Witch Training Manual: My Water Magic Is Wrong

Looking into Srilian's eyes, which were filled with surprise and doubt, Wayne did not let him continue to guess.

"No need to guess."

His tone was flat.

"All of this was told to me by the goddess."

Srian's pupils contracted slightly.

goddess?

As a registered magician with the Vatican, he had dealt with the Vatican quite a bit. He had always scoffed at the Vatican's mystical practices. In his view, the so-called "divine revelation," "divine grace," and "divine inspiration" were nothing more than tricks used by high-ranking clergy to deceive lower-ranking believers.

But every word this man uttered precisely touched upon his past, which he had never revealed to anyone. He had never even mentioned the names of his ex-wives in front of any Vatican official.

He looked up, his gaze complex as he looked at Wayne:

"you……"

Wayne didn't wait for him to finish speaking. He raised his right hand and gently wiped his face, peeling away a thin film of water to reveal a completely different face.

He has clear and bright eyes and well-proportioned features.

A face that makes you want to take a second look. Not the aggressive, sharp handsomeness of Andrei, but a gentle, upright quality with the unique air of a clergyman.

Srian's gaze paused noticeably for a moment.

This was the second time he had been surprised tonight.

"To tell you the truth," Wayne casually tossed the peeling water film onto the ground, "I am not some Saint Hilde's battle monk. I am Wayne, Bishop of Frosttown from the Wiggins Church. And the person you're chasing is my guard."

Srian's gaze lingered on Wayne's face for several seconds, scrutinizing him repeatedly, as if confirming the truth of his words. His mind raced through information about the Bellino diocese—the bishop from Frosttown was leading a relocation to Bellino, and would be moving into the city in the coming days.

After listening, his tone became wary:

"Why are you telling me all this?"

Wayne did not answer.

Srian's gaze sharpened, and he quickly added, "I'm telling you, you can't kill me. I'm a fifth-tier archmage registered with the Wizard Tower of the Kingdom of Wiggins. If I die, the Wizard Tower will keep a record, and the fact that you were near Bellino that night will easily be linked to that. Killing me will also get you into trouble."

Wayne simply nodded after listening.

"You're right. Killing you would definitely cause trouble."

Srian breathed a sigh of relief.

However, Wayne immediately followed up with, "Now that you know who I am, do you think I would still let you leave unscathed?"

Srilian's breath caught in his throat.

Wayne's tone remained indifferent.

"Now that you know who I am and the relationship between me and the person you're after, if I let you go back to Bellino, you'll immediately report my appearance to the Mage Tower—no, I mean, to the Earl's Mansion. How am I, a bishop, leading an entire migration caravan from Frosttown, supposed to face the wrath of an earl?"

He paused.

"I'm afraid that before the group reaches the capital, various forces along the way will come looking for trouble for me."

Srian opened his mouth, but said nothing.

Wayne continued.

"So, I'm giving you two choices now."

"First, become my contract slave. Release your soul and accept my contract. From this day forward, your life is mine. You will continue to serve as the Earl's chief steward, and on the surface, you will have no relation to me, but when I need you, you must obey unconditionally."

Srian didn't immediately refuse: "And the second one?"

"Second, death."

Wayne put it bluntly.

"You died in the forest, and I cleaned up the scene. The Mage Tower does keep records, but those are just death records. There's no evidence, no witnesses, no clues pointing to me. You're just a fifth-tier mage who 'died in an unexplained attack during a pursuit.' The Mage Tower handles these kinds of cases every year, and they never get any results."

Srian remained silent.

He was faced with two choices.

One is losing freedom, but living.

The other is to retain dignity, but to die.

"If you kill me, and the Holy See and the Mage Tower both exert pressure on you, as a bishop, can you withstand it?"

Sriyan is still making a last-ditch effort.

After listening, Wayne glanced down at him, then slowly took out a piece of parchment from his storage bag, unfolded it, and faced Sriyan.

In the lower right corner of the parchment was a red stamp—the seal of the Wiggins Vatican's Supreme Council.

Srilian's gaze lingered on the seal for two seconds before settling on the contents of the parchment.

That was a transfer order.

The date on the document was not long ago.

The order was concise, essentially stating that all bishops who had been evacuated from the border must return to the capital to report for duty.

Srian's pupils narrowed slightly.

He understood Wayne's implication.

Wayne is no ordinary bishop. He carries a transfer order from the highest council of the Vatican. What does this transfer order mean? It means that he is a key figure under the watchful eye of the Vatican's upper echelons, and that he is backed by a faction within the Royal Capital Vatican.

If he dies here, the Mage Tower will indeed investigate, but the Holy See will investigate as well. At that point, it won't just be a feud between a count's mansion and a bishop, but a conflict between the Holy See and the Mage Tower.

For the sake of a wind mage who died in the wilderness, would the mage tower be willing to break ties with the Holy See?

Srian knew the answer perfectly well.

will not.

The Mage Tower would never confront the Holy See directly over a deceased archmage. They would simply issue a death certificate, select a new fifth-tier replacement within a week to fill the vacancy, and act as if nothing had happened.

Sriyan's stance softened completely.

He remained silent for a long while, then slowly closed his eyes:

"...I choose one."

Wayne looked at Srian and nodded in satisfaction.

"Not bad, it seems you're a smart person."

He took half a step forward, looking down at Srian lying on the ground, his tone calm but carrying an undeniable sense of oppression.

"Since you've chosen the path of life, then release your soul. Don't try any tricks. During the contract process, I have at least a hundred ways to make you die in extreme pain. The potion you just inhaled is still missing one final trigger to be activated. If you want to experience the feeling of magic circuits breaking one by one in your body, you can try tampering with the soul contract."

Upon hearing these words, Sriyan's last shred of hope vanished. He took a deep breath, and then a pale blue light appeared between his brows—the outward manifestation of his soul imprint.

Without hesitation, Wayne raised his right hand, and a drop of water with a pale golden luster gathered at the tip of his index finger. He gently placed the drop of water on Srian's brow.

The moment the water droplets touched the soul imprint, they seemed to come alive and quickly seeped into it.

Srilian's body trembled violently, and the veins on his forehead bulged, but he gritted his teeth and did not make a sound.

A few breaths later, the light dissipated.

The contract has been signed.

Srian slowly opened his eyes.

He looked at Wayne, then knelt on his right knee.

"Owner."