I walked slowly down the cobbled village road, blending in with the bustle of merchants, mothers carrying their children, and a few men deep in discussion about farming. The familiar scent of wet soil mixed with the warm aroma of freshly baked bread from the ovens. The sky had started showing signs of late afternoon; sunlight slipped through the gaps between sturdy wooden buildings topped with thatched roofs.
I adjusted my expression to appear friendly, occasionally smiling at the people passing along the village's main road. If I wanted information, there was no better way than to mingle with the locals. The church had started taking notice of this village, and I needed to know how far the news had spread.
At the corner of the street, a group of women had gathered, speaking in hushed tones as if discussing something serious. I slowed my steps and listened closely.
"Did you hear about the old woman from the neighboring village?" whispered one of the women, dressed in a worn cloth with her hair tied up haphazardly. "They say she was a witch. The church took her yesterday. She'll never come back."
"That's it?" another woman responded cautiously. "Don't they usually burn witches in the town square?"
"No execution yet. But they say they want a confession first."
I held my breath for a moment. So, the church wouldn't burn someone without getting something out of them. This wasn't just a mindless hunt—there was strategy behind it.
I moved on, careful not to draw attention. As I passed the market, I took a moment to buy apples from an elderly vendor I was familiar with. She smiled when she saw me approach.
"Ah, Miss Joul. Buying more than usual today?"
I nodded and handed over a few coins. "Your fruit is as fresh as always, ma'am. Heard anything interesting in the village lately?"
The woman narrowed her eyes, studying me for a moment before whispering, "A stranger came to the church yesterday. Wore fine clothes and didn't say much. But I know he wasn't just some ordinary priest."
A high-ranking church official, perhaps an inquisitor or a special agent sent to handle serious matters.
I kept my expression neutral. "Thank you, ma'am. I'll come back tomorrow if you still have fresh apples."
She nodded and turned to serve another customer. I walked away, heading down a quieter alley. This village had a distinct layout—houses lined neatly with small yards, some with little farms behind them. I stopped in front of a small stone building with an old, weathered wooden door.
Three knocks, a pause, then two more. The door creaked open, revealing a middle-aged man with a messy beard.
"You're earlier than usual," he said without turning.
I stepped inside and sat on one of the rickety chairs. The air inside was damp compared to outside, filled with the scent of dry grass, firewood, and cheap alcohol.
I shrugged. "The news about the church must be keeping you up at night."
Benard exhaled slowly, eyes squinting as if trying to focus on something far away. "The church never shows up without a reason. This time, they brought a 'cleanser.' That's what's troubling."
"So?" I asked, leaning back.
Benard shrugged. "They didn't send just any priest. He's one of the 'cleaners.' You know what that means."
I sighed. "He's here to hunt witches and eliminate them."
Benard exhaled again, eyes narrowed. "They won't leave until they find their target. Fortunately, they seem to still be searching."
I stroked my chin. That meant I still had time.
I smiled faintly, looking at Benard with mild amusement at his excessive worry. "Afraid they'll dig something up about you?"
Benard shot me a sharp look. "Don't joke about that, kid. I don't want anyone thinking I'm involved with anything they call heresy."
I just gave a soft snort, letting him stew in his own thoughts while I studied him more closely. Benard used to be a heavy drunk, wrecked by the loss of his wife and child. Back then, I saw him as nothing more than a broken man drowning in his own misery—someone I could make use of.
I once practiced my illusion magic by crafting nightmares about his family. I wanted to see how far someone could fall under the weight of a powerful illusion. When Benard hit rock bottom, I approached him and offered myself as a spiritual advisor. He accepted my help, gradually improved, and since then, we've been... partners of sorts. I never felt guilty about how I helped him. It was simply efficiency in action.
"Absolutely infuriating," Benard muttered, snapping me out of my thoughts. "The church always comes under the guise of protecting the people, but all they do is plant fear."
I looked at him, intrigued. "And you, Benard? Are you afraid?"
He took a deep breath before chuckling. "I'm more afraid of you than of them."
I laughed softly, enjoying the honesty. "Good. Stay that way. Because I've got a few questions."
Benard frowned. "About what?"
I gave him a sly smile. "You always cut to the chase, huh? I just want a little consultation."
Benard snorted. "Consultation? You talk like I'm some kind of healer or priest."
I shrugged. "You're better than them. At least you're honest."
He chuckled, though still cautious. "So, what do you want to consult me about?"
I tapped the table with my fingers, choosing my words. "I want to know more about the haunted places in this village."
Benard paused, his gaze sharpening. "Why?"
I smiled casually. "Just curious. If this village has spooky tales, I'd like to know if the church takes them seriously too."
Benard narrowed his eyes. "Shinna, I don't know what you're planning, but I've got a bad feeling about it."
I leaned back and raised my hands. "You're too suspicious. I just want to explore and understand more about… the things beyond our comprehension."
"Things like magic?" he squinted.
I smiled faintly. "Maybe. Maybe not."
Benard sighed heavily. "Alright. There are a few places people say are haunted. The forest north of the village, the ruins of an old chapel by the river, and… an old house near the wheat fields. But I swear, if you cause another mess like at the bar, I'll—"
"Relax, I'll be careful," I cut in quickly, though inside, I was getting even more excited.
Benard rubbed his temples, clearly uneasy. "I've got a bad feeling about this."
I stood up, brimming with enthusiasm. "You always have bad feelings about me, Benard. Maybe this time it won't be as bad as you think."
Before I left, I gave him a curious look.
"I need to know more," I said. "Anything else you've heard lately?"
Benard squinted, frustration flickering in his eyes. He leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm not sure. But I heard something interesting. Some of the folks who saw that magic show at the bar… they started saying weird things. Not just about the gold coin trick, but stuff that wasn't supposed to happen. Some said they saw hands that weren't their own. Others said they lost parts of their memory—like time skipped."
I frowned. That wasn't part of my trick. I was sure of it.
"I didn't even use my magic to its full extent," I muttered internally.
I studied Benard's reaction, trying to gauge whether he was exaggerating or genuinely serious. From his relaxed expression, he didn't seem to be scaring me on purpose—but still… this was unexpected.
My mind started racing, trying to piece together the possibilities. I'd always believed that performance was a blend of skill, psychology, and environmental manipulation. If there were effects I hadn't intended, then two things were possible: either I'd created a stronger illusion than I realized… or something else was influencing the outcome beyond my control.
But no. There's no way I could have such a far-reaching effect. I always planned carefully, ensured minimal risk. But what if I missed something? Something that affected people more than I'd imagined?
Benard watched me with a knowing look. "You don't need to worry… for now. But if you're going to keep playing around with your little tricks, make sure you don't leave too obvious a trail."
I nodded without another word. My thoughts were still tangled, trying to analyze the situation. Maybe it was just mass hysteria—strong suggestion. But... something about it gnawed at me.