Chapter 22
As they walked along the path toward the village for some time, a man feeding pigeons came into view in the distance.
“Excuse me!”
Not just one or two, but several pigeons were pecking at food at his feet. She called out to him in disbelief, and he turned to face her with a calm demeanor.
“What is it?”
“What are you doing?”
“Feeding pigeons.”
“Why do you go around feeding other people’s kids while complaining that there’s no food at home?”
“I’m giving them scraps I can’t eat. Want some?”
He gestured toward the discarded sprouts and tough weeds in front of him.
Eir muttered, “No thanks.” handed him a sandwich, and quickly turned on her heel to leave.
Rubel silently watched her retreating figure. The dress, snugly fitted around her slender waist, fluttered with each step, and her leather shoes came into view.
The worn leather shoes looked as if they could fall apart at any moment.
Living together, such things became noticeable.
They had exchanged swords and new axes at the time, settling everything, or so it seemed. So why did he notice things like that now?
Was it because the woman brought him sandwiches every day?
Or because she added cotton to the straw-filled bedding he had? Or perhaps…….
‘Maybe it’s because she’s someone I need to observe.’
Rubel cut off any tender sentiment before it could take root.
It was only natural for such details to catch his eye, given that she was someone he had to monitor and understand. Besides, what if she tripped over those worn shoes, causing a carriage accident and dying?
If that happened, all the secrets she knew would vanish with her, and he’d have to start everything over from scratch.
From the very beginning.
The thought was overwhelming. He had lost so much along the way, including mistakes that cut deeply. Without realizing it, Rubel dwelled on the things he had lost for this mission
He closed his eyes and let out a faint sigh. His waning faith was what brought such thoughts to mind, he decided. Scolding himself, he offered a short prayer, crossing himself.
Then, picking up one of the waiting pigeons, he tied a small rolled note to its leg. The one he had received earlier had already been burned.
[No signs of witches appearing in the area for some time. Either they never came or they came and haven’t returned yet. One of the two.]
One of the two.
Rubel repeated the words in his mind and shook his head. The possibility that no witch had come at all could be firmly dismissed.
He had already confirmed that the death of Hecate—the witch, or rather, the old crone—had been sudden. He also verified that another witch’s spell had been layered over Hecate’s grave.
It was likely, as they suspected, that the witch who had intruded here killed Hecate and brazenly settled into the village.
Perhaps as a concerned neighbor. Or perhaps…….
‘As that old crone’s disciple.’
To uncover who among the hidden infiltrators was the culprit, testimony from the original residents would have been critical.
But with Hecate’s spell lingering, the villagers could not serve as reliable witnesses.
Hadn’t he seen it with his own eyes?
The face of Alf, who had initially seemed ready to report him at any moment, only for their gaze to shift suddenly. Hecate must have used similar means to make her unsettling actions appear normal and to manipulate the villagers for so long.
And now, the witch who had killed Hecate was likely exploiting that same trick, living here while pretending to be friendly.
“Vi Pavasse, Lantube.”
[May you be struck by divine punishment and fall to hell.]
He muttered the sacred curse, directing it toward the wicked witches.
The reason he pretended to have lost his memory and infiltrated this place was simple, to locate the cursed spell that threatened the Divine Empire, destroy it, and leave this place as quickly as possible.
But so far, he had found no clues.
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