This is a story that takes place in a very...

Smack!

Hey, why’d you hit me? (Covers face) [Aggrieved]

Get to the point! [Serious]

Oh, right, right... (Shrugs) [Helpless]

Mm, okay. Well, as you good folks can see, I’m not allowed to ramble too much. Heh heh heh...

In short, it’s a voyager’s journey in search of straw, I suppose~

May 14, Year 426 of the Lord

Kingdom of Intis, Innsmouth Village

This was an extremely backward little village. It was so backward that the people of the Kingdom of Intis could push the very thought that “we still have this village in our territory” right out of their minds.

At a glance, all you could see in Innsmouth Village were somewhat barren fields and rows of low, dilapidated wooden huts and thatched cottages with withered-yellow roofs.

The villagers all wore coarse, patched clothes. Even the wealthiest among them lived only a little more comfortably than ordinary folk.

Of course, this village was nothing like the legendary little fishing village once blessed by an ancient god. Its people lived inland, and there were no villagers who looked like fish-people, nor any strange statues or patterns.

Still, there was one thing about this place that was much like that little fishing village.

A stifling atmosphere hung over everything. It was as if the sky and earth were only an arm’s length apart here, pressing down on people until they could hardly breathe.

It was as if an airtight, invisible wall stood between people. Even when they met someone they knew, they were stingy with their smiles.

It was as though some invisible terror surrounded the place.

But today, Innsmouth Village wasn’t gloomy. It was bustling.

Nearly every villager who was able to leave home had poured into the streets. The excitement was so intense that you might’ve thought harvest season had come early.

They were all headed to the same place: the open ground at the center of the village. There stood only a somewhat dilapidated little church and an old tree that had kept it company for years.

The church had been built from a kind of pitch-black wood that looked as if it had been struck by lightning. Though it appeared battered and scorched, a hint of life remained within it.

The tree was blackened too, and looked like a dancer in the throes of an epileptic fit. Its trunk and branches twisted at unnatural angles, and not a single leaf clung to it.

The buildings around the church stood far away, arranged in a protective circle that left plenty of space around it.

Today, though, a stake had been erected in front of the church.

Firewood was piled around it, guarded by the village militia. They were thin, but their expressions were utterly solemn and devout, as if what they were doing was the most important thing in their lives.

“Witch! Witch!”

“They’re executing a Witch today!”

“Hurry, hurry, let’s go see! It’s a Witch!”

“Ah, I knew it! I was wondering why there’d been so many disasters lately. Looks like that Witch was behind them all!”

“Damn hag! I’ve been wanting to see them go to hell for ages!”

...

The villagers’ words spread quickly, like a plague sweeping through all of Innsmouth Village.

Rare fervor lit the villagers’ faces. They jostled shoulder to shoulder, calling out to one another as they went to welcome this unusual...

festival.

“Witches...”

Through a gap between the stones and wood, the girl watched the crowd outside in silence.

She was very short, with a sallow complexion. She looked as if she’d been malnourished for a long time. Her clothes were patched in several places, and she had no shoes. Her dirty little feet were covered in wounds, mud, and calluses. Her shoulder-length black hair was tied back in a messy knot so it wouldn’t get in her way.

She was terribly inconspicuous. Compared to the other children her age, her circumstances and appearance could only be called pitiful.

But she had a pair of beautiful eyes, black as jade and pure as the night sky, as if Heaven had given them to make up for how ordinary she was.

“Are there really people called Witches in this world? That’s so strange. Ah... ah... achoo!”

Muttering strange words, the girl felt a tickle in her nose. She lowered her head and sneezed.

“Why’d I sneeze, too...? This isn’t good. If I get sick as well, who’ll look after Uncle...?”

“Witch!”

“Witch!”

“Witch!”

Gradually, the shouts outside became more unified, almost like a pledge or a chant. The usually silent, oppressive little village of Innsmouth had actually been set ablaze by a single word.

Even someone in a deep sleep would’ve woken up to the commotion outside.

“Cough... cough, cough...”

It was a middle-aged man’s cough, tired and weak. It sounded as unpleasant as a broken bellows being forced to pump. “What’s going on outside?”

“Ah! Uncle, did we wake you?”

The girl’s reply was a little flustered. “Don’t move around. You haven’t recovered yet!”

Inside the dilapidated wooden hut, the girl struggled to lift the water jug from the corner. Hugging the jug, which was half as tall as she was, she poured a little water into a bowl and carried it over to her uncle.

“Uncle, have some water first. It’ll soothe your throat.”

The man lying in bed looked to be in his forties or fifties, with a touch of age about him. Fatigue and weakness weighed on his brow. There wasn’t a trace of flesh on his arms; his old skin stretched tight over bone.

And yet, he was only twenty-nine.

He raised his head with difficulty and braced himself against the edge of the stone bed. After swallowing a mouthful of water, he stopped drinking.

“That’s enough, child. Uncle doesn’t need any more.”

Though he was in an absolutely terrible state, this country bumpkin—who looked to be in his forties or fifties but was really only twenty-nine—affectionately patted the girl’s head. “You should drink more. Look, your lips are cracked. You can’t go without water.”

“I know, Uncle. I know my own body.”

The girl gave him a playful smile. “You’re the one who needs to get better soon, Uncle.”

In truth, the cracks in her lips had long since split down to the flesh. She was used to the numbness by now, but whenever she licked her lips or did anything else that touched them, the sharp pain always made her frown.

But now wasn’t the time to worry about that.

The girl knew that the suffering her uncle was going through was far worse than anything she had to endure.

“By the way, child, you still haven’t told me...”

Her uncle managed a faint smile. “What’s happening outside?”

“Oh, it’s probably nothing much,”

the girl said after a moment’s thought. “I heard people saying something about executing a Witch, but I couldn’t make out the details.”

“A Witch? Cough, cough, cough... A Witch!”

Who would’ve thought that one word would make her uncle nearly “sit bolt upright on his deathbed”? “It’s a Witch?!”

“Uncle John! Don’t get up! Lie back down, lie down, lie down...”

The girl helped John lie back down and patted his back. “Uncle, don’t get worked up. Your health comes first...”

“No, I can’t!”

But this time, Uncle John ignored her advice and struggled to get up. “The execution of a Witch is the most meaningful event in our village! I can’t miss it over a little sickness!”

“Uncle...”

“Leticia, help me up!”

A fervent, unfamiliar light shone in John’s eyes. “I have to go. In a time like this, we’ve caught a Witch and are going to execute her. This is God’s revelation and His will!”

“After this, the Lord will surely bless us!”

A revelation? His will?

Leticia instinctively wanted to argue, but as she watched Uncle John struggle to sit up, her expression shifted several times. In the end, she sighed and obediently did as he asked.

After pulling on his clothes, John’s thin, pole-like body swayed twice. Leticia hurriedly caught his arm and used herself as a crutch, helping her uncle out the door.

As she supported him, Leticia kept her head lowered. She saw the sores on her uncle’s legs and the terrible, twisted scars on the foot that had only four toes left.

But Uncle John’s excitement kept rising. Like the villagers around them, his eyes burned with a flame Leticia had never seen before.

It frightened her a little.

“Come on, we need to move faster, Leticia!”

Uncle John said, “If we’re late, we won’t get to see the whole execution!”

The execution...

Leticia’s expression shifted slightly. She said nothing, simply took hold of her uncle again and quickened her pace a little as they headed for the open ground at the center of the village.

“Witch! Witch! Witch! Witch!...”

When they arrived, the villagers’ loud, remarkably unified shouts filled her ears. The crowd was in an uproar, packed shoulder to shoulder, arms raised as they shouted, as if letting out emotions they’d bottled up for a long time.

To the girl, this was an emotion called “madness”—the most terrifying plague of all, spreading from villager to villager.

“Witch! Witch! Witch! Witch!...”

The shaking of the body she was supporting made Leticia look up.

She saw that her usually calm and gentle uncle, John, had been swept up in the frenzy. He raised his free arm and shouted the word along with everyone else.

Witch...

The girl wrinkled her nose. Instinctively, she felt disgusted and afraid of the place.

She was too small to see past the crowd in front of her, but she knew that this so-called “Witch execution” would soon reach its climax.