Roland swallowed the last piece of fried egg and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "After all this, you're worried the Witches Association might come to rescue her upon hearing she's alive?" "Exactly, Your Highness," Barov stomped his foot. "They acted in haste—likely on the run. If the Witch had died, it might have been over, but now she's still alive! Those madmen steal even infants; they'd never spare a fallen comrade." Roland was puzzled. Something felt off. Why did the Minister's Assistant and Chief Knight always treat witches as if they were mortal threats?
Was the woman to be hanged the Witch? She was so emaciated that a mere breeze could topple her. If she possessed such terrifying power, why stand there, waiting to be slaughtered? No, she would never be captured. According to the Church, she was the embodiment of the Devil, and even human armies—apart from the Inquisition Army—would pay a heavy price before her. Yet this Devil was seized by the residents of Border Town, tortured relentlessly, and ultimately hanged. Yet the terrifying power remained nowhere to be found.
"How did she get caught?" "I heard she revealed her identity to escape during the North Slope Mines collapse, and was caught by furious villagers." Roland thought for a moment. "Hmm, I remember this incident—it happened the day before I crossed."
"How was she exposed?" "Well... I'm not entirely sure," the Minister's Assistant shook his head. "The situation was chaotic at the time—someone must have witnessed her using witchcraft." Roland frowned. "You don't even investigate such matters thoroughly?" "Your Highness, restoring mining operations is our top priority," the Minister's Assistant protested. "Border Town relies on this iron ore for half its revenue, and the prosecutor confirmed a witchcraft-related death at the scene." "What kind of witchcraft?" Roland asked with curiosity.
"Like a melting candle, its head and most body sprawled on the ground, evoking the sight of a burnt-out black candle," the other person said with disgust. "Your Highness wouldn't want to see that." Roland fiddled with the silver fork in his hand, lost in thought. Historically, most of the victims of Witch hunts were innocent people—used by the Church and ignorant masses as tools for vengeance, while a few were their own self-inflicted. These individuals dressed in bizarre costumes, spent days throwing all sorts of odd materials into cauldrons, and claimed to foresee the future and determine life and death.
They've actually cracked some tricks, like using flame color reactions to claim divine power.
To modern observers, these are merely chemical tricks, but back then, they could easily be mistaken for miraculous phenomena.
When it came to dissolving human bodies, Roland immediately thought of chromic acid solution. However, this chemical was cumbersome to prepare, required full immersion of the body, and its decomposition efficiency paled in comparison to candles. Other strong acids were even less effective.
So how does this witch manage to do this?
If her expertise lies in alchemy, she would be a rare chemist in the realm; otherwise...
At this point, Roland made up his mind.
"Take me to see her." "Wait... wait, Your Highness, you're going to see a witch?" Barov stood up in a panic, spilling the empty milk cup.
"Exactly, that's the order," Roland said, turning to the Minister's Assistant with a smile. He was genuinely grateful for the Fourth Prince's unorthodox approach.
As he neared the doorway, he paused abruptly. "Wait, I've been wondering—why the gallows?" "What?" "Why the gallows? Shouldn' t witches be burned at the stake?" Barov's face twisted in bewilderment. "Is that so? But she's not afraid of fire..."
Border Town has only one dungeon, and the barren land can't sustain many prisoners. Most inmates face trial within days of being incarcerated—either released or executed.
Along with Barov, the Chief Knight, warden, jailer, and two guards accompanied Prince into the dungeon.
The dungeon had four levels, its walls entirely constructed of solid granite. This was Roland's first time in such a place. He noticed the passage narrowed as he descended, with the number of cells diminishing. He guessed they had dug a large inverted-cone pit and then stacked stones layer by layer.
This poorly designed structure naturally lacked proper drainage, leaving the ground perpetually damp. The murky wastewater flowed down the stairs, seeping through each step.
Witch was confined to the lowest level of the dungeon, where the stench of blood grew more intense with each descending floor.
"Your Highness, this is far too perilous. Even if God punishes her with chains, it doesn't guarantee safety." The words were spoken by Carter Lannis, the Chief Knight who had rushed to the Prince's aid upon learning of his visit to the Witch, persistently dissuading him along the way. The king's command had no effect on him—he refused to accept any orders that risked the Prince's life, making it impossible to force him to leave.
Why is this man, with his aloof and handsome God-like features, such a chatterbox? Roland wished he could shut his mouth. "How can one dare to confront evil without the courage to overcome it? I thought you understood this." "But fighting evil must be within one's limits—recklessness isn't bravery." "So you mean to uphold justice against weaker foes, but turn a blind eye to stronger ones?" "No, Your Highness, I mean..." "Once afraid of the Witch's prison break, now terrified of a mere girl—my Chief Knight is truly one of a kind." Though Knight was talkative, he lacked the ability to argue effectively, leaving Roland, the master of verbal sparring, utterly defenseless. Meanwhile, the group had already reached the dungeon's depths.
This section is significantly smaller than the upper levels, with only two cells in total.
The jailer lit the torch on the wall, and as the darkness lifted, Roland saw the Witch curled up in the corner.
It was now late autumn, and the temperature in the dungeon was so low that one could see the white vapor exhaled. He wore a fur coat with a silk lining underneath, so he naturally did not feel cold. However, the other party only had a single layer of clothing, which could not fully cover their body. The exposed arms and soles of their feet were already frozen to the point of losing their color.
The sudden flash of fire made her turn her head away, her eyes slightly closed. However, she soon opened them again and stared straight ahead.
It was a pair of pale blue eyes, calm as a lake before a storm. There was no fear on her face, nor any trace of anger or hatred.
Roland had a strange vision—what he saw was not a fragile little girl, but a shadow engulfing flames. For a fleeting moment, the glow of the torch on the wall seemed to dim slightly.
She struggled to lean against the wall and rise, her movements so slow that she seemed about to collapse at any moment. Yet ultimately, she stood fully upright and staggered from the corner toward the area where the light could fully illuminate.
This seemingly simple move sent a crowd gasping in shock, with everyone retreating two steps. Only Knight stepped forward to block the attack.
"What's your name?" Roland patted Knight's shoulder, reassuring him not to be so nervous.
"Anna," she replied.