sword. The presence at the back of the hall radiated killing intent just as perilous.
A chill voice drifted from within.
“My little son… Don’t hesitate. Come in.”
It was a mother’s voice Nike had never heard. The manner was warm, but the tone wasn’t.
“Let’s go.”
Hestia pushed him between the shoulder blades.
Inside stood a table so long it seemed without end, with a single chair set on each side.
At the head seat, shrouded by shadow, sat someone who reeked of danger. In the candlelight, the silhouette was larger than he’d expected. With that broad chest, it looked like she could cradle many children.
“Come, sit here.”
An arm dropped from the ceiling. It stretched endlessly and pulled out Nike’s chair.
“Thanks.”
Nike plopped down, tapping the long arm aside without much interest. Hestia sat quietly across from him.
“Hm hm, hee hee... Haah— at last…”
The witch at the head covered her mouth and laughed. With every breath, it looked like her dress would burst. She leaned forward onto the table, thrusting her head out.
The candlelight revealed her face.
Like every witch in the world, she was beautiful and bewitching.
What set her apart was how the curves of her body stood out far more than other witches. The skin spilling above her breast was a size Nike had never seen.
She had really earned the name Witch of Motherhood.
“My son. Welcome home.”
“Hah? I’m not your son!”
“True, you weren’t born from my belly, but I gave birth with my heart. Every child who stays in this manor is the same.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
Hestia recited the line as if from memory. Pleased, the Witch of Motherhood stroked Hestia’s cheek. Hestia smiled, as if it felt good, and let her cheek rest in the woman’s hand.
“…I consider every child my own. I love them and cherish them. Taking in poor little ones and giving them affection is my greatest joy.”
“Ha!”
Nike snorted.
Who was the one out there snapping children’s necks and hacking off their limbs, then.
“That’s bullshit.”
“My son. You should mind your language in front of your mother, right?”
“That’s cow poop then!”
“Ha, haha… My son’s full of wit. Isn’t he?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
Hestia chimed in with a laugh. Leaning back again, the Witch of Motherhood lifted a wineglass to her red lips, as red as blood.
“Now, now. Let’s not do this. Let’s eat first. Aren’t you hungry?”
“I’m hungry.”
Nike answered honestly. He was always hungry. Even witch-hunting should be done on a full stomach.
“Then your mother prepared food for you.”
“I said I don’t have a mom!”
“…From now on, I’m your mother.”
“Hah~?”
While Nike bristled at the witch’s nonsense, another long arm descended from the ceiling. This time, both hands were holding something.
Nike tried to identify it by smell. It wasn’t pleasant.
“Here, eat. I prepared this especially for you.”
“Eh?”
Nike tilted his head. He’d expected meat or bread when she said food, but nothing had been set out.
Only the arm from the ceiling cupped something above his head.
“Nike. You eat it like this.”
Hestia spoke, tipped her head back, and opened her mouth. The hands squeezed what they held.
“Hah…?”
Bright red liquid trickled from the palms and fell onto Hestia’s tongue. She licked her lips as if it tasted good and drank.
The witch leaned back again, smiling at Nike. She looked eager for him to drink the liquid.
“Go on, have a taste. It’s delicious.”
“What are you doing, not eating? It’s the chocolate you like, Nike.”
“…”
Nike’s eyes dulled. For the briefest instant, his ashen pupils flared red, then returned.
Thump.
The arm hanging in the air fell. It had been severed without warning.
“Oh?”
Tilting her head, the Witch of Motherhood showed interest. She hadn’t missed the moment Nike worked magic.
“My dear son... Could you show Mother that again?”
“What is this.”
Nike answered with a question instead.
In his hand was the thing that arm had been clutching.
A lump of flesh, drenched in blood.
Nike, who often ate raw meat from hunted beasts, knew exactly what it was.
“A heart.”
“Whose?”
“Who knows.”
The Witch of Motherhood smiled slightly and denied him the answer he wanted. Instead, she spun a riddle.
“My son. What do you think runs and plays most in my garden?”
* * *
“Haa, haa…”
Wiping blood from her cheek, Elena caught her breath. The fight had been tougher than she’d expected. The battle had erupted far too suddenly.
The girl who’d been escorting her had changed shape and pounced the moment Elena began her prayer.
“Are all the children here like this…?”
Elena looked down at the girl she’d crushed with her warhammer. The limbs were numerous, like an insect’s, and the face was a patchwork of many humans and beasts.
“Chimera… All the girls were chimeras.”
Elena grimaced at the ghastly sight.
She’d heard plenty about the infamy of artificial life stitched from human and animal bodies, but this was her first time facing them and taking their lives.
“Well, it’s an experience. How delightful…”
It wasn’t the experience she’d wanted, but if life as an archbishop continued, she’d have gone her whole life without seeing such a monstrosity. Even this horror, in its own way, was filling her with spiritual insight.
Today’s hardship would lay the groundwork for the soon-to-come selection of a Saint.
Elena lifted her head. Thankfully, no more chimeras came charging in.
“Now that I understand the situation, I should slay the witch and leave as quickly as possible.”
Sublime experiences at the lowest places were all well and good, but she had no desire to linger in this foul place. The sins the Witch of Motherhood had committed were unforgivable.
“More than anything, I’m worried sick about Nike.”
The ash-haired boy who’d been circling her mind from earlier. Thinking of Nike, Elena began to pray.
“O Sun God of all who dwell in heaven, look upon us unworthy ones and grant us the power of judgment.”
As her prayer began, the chimera blood on her warhammer washed away, and a golden light settled over it.
Elena gripped the warhammer and brought it down.
Kwooom!
With the same destructive force that had crushed a chimera’s head, she smashed a staircase this time.
When physical strength and spiritual might struck together, the barrier that trapped her shattered.
Elena sensed the invisible cracks. The Sun God’s blessing was protecting her.
The scenery shifted. As if rinsed away with water, the manor’s broken stairs, the eerie ceiling, and the cobwebbed windows vanished.
“Hm. What an unbelievable bitch.”
In their place appeared a pale, blood-drenched storeroom.
There, around twenty girls sat in shackles, their eyes dead.