Chapter 7 Witch?

Lightning streaked across the sky, making Horn's pale face even paler.

He raised his head slightly, and he could see the rain sliding down the blade of the sword and falling into his eyes.

The sword stopped above Horn's head, only a palm's distance away, but it could no longer be cut down.

Horn dodged the direction where the sword was falling and heard a series of tiny explosions.

He looked up and saw that the tall knight's face was covered with gray-yellow circular spots of varying sizes, with depressions in the center, like small craters.

A blood-red pattern like a branch spread across Barnett's skin like a spider web, extending from his collarbone to his forehead.

Struck by lightning?

Although those who do evil will be punished, it won't come true so soon.

Wait, that's not lightning.

Looking down, Horn saw a pitchfork. The tip of the pitchfork had also melted, leaving only a sharp tine that was emitting a white-blue arc of electricity.

It passed through the knight's fine iron master-grade plate armor, through the knight's solid flesh, and came out from the center of his chest.

A huge hole, big enough to fit a fist, was lying empty on the knight's chest.

Horn could even see the pitchfork pole on the other side through the hole.

The pampered knight Master Barnett slowly lowered his head and looked at the pitchfork sticking out of his chest in disbelief.

Around the edge of the hole made by the pitchfork, black smoke rose and the air was filled with the smell of rotten eggs.

The solid steel edge had turned into a molten state with a dark red luster, and slowly slid down the raised breastplate.

This set of dwarf master armor cost me 30 gold pounds. Before falling heavily to the ground, Barnett was unable to utter his last words in his life - an accusation against the quality of dwarf products.

When Barnett's body fell at his feet, through the smell of meat, Horn finally saw the man holding a pitchfork behind the knight.

"Jean..."

For the first time, Horn called out this word that was extremely familiar to the original owner but extremely unfamiliar to him.

The long black hair turned into gold and swayed left and right at the waist. A foot-long electric snake danced in the air, making a "sizzling" sound.

The girl named Jeanna was like a statue, with a resolute face and a pitchfork in her hand. The hair on her temples moved without wind, making her look like the golden-armored Valkyrie in Norn mythology.

Although he survived the disaster, Horn's joy was not as great as he had expected when he saw Jeanne's appearance.

His brows twitched, and suddenly a term familiar to all the people in the empire emerged in his mind.

"Devil, devil, devil, devil!"

I don't know who shouted this word that shocked everyone present.

The witch is the leader of the three major enemies of Messiah and is known as the king of monsters and evil spirits.

Their tribe consists of only females, who are almost the same as ordinary people at the beginning, but at a certain stage in their lives they suddenly reveal supernatural abilities that are so powerful that they are beyond cognition.

As the chief enemy of Messiah, witches are the most despised, even among the many devils and alien races. It is said that even looking at them will increase one's sin, not to mention touching them.

What caused the witches' reputation to be damaged was their inherited mental illness, the incidence of which was close to 100%. If they were not careful, they would go out of control and become violent.

Horn once heard that there was a down-and-out prince in Norn who once tried to win over the witches in a border town and form a witch army to regain the throne.

Unfortunately, before he could come out, he was burned to death by his first witch wife in the internal strife in the harem.

Along with the six thousand people in the town, they all lost their lives in the sea of ​​fire and the witch's out-of-control.

Recalling this, Horn took two steps back without showing any expression.

It was not until this moment that Jeanne woke up from her dream. She threw away the half-broken pitchfork in her hand as if she had touched a hot potato.

"No, no, I'm not."

With her hands spread out, Jeanna looked down in disbelief. On her arms, there were now crackling blue arcs of electricity coiling around them.

Looking up at the villagers again, Jeanna glanced at them, but did not receive the kind looks she usually received. Instead, she received a chilling look that she had never seen before.

Jeanne became even more panicked. She shook her hands hard, trying to shake off the lightning, but the more anxious she was, the more naughty the electric snakes became, and they refused to dissipate.

"Witch, die!"

Hiding behind the crowd, someone mustered up the courage to shout, followed by a flood of insults.

"Did you see that? She definitely used witchcraft!"

"The devil's lover! The tainted woman!"

"This witch killed the noble knight!"

To Horn's surprise, the villagers who had watched Barnett's evil deeds in silence before were now jumping up and down and cursing.

Across the empire, hatred of witches is a social consensus that transcends race.

In countless stories and literary works, the instigator of the chaos in the court was a witch, the leader of the cult was a witch, and the plague, famine and even earthquake were all curses from the witch.

In the eyes of the lower class people, everything is the witch's fault.

This mentality is like the English and French peasants in the 16th century who believed that the king's touch could cure scrofula. Maybe Barnett was the one who oppressed them, maybe they were scolded as unclean every day and could only be angry but not speak out.

But when the witch who was "extremely evil" in the monks' mouths appeared, they became noble again and were able to insult the witch just as they were insulted as unclean by others.

This is the pride and confidence that Mircella taught them.

Jeanne stood there pale and at a loss, weren't these people her family?

"You, don't you hate this knight Barnett?"

"I helped you kill him, why...why?"

"Uncle Pick, I'm Jeanne, Aunt Alina, look at me, how could I be the devil's lover?"

Aunt Alina took two steps back and hid in the crowd, while Uncle Peak seemed not to hear and continued shouting and screaming.

Jeanne couldn't believe her eyes.

Three years ago, when old Galar passed away, Horn "escaped" to High Castle Town. It was these villagers, the relatives in her mind, who extended a helping hand to her.

Why...it was the same before, why?
"Grandpa Ando, ​​it's me, Jeanne. After my father passed away, I was in the most pain. You came to comfort and take care of me every day. I regard you as my own grandfather. Have you forgotten?"

Unlike Alina and Peak who retreated, Ando was furious.

"Witch, don't slander me. It was Horn... the Saint Grandson who gave me money and asked me to take care of you. When did I become your real grandfather? You are slandering me. Everyone, she is slandering me."

Jeanne's body was a little stiff.

"What? Impossible, impossible." Jeanne murmured, her eyes wide open, "Then you, did you all take the money?"

No one answered.

In the silence, someone was mumbling in a very low voice:

"You keep meddling in other people's business. If you didn't have the money sent by little Galar, who would bother with you..."

Although the sound was small, Jeanna's senses were extremely sensitive after becoming a witch, so she still heard it.

"So, you guys are all lying to me?"

It was like being hit by a sledgehammer, making Jeanna dizzy.

Although she was a witch, she helped them kill Barnett. She had helped the villagers to seek justice many times and helped them resist the unreasonable demands of the armed farmers many times.

She had been harassed by armed peasants countless times, scolded by priests or knights countless times, she should have been respected by the villagers.

According to Jeanna's thinking, they should have hesitated, been afraid, and then been relieved, and finally pretended not to notice and let her escape.

The chivalrous knights in the story, when they committed crimes, were let go by the common people in this way.

But now, what did she see?
There is no sadness or reluctance, no regret or hesitation, only hatred and abuse.

Her dream since childhood was to become a chivalrous knight as described by the bards, to guard her hometown, to do justice and to protect the people. Even if she couldn't do it now, she would start with small things.

Help the disabled in the village to fetch water, harvest, drive away wild boars at the risk of serious injury, work for free, moderate disputes fairly, help the weak, resist the strong, lend money or even give money to debtors...

What’s the point of enduring so much suffering and going through so much pain?
Are knights in the world like Knight Barnett?
Are the people in this world like the villagers of Moulin Rouge Village?
"Den!"

A stone flew past Jeanne's ear.

"Go to hell, witch!"

Blood flowed from Jeanne's ear. She looked at the ground and muttered to herself, "What chivalry! What chivalry! It's fake, fake, all fake! Dad lied to me, you lied to me, everyone lied to me!"

The world before her eyes trembled, and lightning rose from Jeanna's skin again. Her black hair turned golden, and her black eyes turned red.

A piercing scream came from Jeanna's mouth: "I'm not a witch! I'm not, I'm not! I'm not a witch!"

Arcs of electricity streaked across the sky, and the dark clouds in the sky seemed to respond by sending down a bolt of lightning that struck the grass not far away.

The burnt smell reached his nose, and the person who was originally shouting immediately shut up and began to shrink back.

Electric snakes danced, leaving black streaks on the ground. The jays cried alone, echoing the cries of the witch's birth in the mist.

Under the surging lightning, the hair and sweat of the nearby villagers stood up. They pushed each other with terrified looks on their faces.

"The witch has gone mad!"

"Everyone, run away! The witch is about to lose control!"

"What are you afraid of?" An armed farmer stood still, "Don't forget, Master Saint Grandson is still here!"

"Yes, the Holy Grandson is here, what are you afraid of, witch, your death is coming!"

"Oh, I totally forgot about this. It must be the witch's curse."

"Look, look, the Saint Grandson is going to hunt demons."

Horn bent down and secretly picked up the knight's sword. He was about to escape into the forest, but suddenly stopped.

Horn held the sword with difficulty in his hand, expressionless, and slowly turned around, just in time to see Jeanne who also turned around and looked at him.

　p.s. For details about the belief of English and French peasants from the Middle Ages to modern times that the king's touch could cure scrofula, see "The King's Miracle: A Study of the So-called Supernatural Nature of the Royal Power in England and France"

　　
　
(End of this chapter)