Witch Training Manual: My Water Magic Is Wrong

At noon, the sun was blazing.

Hena's party finally arrived in Frost Town.

These past few days, everyone has gone to great lengths to ensure Hena's trip goes smoothly and comfortably.

Traveling, setting up camp, making a fire, cooking, and helping Hena wash and change—nothing could be done carelessly. Gregory even learned to braid hair. Hena thought Shurassa's hair was too messy and asked him to braid it into a three-strand braid. He braided and unbraided it, and braided and unbraided it again, going through seven or eight attempts before he finally got it right.

However, Lancelot still doesn't know what Hena's true purpose is.

Why did she come to Frost Town?

Why take this route?

Why make a special trip through that mining area?

He knew nothing about it.

All he knew was that it seemed to be inextricably linked to Wayne.

However, in recent days, he has noticed that his paladin party seems to be gradually changing its nature.

I'm no longer interested in things like that.

At first, Lancelot thought it was the effect of the contract, but later realized it wasn't. They were just... bored. Besides, the women from the Shurasha gang were always watching them, so they didn't dare to do anything rash.

So the paladins started looking for other things to do.

Gregory became obsessed with cooking, spending his days around the campfire stewing soup. Although the stews were unpalatable, at least they were hot.

Lirab learned to weave straw sandals from a woman among the human traffickers, and he wove them quite well.

The younger Lemas began practicing calligraphy, writing and drawing on the ground with a twig, all of which read "Long live Master Hena".

Even more absurdly, the relationship between the paladins and the woman traffickers has improved considerably. Without that previous connection, they can now speak to each other normally. Overall, things are relatively harmonious.

Lancelot watched all of this.

Something just doesn't feel right.

But I can't quite put my finger on what's wrong.

He could only console himself that it was probably the power of the devil.

The city gate came into view in the distance.

The walls of Frosttown were low, gray and dusty, overgrown with weeds that swayed in the wind. The city gates were open, with only a few people occasionally entering and exiting. The guards yawned, their spears leaning against the wall, dozing in the shadows.

Lance rode a grey horse, his armor gleaming, with a procession lined up behind him: six paladins, thirteen human traffickers, and a carriage in the middle.

Lancelot reined in his horse and walked to the carriage.

"Master, we've arrived."

There was a moment of silence in the carriage, then the curtain was lifted slightly. Hena's voice came from inside, with a languid tone.

"Is this Frosttown?"

"Yes."

Hena lifted the curtain a little wider, revealing her face.

No, to be precise, it was Shurasha's face.

But the expression on that face had nothing to do with Shurasa. Shurasa's eyes were filled with calculation and greed, while Hena's eyes were filled with arrogance and indifference.

She glanced at the city gate of Frost Town.

short.

broken.

old.

Several bricks were missing from the city wall, and they were propped up with wood.

"It's really shabby." Hena's assessment was brief.

Lancelot lowered his head and didn't reply.

Hena turned her gaze from the city wall to Lancelot.

"Go straight in."

"Yes."

Lancelot turned around and waved to the team.

"Go into town."

Six paladins spurred their horses forward, followed by thirteen human traffickers. The wheels of the horses creaked and groaned as they rolled over the dirt road.

The guards on duty were awakened by the noise.

He rubbed his eyes and saw a fully armed group of people walking towards the city gate, which startled him so much that he almost fell off his chair.

"Stop...stop!"

The guards grabbed their spears.

Lancelot reined in his horse and looked down at him.

"We are a caravan."

The guard swallowed hard.

"A caravan...a merchant caravan?"

He glanced at the paladins' armor, then at the short swords at the waists of the woman traffickers, and finally at the carriage in the middle.

It doesn't look like a caravan.

It looks more like an army.

"A caravan," Lancelot repeated with a smile, "stopping in Frosttown to buy some supplies before continuing on our way."

The guards stopped them.

A spear was held across the middle of the city gate, its tip pointing at Lancelot's horse's head. The guard's hand trembled, but he didn't back down, standing in the middle of the road like a stake driven into the ground.

"Document".

Lancelot looked down at him.

"What?"

"Caravan documents." The guard swallowed hard. "You say it's a caravan, so a caravan needs documents. Which city issued them? What route are they taking? What goods are they selling? It all needs to be written on them. Show them to me."

Lancelot didn't move.

At the back of the line, the expressions of several human traffickers changed slightly. They looked at each other, their lips moved slightly, but no one spoke. They had been in this "business" for so many years and had never used such a legitimate document.

The guard's gaze swept over the crowd.

"You don't have the necessary documents, do you?"

Lancelot's smile remained unchanged, as did his voice.

"I left in a hurry and forgot to bring it."

"Forgot to bring it?"

The guard narrowed his eyes.

He then looked at the armor of the men; it was too new, unlike that of a caravan traveling a long distance. The women's attire was varied—some wore leather armor, some cloth clothes, some boots, some straw sandals—a motley collection that didn't seem to belong to a single group.

The strangest thing was those men.

How come it's so tender?

The guard slowly tightened his grip on the spear.

"You're not spies from another country, are you?"

The air suddenly became quiet.

Several human traffickers unconsciously reached for the short swords at their waists. The paladins didn't move, but their eyes changed, becoming as wary as wild beasts.

Lancelot chuckled softly twice.

"How could that be?"

His tone was as casual as if he were chatting.

"We're just a small caravan from the next town. We do some small business, selling things like cloth, salt, and needles and thread. We really forgot our travel documents, so could you please do us a favor?" As he spoke, Lancelot took out two gold coins from his waist and handed them over.

The gold coins gleamed in the sunlight.

The guard's eyes nearly popped out.

Two gold coins.

He guarded the city gate for a year, and his total salary was no more than five silver coins.

Two gold coins were enough to feed his whole family for three years.

The guard's throat moved.

"What...what are you doing?"

Lancelot handed the gold coins forward.

"Please do me a favor, it's just a small token."

The guards were paid by the town and fed by the town's grain. Although their pay was pitifully low and their grain was so coarse it was hard to swallow, they couldn't bring shame to Frost Town.

"Trying to bribe me?" The guard's face flushed red. "Do you think I, Griffin, am that kind of person?"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a hand reached out from inside the carriage.

That hand was fair and slender, holding a handful of gold coins.

There are at least a dozen.

The guard's words stuck in his throat, like a fishbone choking him.

"hey-hey……"

The guard smiled and accepted the gold coins.

"I, Griffin, am really that kind of person."

Just then, a simple, honest voice rang out from the other side.

"No! We can't let them in!"