Chapter 46: Chantless Magic

A Touch of Homesickness

The moon was so large. She missed home. After over two hundred years, she still did? Wenger longed for her phone, her computer, and the game she’d anticipated for years. She’d thought that day she’d finally play it, feeling so lucky. Now, it seemed like luck laced with melancholy.

She didn’t want to be a “primitive” anymore. She missed modern life so much ╥﹏╥… Even if these thoughts wouldn’t come true in dreams, her time in this world far exceeded her old one. Wenger was gradually losing the ability to dream those dreams. In a way, she was merely tethering her will to some obsession. It kept her moving forward in this world.

Vick didn’t notice the fleeting sorrow, quieter than the weeping of fallen leaves. Could an undying silver-haired witch return to her homeland? Was immortality still a blessing? Returning his sword to him, Wenger sent the two off, cleaning dishes alone. The moonlight was cold, the autumn evening breeze bleak. She heard the rise and fall of bird calls, looking up but seeing nothing.

Suddenly, she wondered if having a home would make her less lonely. She already had one. Wasn’t Maple Whisper Village her second hometown? But… Wenger shook her head silently—she didn’t mean that. She’d thought about this many times, only to let it fade unresolved. Living with someone, anyone, would be the same. But why was life like this?

The hot water gurgled. She scooped a bucketful into the bathtub. It could’ve been simpler, but Wenger liked doing it this way—or at least, today she did. She needed something tangible. Shedding her clothes, she stepped into the perfectly mixed water. Half her face sank in, gazing blankly at the misty steam rising from the surface.

Time seemed to stop. She still felt eighteen. Perhaps her time truly no longer moved. Like the bubbles on the water’s surface. Her hand moved slowly, as if sneaking unnoticed, scooping a handful of water that quickly slipped away, bubbles vanishing. As if they never existed, only the dampness of her palm proved it happened. As time passed, only she could prove what had been.

She’d realized this long ago, coaxing herself like soothing a little girl. She was one, at least in this life, though carrying the stubborn temper of her last. Boys couldn’t cry, so in this life, she still didn’t. Even when overwhelming sadness surged, she met it with calm. A faint, almost imperceptible madness drifted from her.

Splash…! She stood from the water, large droplets sliding from her fair, graceful form, rolling back into the tub. Barefoot, she stepped onto the room’s floor, a breeze landing before her feet. Huddled at the head of the bed, silver hair cascaded down her back. She just wanted to live well—why was it so hard? Talk of saving the world was a joke, wasn’t it?

Why did she feel worse than usual today? Was it the scene stirring her emotions, or the warmth making her instinctively reject loneliness? It was like accepting darkness only because she’d never seen light. She propped up the corners of her mouth with her hands. Kidding. Hadn’t she thought these things before?

She just let herself vent occasionally. Otherwise, why had she cursed so much before? Now, she’d just found another way. After all, some said she should be more ladylike. Planning to rest, she found herself at midnight sitting at the platform’s table. Peach slept soundly nearby, unflinching as she poked it, now serving as a mat for fruit and snacks. The pink slime, flat and serene, looked like transparent plastic tablecloth.

In a white nightgown, barefoot, she sat at the door until dawn, staring blankly. Until a man in formal attire, sword at his side, rode up in the slanting sunrise. Vick’s eyesight was sharp. Having seen many noble ladies, he quickly averted his gaze at her dazed state, coughing lightly. Realizing belatedly, she feigned calm, ducked inside, and emerged as if nothing happened.

Honestly, her black robe hid her graceful figure. Standing by the river, she whistled. A deep brown horse trotted up unhurriedly. Mounting, she rode slowly to Vick’s side, smiling. “Morning, Mr. Vick.” “Morning.” He nodded, noticing the girl galloping up behind her. “Morning—!” Wenger had taught her that, though Viyi’s greeting was clumsy, mouth stuffed with bread.

Into the Mountains

The group headed to the deep mountains, passing the mines where Wenger scanned with her mental energy. All was well. Further in, human presence dwindled. She sensed the wild instincts of creatures avoiding them. Vick glanced up occasionally, and she followed his gaze. Though nothing was visible from this angle, she guessed his intent. “Is it there?” The snowline wasn’t low—climbing it before would’ve taken time. He nodded. They’d check it out on the way back.

With Viyi, the expedition felt like a trip. No one rushed. Wenger meant to train her, but the girl hadn’t learned much from her. Could she handle forest surprises? Wenger taught little, but maybe Rella had been more thorough. She was so high on Viyi—she wouldn’t hold back. Choosing the right path might matter more than effort.

“Teacher—” Wenger was about to cross the river when Viyi waved from dozens of meters away. “What’s up—?” “Look…” Before she finished, a fish larger than her head leapt from the water, its tail smacking her face. Wenger suppressed a laugh, hearing a similar sound behind her. It wasn’t funny. She’d been mocked like that too. Her slight smile was clearly for Viyi’s sake!

Having seen too much, Wenger rarely laughed unless she couldn’t help it. The girl’s face flushed red with anger, pulling a beam of light from the air and firing it forward. A swift light arrow shot out! Moments later, Viyi waded in, triumphantly holding the fish overhead. “Prayer…?” Vick’s voice carried doubt. Casting without incantations or catalysts… only a Sacred Mark bearer could do that.

He turned his gaze to Wenger. Such a truth was too cruel. As a teacher, would she protect her student at all costs? Vick pondered, revisiting his earlier suspicions. The allure of chantless magic… Perhaps everyone in Maple Whisper Village was hiding something. The two before him might be lost souls chasing “divine arts,” or even ruthless witch cultists. If so, he had no reason not to draw his sword.