Witch Training Manual: My Water Magic Is Wrong

Footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Jenny ran from the corner, stopped abruptly in the front yard, and stood in the middle of the yard. His gaze swept over the three people before finally settling on Wayne's face.

"Your Majesty Bishop!"

"Um."

Jenny took two steps forward and bent down.

"Your Excellency, I heard today is Seurat's Thanksgiving?"

Wayne's hands didn't stop moving. He twirled the wax-sealed potion bottle in his hand and placed it on the wooden tray next to him.

"Who told you that?"

"Big Sister".

"Mimi?"

"Yes, yes, it's Mimi. She said a lot of women are coming to the church tonight." Jenny rubbed his hands together. "Well, Your Excellency, do you think... I could stay in the foyer too? Help out, lend a hand, serve tea or something. I can do anything, really, anything."

"Um..." Jenny rubbed his hands together.

"Can I go take a look too?"

Wayne looked up.

The panel appeared.

[Jenny - Profile]

[Identity: Tier 3 Thief, member of a bounty hunting team, self-proclaimed "The Fastest Hands in the Northern Continent." His actual hand speed is indeed not slow, but it's limited to untying bra straps. Other skills, such as lock picking, theft, and bag picking, are only at a beginner level.]

[Past: Born into a declining noble family in the Northern Continent. His father was a baron, and his mother a commoner. His parents divorced when he was fifteen, and he lived with his father. After his father remarried, his stepmother mentored him, from whom he learned most of his skills. At seventeen, his relationship with his father broke down, forcing him to run away from home and join a traveling circus, where he learned juggling and theft. At eighteen, he was spotted by Babaka and recruited into a bounty hunter team. Six years have passed since then.]

[Personality: Opportunistic and adaptable. He has low standards, but not none. He doesn't kill, kidnap, or touch children. Aside from that, he'll do anything to make money. His loyalty to Babacar is practically zero. If he were to suddenly strike it rich, he'd run faster than anyone else. But currently, you seem to have more potential than Babacar, and his loyalty is shifting.]

[Note: He meant "help" seriously. He wasn't trying to take advantage; he simply wanted to see. It was Shura's Thanksgiving, the festival of the god of prostitutes. He'd heard of this festival in the Northern Continent; rumors circulated that handsome men would be given money for free simply because they were good-looking. He believed himself to be that chosen one.]

Wayne didn't say anything.

Jenny's heart skipped a beat.

"Shurah's Thanksgiving is the feast day of the goddess of prostitutes." Wayne's voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear. "The women who come to church are all prostitutes from Greenbird Street. You want to see them?"

Jenny's throat moved.

"To broaden one's horizons..."

"Do you want to broaden your horizons, or do you want to do something else?"

"Of course, I just want to... broaden my horizons!" Jenny's expression was as innocent as a cat whose tail had been stepped on. "Your Excellency, I swear to God, I just want to help! Really! Just help! There's absolutely no other intention!"

Wayne looked at him for a couple of breaths.

"OK."

Jenny's eyes lit up.

"real?"

"Really. But there's a condition."

"Please tell me!"

"The women who came to church tonight are all believers. They came here to seek peace, not to provide entertainment for others."

"Yes, yes, yes."

"You stay in the front hall, serving tea and water, without saying a word or glancing around. Can you do that?"

"Yes, yes, yes!"

Jenny nodded his head vigorously, then stood up straight, raised his right hand above his head, and looked as serious as if he were about to swear an oath to a goddess.

"Your Excellency, please rest assured, if I, Jenny, lay a hand on any woman today, may I be struck by lightning, die a horrible death, and be reborn as a rat in my next life."

Jenny took another half step closer.

"Sir, shall I be following you today?"

"You don't have to come with me, just don't cause trouble."

"I definitely won't cause any trouble." Jenny was very happy. "I'll just watch from the sidelines and lend a hand. I won't bring shame to the church."

Wayne tilted his head slightly.

"Go."

Jenny turned and ran away.

Emma squatted on the ground, still pounding the stone mortar with the wooden pestle in her hand, thump, thump, thump. Her gaze followed Jenny's retreating figure, watching him disappear around the corner of the corridor.

"Owner."

"Um."

"I feel this person is really sleazy."

Wayne placed the sealed bottle of potion onto the tray.

"A thousand people, a thousand faces."

Emma asked, puzzled.

"What do you mean?"

Wayne thought for a moment.

"What I mean is, everyone is different. You might think he's sleazy, and he might actually be. But that doesn't mean he's unusable."

Emma didn't quite understand, but she nodded nonetheless. In her mind, whatever her master said was right.

At noon, the sun was blazing.

The church doors opened.

A group of women walked in from outside, their steps as practiced as if they were entering their own backyard. They didn't look around or whisper; they automatically split into two lines and sat down on the benches in the front hall.

The leader was a woman in her thirties with red hair, bright red lips, and a dark green dress. She sat down in the first row, her hands folded on her knees, her back ramrod straight.

The women behind him sat down one after another.

This wasn't their first time here.

They arrived during the first week after Wayne arrived in Frostholdt. First a few, then a dozen, then dozens. They came every month on Shura's Thanksgiving Day. No notice, no reminders, they just came on the appointed day.

Wayne emerged from the corridor behind the foyer, dressed in a white priest's robe and carrying a scripture. He walked to the back of the lectern at the front of the foyer, opened the scripture, and glanced at the audience.

The women looked up at him.

Wayne's voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear.

"Let's begin."

Everyone closed their eyes.

Wayne began reciting the prayer. It was short, using the special version for Seurat's Thanksgiving. The content was nothing more than platitudes about thanking the goddess of prostitutes for her protection and praying for peace and prosperity in the coming year.

But it is not important.

What matters is his voice.

It carries a reassuring power.

The lobby fell silent.

The prayer has been finished.

Wayne closed the book.

"Each of you will receive a bottle of magic potion today. Take it back and take it before bed to relieve any discomfort."

Someone in the audience asked a question.

"Your Excellency, are you no longer providing individual treatment?"

Wayne shook his head.

"There are too many people today, we can't treat them all. The potion works a little slower, but it's the same."

A slight sense of regret rippled through the audience. Their gazes lingered on Wayne for a moment, but no one said anything more. They understood the bishop's rules; if he said no treatment, then no treatment. To ask further would be considered disrespectful.

However, they were still quite happy.

I've heard of Bishop Wayne's potions. A bottle can sell for ten silver coins, and on the black market, they're even being sold for fifteen silver coins.

It's free now.

The red-haired woman was the first to stand up. She walked up to Wayne, took the porcelain bottle with both hands, glanced at it, and saw that the bottle was brown, about the size of a thumb, and sealed tightly with wax.

"Thank you, Your Excellency."

Wayne nodded.

Jenny stood at the entrance to the front hall, holding a wooden tray and distributing medicine to the women who came to pray.

He had a radiant smile.

Women started to notice him.

It wasn't because he was particularly handsome, but because he was incredibly attentive. He bent down at a greater angle than others, handed them medicine with gentler movements, and smiled more often. He was like a tightly wound spring, constantly turning.

A woman in a yellow dress took the medicine bottle, turned her head and said something to her companion next to her.

"Where did this volunteer come from?"

His companion glanced at Jenny.

"I don't know, maybe he's new here."

"She's alright looking."

His companion glanced at it again.

"It's alright. But nowhere near as good as the bishop."

The woman in the yellow dress smiled.

"Of course. Who can compare to the bishop's looks?"

"However," she paused, her gaze sweeping over Jenny's retreating figure, "if there were no bishop, giving this person a free chance wouldn't be out of the question."

Her companion glanced at her.

"You wish. Whether she'd even be interested in you is another matter entirely."

I was saying "if".

"Why so many 'what ifs'?"

The two chuckled softly.

Hearing what the women said, Jenny bent over even more.

He was clearly happy.

It's a pity that it would have been perfect without Wayne.