Roots and Branches

Only one day remained until the priestess selection.

During this period, Paresha came to the tavern daily for her ritual magic training. Kaelan had commandeered the large dormitory room on the second floor, transforming it into a classroom, now overflowing with stone tablets for carving incantations.

Watching Paresha, ritual knife in hand, painstakingly carve into the stone tablets, Saranya was reminded of her own sullen face as she once struggled with homework.

‘Such tasks were so tedious, one would be too lazy to even copy the answers if provided…’

Kaelan, too, had been anything but idle these past few days, acting as a relentless overseer by Paresha’s side, scrutinizing her every move with the intensity of a parent watching a child:

“Idiot! What in the blazes are you drawing? It looks like a dog’s scrawl! Is that how runes are supposed to be etched?!”

“Ugh… I’m sorry…”

“With your atrocious penmanship, which familiar do you expect to understand this? Zero points! Redraw it!”

Paresha whimpered under the barrage of insults, reaching for a fresh tablet and starting anew, tears welling in her eyes.

Saranya sighed, gently closing the classroom door.

Truthfully, a part of her envied Paresha, who had the privilege of Kaelan’s tutelage and the chance to learn magic. In time, Paresha would undoubtedly become a formidable witch, much like Kaelan herself, wouldn’t she?

But what about her?

Returning to her own room, she spread open the bundle on her table, meticulously inspecting the tools Paresha had acquired at her request.

‘As an ordinary witch hunter, to contend with spellcasters, one always had to rely on such implements…’

There were flash bombs, containing a mixture of sulfur and fluorite powder, with a fuse extending from the neck of each bottle. Ignited and hurled, these would unleash a blinding flash and thick smoke, disorienting a spellcaster’s target acquisition and choking them into silence, unable to utter their incantations.

And then, the magic-sensing crystals—lifesaving devices that would vibrate and glow when magical energy entered their proximity.

Her modified alchemical bracer featured a six-shot revolving cylinder and a firing mechanism, designed to launch paralyzing wrist-darts via spring action. As they were preparing for an arena competition, where casualties were to be avoided, she had refrained from tipping the darts with lethal spider venom.

If only she could procure anti-magic steel and gunpowder in Vero City, she would commission a blacksmith to forge her a flintlock anti-magic rifle. With such a weapon, firing anti-magic projectiles, she could silence any sorcerer with a single shot.

Alas, anti-magic ore was an exceedingly rare resource, known to be found only in her ancestral lands to the north. With the empire now fractured, its northern and southern territories completely isolated, cities like Vero City in the south simply could not obtain such materials. Furthermore, the manufacture and circulation of gunpowder had long been strictly prohibited across various regions, causing all related crafts to fall into stagnation.

Behind these peculiar contraptions lay countless innovations and improvements, forged in the blood-soaked struggles of ordinary witch hunters and spellcasters, who had pitted their lives against one another.

And what of the witch hunters themselves? Theirs was an identity that demanded neither innate talent nor noble lineage. Irrespective of social standing, high or low, anyone could become a witch hunter. With their mortal bodies, they bravely defied demons and monsters, risking their lives in the fight. They were the ones who turned the tide, the last flickering beacon of reason in this dark age.

‘She had been fortunate enough to inherit the mantle of a witch hunter, yet she no longer adhered to their tenets. She no longer considered witches and magic her mortal enemies; she had even entangled herself directly with a witch…’

‘Alas…’

Her sole hope was that her choice proved correct, that Kaelan, once she became the true power in Vero City, would indeed transform it into the sanctuary she promised.

Vero City was running out of time. Magic storms struck without warning, dark creatures proved ferocious and cunning, and the demonic plague that had originated in the Northlands had already devoured the entire empire, destined to soon spread to the very gates of Vero City.

Therefore, if Kaelan truly possessed the ability to survive, and moreover, to protect a multitude of others, then everything she, as a glorious Night Lily Knight, had sacrificed would prove worthwhile.

She trusted Kaelan, and she was acutely aware of the risks inherent in such trust.

Yet, she was willing.

Saranya put away her bundle, her mood likewise settling.

While Kaelan and Paresha continued their arduous efforts, Saranya, too, had her own vital tasks to attend to:

The Redwater Tavern was opening its doors today.

If Paresha and the priestess selection represented the burgeoning tendrils of their influence reaching upward, then the tavern and the gang constituted the very roots anchoring them in Vero City. Saranya was determined to ensure their foundation remained unshakable.

For safety’s sake, Saranya had instructed Haru to bring his men to the establishment and maintain order, preempting any potential troublemakers.

To draw in a larger clientele, she had dipped into Pylo’s funds, hiring a group of street urchins to shout promotions through the thoroughfares, ensuring widespread publicity. She even had Aquilis stand at the main entrance, holding a sign proclaiming, [Pretty Girls Inside!], and personally carried a jug of their signature ruby-red mead, randomly pouring samples for passersby.

Following this flurry of activity, the entire street where the tavern stood was utterly swamped with pedestrians.

“Hey, proprietress! How come there aren’t any girls serving customers anymore?”

A customer began to grumble,

“Aye, the ale tastes as good as ever, but there are no lassies to wait on us! It’s not right!”

The closure of the tavern’s erotic services was not born of financial calculation, but purely from Saranya’s personal pursuit of righteousness. Naturally, ever since making this decision, she had anticipated customer dissatisfaction, and thus had pre-emptively instructed her subordinates to deliver a unified explanation:

“We’re not doing that anymore, we’re scared! We wouldn’t dare steal business from Harold’s bathhouse, would we?”

With this sly dig, the blame was effectively shifted entirely onto the Weinshield family.

“Harold? Harold Weinshield! Damn it, that bastard’s shoddy bathhouse is so expensive, and he’s ruining other people’s livelihoods too!”

“Exactly! We poor folk could only afford the girls at Redwater Tavern, and he wants to suppress even that! He won’t let us enjoy ourselves! What a goddamn scoundrel!”

‘Heh heh, let them curse. Let them curse with all their might. It’s all the Weinshield family’s fault; her Redwater Tavern, after all, was devoted wholeheartedly to its customers’ well-being.’

To further boost revenue, Saranya had also renovated the private rooms on the tavern’s first floor, elevating their quality and increasing their prices. Drawing upon her own practical experience, she deemed the privacy of these rooms paramount. Thus, beyond mere curtains, she had installed additional heavy wooden doors and stationed enforcers from the Silver Hand Gospel Society nearby, ready to provide bodyguard services should customers require them.

In this manner, the boisterous clamor outside the private rooms seemed to become a protective cover, contrasting sharply with the secluded tranquility within, transforming the Redwater Tavern into an even more ideal venue for negotiations and clandestine meetings.

‘Within such well-sealed spaces, customers would undoubtedly be more inclined to discuss ‘private’ and ‘confidential’ matters. Following this logic, couldn’t the Shadowscale Gang’s professional informants then be invited to take up residence? That would be yet another stream of income…’

With money flowing steadily into their coffers, maintaining this momentum would soon see the Redwater Gang restored to its former strength of over a hundred members. Once their numbers swelled, the issue of organizational structure would demand attention.

Previously, the Redwater Gang’s members were dispersed and lacked cohesion, prone to disintegration whenever a major crisis arose. Saranya intended to fundamentally alter this state of affairs.

The solution was simple enough: provide unified living quarters and activity spaces for the gang members. Kaelan possessed Hillburg Manor, did she not? Since it lay vacant, why not house everyone there, directly converting the manor into a sprawling compound!

Though the term ‘compound’ might sound somewhat suspicious, in this era, if Saranya could provide a residential compound offering food, lodging, and immunity from external threats, it would be akin to an act of charity… enough to boost the morale of the gang members—no, the *employees*—to their absolute maximum!

These employees would arrive at the compound with their families in tow, ensuring that the idle land both within and surrounding the manor could be fully utilized. They would first achieve self-sufficiency through farming and animal husbandry, then gradually engage in profitable activities such as leatherworking, brewing, and weaving, generating value for their mistress and bringing Hillburg Manor to full operational capacity, thereby establishing a second enterprise independent of the Redwater Tavern…

“Saranya, what are you grinning foolishly about?”

“Ah! Master, I didn’t see you there…”

Kaelan leaned against the private room’s doorframe, her gaze falling upon Saranya within.

“Paresha’s ‘companions’ have arrived. You are to form a team and fight in the arena, so go and familiarize yourselves with one another.”

“I understand. Thank you for taking the trouble, Master, to inform me personally…”

Saranya offered her gratitude, which Kaelan accepted with a chilling indifference, before adding softly,

“Then, once the tavern closes at midnight, come find me in the cellar. And don’t bother with clothes.”

Saranya’s heart gave a sudden, violent lurch.

“H-h-how… All right…”