The Wandering Witch VOL. 2 - The Witchfolk Genocide Arc

11| A Lurking Darkness

( 11 )

    The awaited time was slowly nearing.

    Outside the view of the window where she was sitting close to, darkness had encapsulated over the continent of Terrall. The low hum of the night befell on the lands as creatures of the dark began to rouse and people began to retreat in the comfort of their homes, welcoming sleep after a tiring day. A listless expression passed over her face as her eyes flickered over to the dim-lit sky, searching past the drifting clouds. High above, a waning moon was visibly clear, blanketing the earth with a faint silver light, simultaneously illuminating her figure. She stared at it intently, frozen in her position. Her hand rested on her chin.

    A little more..., she mused. Just a little more...

    "Milady." A voice, soft and deliberate, called from the shadows and snapped her out of her thoughts. She did not respond immediately and instead continued to gaze outside. Then, a moment later, she turned to face the owner of the voice hidden in the shadows of the vast room.

    "Hmm..," she finally mused, tone light. "Yes, my Raven. What is it?"

    A slight pause ensued. Then, a person quietly stepped forth into the beams of the moonlight.

    A handsome young man with a thin build revealed himself before the woman. At a first glance, he looked of age well in his early adulthood. His midnight-colored hair was tied up in a short ponytail, revealing the rough outline of his face. A single scar trailed upward from his chin to his cheek. His sharp eyes were dyed in a deep hue of crimson that seemed to glow in the darkness, looking like the color of fresh blood. A slight tan accented his skin tone, hinting that he may have originated from the Eastern lands, even farther. The young man was also dressed in clothes of dark shades. He had on a black long-sleeved shirt, a pair of pants rolled at the knees, and thick leather boots.  Two swords were sheathed by the side of his hip. If it was not for the droplets of fresh blood dripping from his face, he could have easily been mistaken for an honest-looking mercenary.

    The bloodied young man—-The Raven, as he was called-—bowed respectfully to her before continuing to speak. "I've finished the task," he said. "The master of the house has his head hanging in front of the window. I've also taken care of the, ah... others."

    "I see. Excellent work as always," the woman praised halfheartedly, her sight trailing over to the pool of blood on the carpet a few feet away. Her eyes flickered at the lifeless and pale hand peeking from the rest of its mangled corpse hidden in the darkness. Then, she turned away to look out the window again, seemingly unaffected by the dead body before her.

    "Is there anything else?" she inquired after a while, noticing that the Raven was still there.

    He quieted for a moment. "... It is as you predicted, milady. Only two days have passed since the disturbance in the kingdom of Uldard, and yet the rumors have already reached as far as Aurden. The corpse of the hunter found in the alley has spiked fear and hatred among the Mortalfolk. They are agitated. It is... only a matter of time before the scale reaches its tipping point and looses its balance."

    "Hm..." She trained her eyes once more at the moon, the look in them brightening for a split second. "I see. What marvelous results, then. By this single event, people will start to be wary... And that wariness will turn into fear, and that fear into hatred, and then that hatred into chaos. Thanks to this, our plans have taken a step yet closer to our goal. How wonderful!" She looked at him. "Tell me, my Raven... who was it that caused this again?"