Hecate’s Counsel and a Shattered Reflection

As Iordera began to recount her tale, the tension in her heart gradually eased.

Hecate, a witch who truly lived up to her reputation as one of the world’s paramount beings, possessed an intellect that soared to the heavens.

Even with all her formidable powers sealed away, she deduced Iordera’s true identity from mere snippets of conversation and subtle details.

A more crucial factor, however, was the inherent connection she shared with this very puppet body.

“The story goes like this: once upon a time, there was a female police officer—or rather, a female patrol guard—named Starling.

In the end, Hannibal escaped, but Starling successfully apprehended the killer, and the lambs within her heart finally fell silent.”

Having concluded her narrative, Iordera watched Hecate’s reaction in silence.

“So,” Hecate mused for a long moment, “Hannibal made his escape using a piece of a pen?”

“Yes, but is that truly your only concern?” Iordera retorted, her lips curling in a displeased pout. “The protagonist Starling’s story was undeniably more captivating.”

Hecate let out a soft, low chuckle. “That escape was certainly thrilling, but it offers little practical insight for my own situation.”

She raised a hand, gesturing towards the six runic chains that bound her, fastened immovably to the wall.

“These chains cannot be severed even by Sir Olcott’s black sword, much less by a mere pen.”

Iordera scoffed, “Naturally.”

Otherwise, I wouldn’t have dared to tell you this story in the first place.

“Nonetheless, you are correct; the protagonist Starling’s journey was also exceptionally compelling.”

Despite Hecate’s words, Iordera remained unconvinced. “You’re not merely saying that to elicit a sense of camaraderie from me, are you?”

She was, after all, an adult, not so easily deceived.

Hecate offered a soft smile. “Influenced by her upbringing, Starling harbored a profound sense of justice and compassion for the vulnerable from a young age.

However, when her father was killed in the line of duty during her childhood, she discovered that the justice she so fervently believed in was not always upheld.

Then, one night at a slaughterhouse, Starling attempted to rescue a lamb destined for slaughter, yet ultimately failed.

The bleating of that lamb echoed in her heart ever since.

Her father’s death on a night of duty, and her own spirit, seemed to perish within that slaughterhouse.

It wasn’t until she matured into a guard and encountered a case that baffled everyone else that she found herself truly tested.

The victim, held captive by the perpetrator, was akin to a helpless lamb, destined to die in silent despair.

Starling refused to surrender.

She believed this was her path to redemption; by saving this lamb, the one screaming within her own heart would finally find peace.

For this, she toiled with unparalleled fervor and desperation, willing to employ any means necessary.

In the end, she successfully upheld the justice she so deeply believed in, thereby redeeming the part of herself that had lingered in the slaughterhouse.”

Well, wasn’t that something? She articulated it with such eloquence, as if delivering a profound film critique.

Convinced, Iordera conceded, “It appears our perspectives are actually quite… quite similar.”

Yet, hearing herself say it, she couldn’t help but feel as though she were a nascent witch herself…

“Ahem, ahem, the story is concluded.

Shouldn’t you now fulfill your promise?”

Hecate uttered a few succinct words: “The Continental United Academy.”

“What?”

“It is the continent’s foremost institution of learning, personally established by my teacher.

Her manuals and journals are archived on the uppermost floor of its library.

If you seek them out, you should discover the crucial clues you need.”

Iordera blinked, “So, I’ll have to attend school?”

“Not at all.

Students are not granted access to the library’s uppermost archives,” Hecate clarified. “However, if you were to apply for a position as a library administrator, that might prove a viable path.”

Iordera nodded approvingly. “That sounds rather promising.”

Earning money while working, and concurrently investigating her own identity—it truly was an excellent arrangement.

“Oh, by the way, where exactly is this Continental United Academy located… Never mind, I’ll inquire about it myself when I’m out.”

Iordera rose to her feet. “I need to fetch your lunch now.”

Upon Iordera’s return with the meal, Hecate, rather than immediately eating, continued their conversation. “My dear, it seems to me that you are in no particular hurry to depart.”

Iordera looked bewildered. “What do you mean? I still have to bring you dinner tonight, so naturally, I’m not rushing away…”

“I’m referring to Junefort (TL Note: The name of the city/fortress, likely a place name.),” Hecate clarified. “You’re not eager to leave this place, even with the academy now as your objective.”

Iordera paused, perplexed, then scratched her head. “Perhaps it’s because I finally found such a good job—it’s easy, the pay is excellent, and besides, I know absolutely no one elsewhere…”

“Is that truly the case? Then why do you seem so dispirited each day? What is it you truly seek to gain in Junefort?” Hecate interjected once more. “As I told you before, something weighs heavily on your mind.”

Iordera let out a wry chuckle. “Of course not.

You’re overthinking things.”

“Very well then.

We shall speak of it when you are ready.”

Hecate fell silent, proceeding to eat her lunch with an air of refined elegance.

The entire afternoon drifted by in an uneventful calm.

Even as Iordera finished her shift, the witch offered no further words.

****

Later, as she went to collect her wages, Sir Olcott suddenly addressed her. “You needn’t return tomorrow.”

The familiar turn of phrase sent a sudden pang through Iordera’s chest.

‘No way,’ she thought. ‘Fired by a ruthless boss in my previous life, and now, after only a few days in this other world (TL Note: A common web novel trope referring to a fantasy or alternate world, often called ‘isekai’ in Japanese media.), I’m about to be sacked again?’

“I’ve observed that she has spoken to you rather extensively, which is not ideal,” Sir Olcott stated, his voice low. “This is also for your own safety.”

While Iordera could grasp his reasoning, a lingering thought persisted…

“But I feel perfectly fine,” Iordera countered, rubbing her hands together. “She didn’t seem to harbor any significant malice towards me.

Besides, we had an agreement for seven days of work.”

Her primary reluctance, of course, stemmed from the considerable sum of money she stood to lose.

Without further ado, Sir Olcott produced twelve gold coins and offered them to her. “I’ll compensate you for an additional two days.”

“In that case, there’s no issue,” Iordera declared, swiftly pocketing the coins. “Boss Olcott, you truly are a good man.”

It was probably for the best that she was leaving.

This witch was far from simple; she had deduced Iordera’s true identity in just a single day.

Another two days of conversation, and who knew, Hecate might have even managed to ‘pua’ her (TL Note: ‘PUA,’ derived from ‘Pick-Up Artist,’ is a Chinese internet slang term referring to emotional manipulation, gaslighting, or psychological control.).

As Iordera walked homeward, her spirits soared.

With an extra ten thousand coins in her purse and two fewer days of work, she couldn’t imagine a happier outcome.

Passing a clothing store, she instinctively glanced inside, her gaze falling upon a mirror.

The beautiful, white-haired loli reflected there offered a faint smile, yet her brows were subtly, unconsciously furrowed.

‘You’ve always been dispirited, something weighs on your mind, perhaps even unbeknownst to yourself.’

For some inexplicable reason, Hecate’s words suddenly echoed in her mind.

Bang!

The clothing store’s mirror shattered into countless fragments, and clothes racks tumbled every which way.

Startled, Iordera recoiled a step.

Upon closer inspection, she realized a group of masked figures had stormed into the shop.

They proceeded to smash items indiscriminately before seizing a clerk who hadn’t managed to escape.

“Where’s the money? Hand it all over!”

“All the money is in the boss’s strongbox! I’m just a sales assistant; I can’t open it,” the clerk wailed, tears streaming down their face. “Please, I beg you, let me go!”

“No money, yet you still expect to keep your life?”

The masked man, incensed, raised his blade, ready to strike.

Suddenly, a forceful gust of wind assailed him.

He instinctively brought his knife up to block, and the sharp machete clashed against a small elbow, producing a jarring clang of metal.

‘Wait, an elbow?’