Chapter 27

Witch’s Sacrament

Consecration.

It referred to the religious rites performed by humans.

Praying for rain when none falls, wishing for the dead to journey safely to the afterlife, offering oneself to the heavens to receive priesthood—there were truly many such rites.

Since the public church, commonly called the Pantheon, was a collective of countless sects, it was inevitable that the number of rituals would also be vast. However, despite their differing doctrines, there was one fact they all agreed upon.

It was the answer to the question: which sacrament was the most important?

There was no sacrament that was not important, yet above them all stood the Infant Consecration. Why? Why the Infant Consecration? Because it was the ritual that connected the Creator and the created.

When the gods exercised their authority to create life, the power that descended from the heavens to the earth was mana. Mana scattered throughout the world, creating life and promoting its growth in accordance with the noble will of the gods.

Even after the gods departed, even after the order of the heavens collapsed, mana remained in the world. It served as proof that the Creator had once existed in this world, and that all things had been made by a certain will.

The Infant Consecration was the ritual that granted the qualification to wield that mana.

Occasionally, a special child could freely manipulate mana without receiving the rite, but such cases were so rare that people believed the child had been sent directly by the gods. For the vast majority of humans, no matter how talented they were, it was difficult to even perceive mana without undergoing the Infant Consecration.

There were almost no humans who did not receive the Infant Consecration. Some received it immediately after birth, and at the latest before the age of two. Once it was believed that the infant’s body could fully accept mana, the rite was necessarily performed.

Thus, there was effectively no human who could not feel mana—only differences in degree. All humans sensed mana in their daily lives and felt the presence of the gods.

But what if one could no longer feel mana?

“How… h-how… could this happen…?”

Oxana Narses exhaled as if she might collapse.

Lying sprawled on the ground, her legs were grotesquely twisted from the fall, her bones piercing through flesh as blood spilled out. The pain was indescribable, and cold sweat streamed down her face as it contorted in agony.

Yet a pain greater than that of the body struck her mind. She felt a fatigue and heaviness she had never experienced before—something she had never felt even after staying awake for days and nights.

Looking at her hands, the taut skin from just moments ago was now wrinkled and shriveled. It was as though she had reached the very end of aging, and she knew why. She had returned—to her original form.

Just as she had transformed the daughter of Lord Matthias into something no longer human, she had also preserved her own body in a youthful state. Now that the power she wielded had vanished, she had reverted to what she truly was.

In panic, she grabbed her face with both hands. She felt wrinkles. Sunken cheeks. Hollowed eye sockets. The years she had so desperately concealed were now laid bare.

“No… I—I… like this… this miserable…!”

She tried again and again to move the flow of mana, but even sensing it was difficult. As if she had suddenly lost her sight, her sense of smell, all sensation itself—she could not feel mana at all.

“My command! Answer my call!”

How could this be possible?

One might sever or disrupt the flow of mana, but the connection between mana and a person could not be cut. As far as she knew, no one could achieve such a thing. The moment one received the Infant Consecration, their life was recorded in the heavenly registry.

Who could dare erase a name inscribed in the heavens? The authority of the public church, the Pantheon, and the priests was recognized precisely because they acted as agents who recorded names in that heavenly registry.

Not even the Kormilius lineage, who claimed descent from the first emperor, nor even the Pope, would dare attempt such a thing—so how had this happened? She could not comprehend it.

Could it be that, like in ancient myths, the gods had looked down upon the world and delivered punishment to a sinner? Then why her? Why now? With countless evils in the world, why her of all people?

“Oxana.”

She flinched and raised her head.

“What was given to you was not a right.”

A young man stood before her, looking down. At that moment, the clouds parted and the moon revealed itself, casting a deep shadow behind him. His face could not be seen.

“It was mercy. Though it could have been reclaimed after the world had flourished, the heavens pitied the things of the earth and left it as it was. You have forgotten that.”

“N-no…”

“With my own eyes, I saw you misinterpret that mercy and defile the name of Narses. What should I do about this?”

Oxana trembled like a leaf. No words came out. Even when she opened her mouth to speak, only trembling breaths escaped instead of sound. She was too shocked—so shocked that her throat had forgotten how to form words.

Who could understand her feelings? Who could grasp her realization? Everyone here must be mistaken, thinking that only the flow of mana within her had become twisted, making absurd guesses that made no sense.

It was absurd—yet natural. If even she, who bore the name of the great sage Narses, found it difficult to accept this reality, how could others possibly understand it?

Only Oxana knew. Because his words pointed to a truth she herself had failed to comprehend.

“Life is experience. And I have too much experience to believe that forgiving you would change anything. Even if you weep and confess your sins now, you will eventually return to your original path. That is why I have taken it back—what was never yours to begin with.”

At that moment, the tangled mass of unanswered questions she had carried until now unraveled.

How the Duke of Dithmarschen had lived for hundreds of years while remaining young, why the Hilderson clan despised the Pantheon, and why the Pantheon had tried to make him king—she finally understood.

“You—”

But that was as far as she got.

He knelt on one knee and extended his right hand toward her. She tried to flee in terror, but her broken, bleeding legs would not move.

At last, when his hand touched her head, the senses she had lost briefly returned. Yet no joy arose. Instead, fear took hold. The mana remaining in her body began to drain away entirely.

The life that had barely been sustaining her was disappearing.

“Ah, ah…! Please! P-please, have mercy!”

She struggled desperately to push his hand away.

“This is the last mercy I can grant you. Child who borrowed the name of Narses.”

Drowsiness overcame her. She tried not to close her eyes. It was a sleep from which she would never awaken. Pushing with both hands, turning her head, resisting with all her might just to survive—she fought. But his hand did not move.

Soon, her ragged breathing faded into a hollow sound, and her head drooped.

‘What just happened?’

Roberta blinked as she stood at the entrance of the stable.

She had seen the lord’s wife, the witch Oxana, fleeing from her. The witch had transformed into a crow and taken to the sky, and it seemed there was no way to stop her.

‘Why did that witch fall?’

Then the situation changed abruptly. Oxana fell to the ground and turned into the form of an old woman. No—returned would be the proper word. Her youthful appearance had been false; the aged one was her true self.

‘She had twisted the flow of mana so violently it could summon lightning, and yet suddenly the flow returned to normal. As if mana itself was refusing the witch’s call.’

After that, Ulrich approached the witch and spoke words Roberta could not understand. The witch, unable to wield mana until the very end, met her death at his hand. It was a bizarre process and an even stranger outcome.

Why had Oxana collapsed like that?

She had cried out that mana would not answer her call. A mage who bore the name of Narses could not have made such a fundamental mistake. There had to be another reason—something Roberta did not know.

‘It’s definitely related to the lord.’

She did not know what exactly, but the circumstances were clear.

And at that moment, a rustling sound came from behind her.

“Ah…”

A young girl lay on the straw, exhaling as if waking from a long sleep, rubbing her eyes. Moonlight streamed through a hole in the stable roof, illuminating the girl who wore not a single thread.

The girl raised her upper body and looked at Roberta with a hazy gaze. Though the late summer night air was warm, she trembled slightly. Then, as she rubbed her shoulders, her eyes widened.

She slowly lowered her head and looked at her own body. The girl, who had been transformed into a young foal, had returned to her original form. Though she wore nothing, she felt no shame. Instead, she let out a foolish smile. Tears also streamed down her face.

“Marika!”

Lord Matthias rushed to his daughter. With a distorted expression, he embraced her tightly. Having realized the truth, he now felt the pain that truth brought. Even if he had not committed the sin himself, guilt weighed on him—its depth equal to the love he bore for his daughter.

“Has the magic been undone?”

Roberta approached Ulrich and asked.

“To be precise, the fixation has been undone.”

“Yes, I heard that. The witch fixed her form differently with magic. But… is it because Oxana died?”

Ulrich shook his head.

“No. It is because all actions performed by Oxana have lost their effect.”

Lost their effect?

“Her death is unrelated. Did she not say something similar herself? It was a matter that could not be resolved unless she moved mana by her own will.”

“Then—”

Just as she was about to ask how the magic had been undone, Ulrich approached Lord Matthias.

“It is fine to keep a mage by your side, but when you do, always ensure that someone devoted to the clergy is nearby. Even if not a formal priest, someone sensitive to the flow of mana must keep them in check.”

“It seems I was too careless.”

The lord, who had wrapped his daughter in cloth received from Fritz, let out a deep sigh. In hindsight, the actions of the witch Oxana had been reckless. As Ulrich had said, if someone of the clergy had been nearby, she would have been exposed immediately. Of course, Oxana would have known that and devised another plan.

“As you are aware, our relationship with the Pantheon has become severely strained. Especially after the recent summons decree, the number of clergy remaining in this country has become far too small. Even the monk who was originally here has left.”

He wore a bitter expression.

“That is why I trusted Oxana all the more… but I never expected this…”

“Wait! What do you mean by that? A summons decree?”

Roberta’s voice was filled with confusion. A summons decree? Not just a few individuals, but across all of Osnover? Even holding a position overseeing a diocese, she had never heard such news.

“You have not heard? The Emperor has convened a council over the right to elect the Pope. To divide the authority monopolized by the Kormilius family. Osnover agreed to it, and in retaliation, the Pantheon issued excommunication and a summons decree.”