Witch Training Manual: My Water Magic Is Wrong

Diaz burst out of the crowd, his armor clanging as he ran. He rushed in front of Wayne, bracing himself on one hand, kneeling on the other, his right fist pressed against his chest.

"Diaz, here!"

Behind him, more than thirty mercenaries surged out from the crowd and stood in three rows behind Diaz. Longswords, short knives, crossbows, and spears—the weapons gleamed coldly in the torchlight.

Wilford rushed up the steps, stumbling and nearly tripping over the hem of his robe, but he steadied himself. He stood beside Wayne, turned, and faced the guards who stood hesitantly on the outskirts of the crowd.

"What the hell are you all standing there for? Assemble!"

The guards moved. Thirty guards pushed their way out of the crowd, the clanging of armor plates echoing in the night air. They stood behind Wilford, lances raised, their tips merging together in the firelight.

Wilford turned around and nodded to Wayne.

Wayne's gaze passed over Diaz and Wilford, landing on the missionaries in white robes standing at the inn's entrance. They stood on the steps, their hands on their sword hilts, their expressions shifting between wariness and hesitation.

Wayne's voice rose half an octave.

"The St. Hilde Mission, through heretical means, attempted to murder the mayor and harm the villagers. Today, I, Wayne, representing the Wiggins Church, will lead you to eradicate this heresy and seek justice for Frosttown!"

"kill!"

Diaz's voice boomed from his chest.

"kill!"

The voices of the mercenaries followed closely behind, and the shouts of more than thirty people merged into a wave of sound that spread through the night sky.

"kill!"

The guards joined in, their spears striking the ground with a series of muffled thuds.

"Kill! Kill! Kill!"

Soon, the crowd joined in the chanting.

The murderous intent was overwhelming.

Wayne continued to issue orders.

"Dias".

"exist!"

"Surround the hotel with men, and don't let a single fly get out."

"yes!"

Diaz turned around, waved his arm, and the mercenaries scattered like a tide, flanking the inn from the east and west sides, the sounds of footsteps, armor plates, and clashing weapons all mixed together.

"Wilford."

"exist!"

"Lead the men to rescue the villagers from the cages and take them to the church."

Wilford hesitated for a moment: "Sir, what about the church..."

"Someone is there to meet you."

"yes!"

Wilford waved to the guards behind him:

"Follow me!"

The guards followed him and rushed toward the cage.

Greve scrambled to his feet, clutching his neck, and staggered toward the inn's entrance. He took two steps back, bumped into the steps, and nearly fell backward. A hand reached out from behind and caught his shoulder.

Greve turned his head and saw Herbert's face.

Herbert rose from the ruins of the woodshed, his face covered in dust, his left cheek swollen, and a streak of blood at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes were bright. He pulled Greve to his feet, pushed him behind him, and then stepped forward, blocking the inn's entrance.

His right hand gripped the hilt of the sword.

"You bastards of the Wiggins Church," his voice hoarse and choked with blood, "you think these peasants can shake St. Hilde?"

Wayne looked at Herbert.

"Now's the time to say as much as you can. Most of you won't be leaving today."

Herbert was startled by this statement.

This is not a threat.

Threats require emotion.

Wien is stating something that will happen.

Behind him, two more people emerged from the inn entrance, dressed in identical white robes with the emblem of St. Hilde embroidered on their chests. The three stood side by side on the steps, their auras as fourth-tier warriors emanating from them, causing fine cracks to appear on the stone slabs beneath their feet.

The crowd retreated half a circle, but did not disperse.

"Great, let's give it a try!" Herbert said.

Wayne turned his gaze away from Herbert.

He stopped looking at the three people.

"Baka!"

A muffled groan came from the shadows.

Babacar stepped out from the crowd.

He wasn't wearing his wrinkled old coat today; instead, he wore a dark brown leather jacket. Babacar's gaze swept over Herbert's face without lingering, then moved on to the other two men.

Then he turned his head and looked at Wayne.

"Your Excellency, should we cripple him or kill him?"

Wayne looked at him.

"what ever."

Babaka's mouth broke into a grin.

"Alright."

His right fist clenched tightly, and his fighting spirit overflowed from between his fists, taking on a dark red luster in the torchlight.

Herbert's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Fourth tier".

Babaka stretched his neck.

"What's wrong? Never seen a fourth-tier fist before?"

Just then, Diaz also stepped forward.

"Sir, count me in too!"

Herbert stood on the steps, his gaze shifting from Babacar to Diaz, and then back to Babacar.

A slow smile spread across his face.

"You three think you can shake Saint Hilde?"

His laughter echoed in the night sky.

Greve peeked half his head out from behind Herbert, his face still bearing the shoe prints Wayne had kicked, and the blood from his nose had dried into dark red scabs.

"Three Tier 4 warriors!" his voice shrill. "You have three Tier 4 warriors, and we have four. How are you going to fight? What are you going to use?"

His fingers landed on Wayne.

"You, a priest, instead of staying in the church chanting prayers, are here to die. After you're gone, I'd like to see what the Wiggins Church can do to our St. Hilde!"

Wayne looked at Greve.

"Who said there are only three of us?"

Gleevec's smile froze for a moment.

Before he could finish speaking...

A loud bang came from the direction of the woodshed behind the inn.

boom!

Brick fragments flew out from the side of the hotel, hitting the ground and kicking up a cloud of dust. Broken tiles and wood chips danced in the night sky.

A white figure flew backwards out of the dust.

The man, dressed in the battle robes of St. Hilde with a cross embroidered on his chest, leaped over the roof of the inn and crashed heavily onto the open ground in front of the inn's main entrance.

Its body slammed onto the ground, bounced once, rolled twice, and finally lay motionless among a pile of broken bricks and dust.

A section of his chest had collapsed.

Everyone gasped.

Heavy footsteps echoed through the dust and mist.

It wasn't the sound of human footsteps on the stone slabs, but the sound of some large animal stepping on them. Each step carried a weight that made the ground tremble slightly.

The crowd automatically parted to both sides.

A colossal beast emerged from the dust and mist.

Its entire body was jet black, its fur as black as ink, gleaming with a dark sheen in the torchlight. It stood taller than a man at the shoulder, and its length, from nose to tail, was nearly two zhang (approximately 6.6 meters). Its eyes were golden, with vertical pupils that resembled two burning flames in the darkness.

Its gait was neither hurried nor slow.

The crowd began to stir, and some people ran backward.

"A demon wolf! It's a demon wolf!"

"Fourth rank! At least fourth rank!"

"Run!"

Wayne's voice drowned out the noise.

"Don't be afraid! She's one of our comrades!"

The commotion in the crowd subsided for a moment.

Some people stopped and turned to look at the demonic wolf. The wolf stood in the center of the open space in front of the inn, its golden vertical pupils sweeping over the people in white robes on the steps.

Herbert unconsciously took a half step back.