No one moved. In the history of Uldard's witch executions, this was first time that anything like this had happened, and the crowded square turned as quiet as a cold, breathless night. Everyone watched the witch with eyes filled with fear and shock. No one could do anything but gaze, openmouthed and in awe, as the unexpected and impossible scene unfolded before them like a nightmare from a dream.
"... Rise."
The moment the girl had uttered the word under her breath, the entire atmosphere that surrounded them made a noticeable shift in an instant. Noct felt a sudden cold press deeply into his bones and noticed that the air had turned suddenly hard to breathe in. As he watched a few steps away from the girl, still frozen in his place, he saw her bandages slip away from their bindings, as if pulled off by an invisible force. It fell lightly at her feet, revealing her pale and thin hands. Noct couldn't help it, but for an instance, he thought of how strange it was that they seemed to look perfectly normal. He had imagined that she was hiding ugly scars or wounds underneath the wrappings. The next second after, however, his thoughts were reverted back to the impending situation when something impossible happened in front of his eyes.
A shadow rose from the frozen floor beside her. At first, Noct thought that perhaps he was seeing things again. A mass of darkness the color of complete pitch suddenly stretched on the surface from the shadows that came from all around them, slithering quickly and converging into one concentration right beside the girl. The darkness shifted, writhing as if it were alive. Then, it suddenly rose upwards.
Noct had a cold chill go up his spine. He took another step back, a bead of perspiration trailing down the side of his face. He had not noticed that his heart was already beating rapidly. Just simply looking at the strange entity made him tremble slightly in fear. The mass of darkness seemed to be something that was defying the natural laws of the gods and felt erratic and unnatural. Dangerous. Every muscle in the thief's body was warning him to flee. If it were not for the fact that he was too stunned to move, he would have turned and run away already without sparing a second thought.
The darkness continued to twist and rise. It took Noct a few seconds to realize that its shape was morphing into what was unmistakably the hazy image of a person clad in heavy armor from head to toe. The darkness shifted again, shaping its outline more properly, until it was clear to everyone that what they were seeing before their eyes was unmistakably an armored knight woven from pitch darkness. The entire transformation had occurred in less than a few moments, but it felt much longer in the eerie silence.
For some reason however, the moment Noct observed it in its completed state, he knew immediately what the armored knight was. Bearing the same feeling of certainty he had with the stolen skull hours before, as he looked at the pitch and unsettling entity of darkness in front of him, the thief knew the exact term that was supposed to be used to call it. Dead. It was, without a doubt, a spirit of a fallen.
At that point, the threads connected immediately. Noct finally realized something.
Snow-white hair. Silver-moonlit eyes. A master of ice and frost.
... A necromancer.
"... You're the Snow Witch," he gasped out very softly to himself, referring to the girl.
It all made sense to him now. The reason why she could easily heal a fatal wound by herself within the span of mere minutes. The reason why she could easily freeze the stands with a single spell word. The reason why she summoned the spirit of the dead as though it was a natural thing for her. Those abilities were not easily done by just any common witch—-the girl was a part of the few and rare recognized ones by the capital city. She was a Titled Witch.
The Snow Witch.
A flurry of emotions overcame the thief: hatred, resentment, disbelief, hope, confusion. One thought overcame all others as he wondered about a single notion that formed in his mind. The rumored Snow Witch was supposed to be a dangerous, ruthless witch who killed people for the sake of fun and enjoyed seeing the suffering of others. She was considered a monster by some, a child of the gods by few, and a demon by many. Noct had not once, even in his wildest dreams, expected her to be a small, weak-looking, and naive girl.
Frowning a little, his train of thoughts were abruptly interrupted when, without warning, someone made a scream from the crowd. It was a chilling scream, one filled with fear, piercing clearly throughout the entire throng. As though that was the cue, the overflowing tension in the air broke immediately without warning, cancelling the silence. Everyone in the crowd seemed to burst into life at the same time. It was like the breaking of a spell. The square had been utterly still one moment, then chaos the next. People started to tremble, pointing, gasping, screaming at the shadowed apparition of the dead who was atop the stands. A majority of them were backing away, their once-amused faces now etched with fright. They mumbled and whispered fervently. There were looks of terror in their eyes. Others were already in the act of running, screaming as they fled the scene.
Beside Noct, the guards who had accompanied them backed away in panic. The drunk one, looking like he was about to wet himself, hastily ran down the stairs while screaming something indecipherable. The first one called after him and did the same, leaving the last and third one behind as he continued to stand there in shock, knees shaking. Noct could not blame them. Even he felt like running away as far as he could at that moment.
The witch, however, did not seem to give the chaos any heed and instead continued to fix her blank eyes at Worick. The witch hunter, in turn, was looking at her with a surprised expression on his marred face. Both ceased to move at all, merely feet away from each other. When someone among them finally stirred, it was neither of the two. Instead it had been the armored knight, its black silhouette suddenly shifting to hunch down, facing the girl. It was kneeling, Noct finally realized. It was waiting for her command. But much to his surprise, however, instead of giving it an order, the witch suddenly turned around to look at Noct. The thief was immediately startled by the anger etched clearly in her luminous eyes. Her usual indifferent expression was now tainted with a slight look of resentment.
Then, she gave him a slight nod.
At that second, Noct understood what she was trying to imply. He had been stunned with the turn of events that he had completely forgotten that this was supposed to be a part of their strategy for escape. The girl was to be the diversion, while Noct would slip away and find her satchel to bring it to her. She had explained to him back in the cell that she could only last for an estimated ten minutes using her own supply of mana, and that she would have to use the skull as a catalyst to prolong the summoning. It was only now that Noct understood what she meant when she told him that she would call for help, however. Considering the fact that it was only a matter of time before the other witch hunters and the kingdom's sentries would arrive at the square soon, every second that passed was important. She had trusted Noct enough to deliver the skull quickly to her. In exchange, she had wagered her life to wait for his return.
That was, if he decided to return.
"This... is wonderful." Worick was the first to finally break the silence atop the stands, announcing his words with a startling grin. Noct was surprised by his reaction. He had expected Worick to run away and cower in fear. Instead, there was a glint of a dangerous light in his eyes that seemed to imply that he was enjoying the scene that was happening before him. "If I kill you, the reward will be more than just the pathetic sum I get from burning the others," he announced with a great amusement, pulling out the axe strapped from his back, the blade glinting sharply under the sunlight. Noct could hear its heavy weight with every swing in the air, letting out a low hum.
"... Come, witch," he taunted. "Fight me with the warrior you have summoned."
The witch, however, made no reply to him. Instead, she raised her hand again. Responding to the gesture, the armored knight stood up, turning to face the witch hunter. Then, it held out its arm. Noct noticed its hands suddenly start to shift. The darkness elongated, stretching into a flat, shaped surface. After a moment, he realized that it had formed into what was, without any mistake, a sharp and pointed broadsword. The dead knight held its hilt tightly and receded into a fighting stance, raising his new sword at the ready. When Worick saw this, he raised his axe in turn and looked even more amused. Though the thief did not want to admit it, Noct had to commend the hunter for his bravery and skill. Worick may have been a fraud, but he was no average fighter. Among the many axe-wielders in the kingdom, he was by far one of the best.
For a few tense moments, the two of them regarded each other, one alive and the other dead.
Then, with no warning whatsoever, Worick abruptly charged in a surprising burst of speed. Despite his tremendous build he successfully closed the distance between them in a matter of seconds, letting out a guttural cry as he raised his axe towards the witch. He struck the weapon downwards, aiming directly at her head. A few moments before it connected, however, the summoned knight instantly moved in between them to protect the witch, its motions in a quick blur. It stopped Worick's axe with its raised blade. Sparks flew from the darkness and the metal's point of contact. The weight of the attack made the frozen floor around the knight's feet crack. The air around the two weapons reverberated dangerously, letting out a faint trace of bloodlust. Worick then backed away, laughing, as if he enjoyed the situation.
Noct shuddered. No one in their right mind would dare to go against the dead. The result of the fight was obvious to every sane person. The dead, after all, could never die twice, and they never ran out of stamina. The only question was how long the caster could manage the summoning, since they would tire out eventually.
Worick, however, acted like he did not care about his minuscule chances of victory. He charged again, bearing down on the girl once more. The knight intercepted his attack effortlessly. Worick yelled, then executed a quick succession of heavy blows. The knight moved to defend each one of them. Both of their movements blurred as their speeds increased and they exchanged attacks, each one aiming for the kill. Worick's fighting style was exactly like him, rash and bold. The knight's was calm and steady, calculating each move with careful care and revealing the difference in power with every effortless block. As Noct stood there just meters away, he couldn't help but feel like he was watching an extremely dangerous blade dance. He was so engrossed in their fight that he only noticed that the witch was looking at him again after a few moments had passed. When he did, the thief was unsettled to see that the hateful look was still on her face. She took a few seconds, holding him in her gaze, before whispering one quiet, single word that he could easily read through her lips.
"Go."
Noct nodded reflexively. As though caused by that single word, he felt his body unfreeze at that instant. He blinked at her, glanced quickly at the fight happening right in front of him, then turned to look back at the chaos in the crowd. He clenched his fists, shaking his head and reminding himself of what he needed to do.
The satchel. I need to get the satchel.
Then, without a moment's hesitation, Noct turned around and ran away.
----> thank you for reading!
Q:
What choice do you think Noct will make?