To Hill’s surprise, the supposed sorceress didn’t even glance at her. She simply chanted a spell, raised her hand, and hurled a fireball straight into the sky. In an instant, the entire Nord sky blazed crimson.
“What are you doing?!” Hill asked, a trace of panic in her voice.
This could be a signal for the Beastification Sickness patients lurking nearby to attack.
But unexpectedly, the fireball arced through the air and landed squarely on the haystacks surrounding a granary several fields away. Though a thin layer of unmelted snow dusted their surfaces, the highly flammable stacks ignited instantly under the flames.
*What’s her game? Trying to starve us all? This sorceress has a twisted mind!*
Rein ignored the spreading fire. He leaped onto the rooftop, cast one last look at Hill still pinned by Mental Force, then turned and vanished. His next target was clear: Rachel’s prison.
*Cough! Cough!*
Hill finally struggled upright after the Mental Force pressure lifted. With a flick of her wrist, all the metal threads retracted from the daggers back into her sleeves. Her loose nun’s robe was perfect for hiding such mechanisms.
By then, the night watchmen and militiamen arrived—late as ever. But the moment they spotted the burning granary, they completely ignored Hill. Every one of them sprinted toward the flames. To farmers, grain mattered more than anything. Hill knew this well. Yet she suspected the sorceress had done this deliberately… to draw attention… *draw attention…*
A chilling thought struck Hill: *What if there are two sorceresses?* The best way to rescue one would be to distract everyone.
Her mind flashed to Rachel, locked away. Now she was certain—Rachel was the other sorceress.
“No! I have to get there—damn it!”
Her legs still unsteady, Hill forced herself to run toward Rachel’s cell, abandoning the daggers embedded in walls and ground.
***
In the frigid cell, Rachel hugged her knees on a stool, staring at the cold, meager supper on the table. She knew this would be her last meal if no one came to save her. But who would rescue her in this backwater?
“To think I’d fled all the way to the border…” she murmured, resignation filling her eyes.
Ostracized by classmates for allegedly studying forbidden magic, she’d been pressured into dropping out of the Royal First Magic Academy. Yet she never abandoned her dream: to master Life Magic. After cutting ties with her parents, she’d come to this town—only to be branded a sorceress and imprisoned.
*Rachel Roge Fenrir. Eldest daughter of the Fenrir Family—one of the Sacred Empire’s greatest houses. At sixteen, she’d die here, forgotten in some godforsaken village. If her parents knew, they’d likely erase her from existence.*
Just as despair swallowed her whole, a faint magical ripple sounded at the door. The stubborn wooden door—unlocked yet always stiff—crashed down with a thunderous roar. Standing there wasn’t some white knight, but a ragged, petite figure in tattered clothes. A scrap of cloth masked her face, yet Rachel felt she’d seen this stranger before.
Silent, Rein tossed a scroll-shaped magical letter hidden beneath her robes to Rachel.
“Take this. Go to Gloria Academy of Magic.”
“Why…?”
Rachel carefully unrolled the letter. The handwriting was achingly familiar. But when her eyes reached the signature, shock flooded her face, utterly unmasked.
“Graice! Are you… the Prophet of Hope?”
The name “Graice” carried weight among mages. That someone recognized his former title wasn’t surprising.
“I’m not him,” Rein paused, choosing her words carefully. “Just… his apprentice.”
“Why save me?”
“Because you’re a mage. That’s all.”
*The Prophet of Hope…* Now Rachel understood why he bore that name.
