As Odilia glared at the man with an expression mingled with bewilderment and fury, the man shrugged his shoulders as if to ask what the problem was.
“This, as you see, is the Hammer of Witches. Are you unaware of it?”
As the man spoke, the book in her hand opened on its own. Then, like pages being whipped by a strong wind, they flipped furiously. It was as if an invisible presence was hastily searching for a specific phrase, forcing the Great Witch to involuntarily throw the book onto the table.
However, the book neither bounced nor closed; it continued to flip pages, just as it had in her hands, until it stopped at a blank page.
But a blank page isn’t nothing—it’s merely preparation for something to be written.
The once translucent page began to fill with black ink, forming the shape of Latin words hastily scribbled with a quill.
Without realizing it, the Great Witch read those words aloud.
“In the name of God…”
A white light burst forth from the book.
It resembled sunlight but carried a heat closer to madness than warmth. The light briefly took the form of a cross before dispersing like mist. As it scattered, it clung to the walls of the café, creating a barrier.
Once the barrier was formed, the café’s appearance began to change.
The guests who had previously existed disintegrated into pieces, turning into insects that stuck to the ceiling. The staff turned into expressionless mannequins. The bright and cheerful café atmosphere became oppressively stifling and humid, with stains appearing where there had once been cleanliness. The pleasant smell of coffee transformed into the pungent odor of mold, and the windows, previously showing the outside world, were now coated with a mysterious black substance, turning them into mirrors.
The café had become a sealed room.
A place where no one could enter, nor leave.
“Maleficos non patieris vivere.”
The man, holding the book like a priest, declared.
His demeanor was exactly like that of a preacher delivering a sermon—so devout, so trustworthy.
It was impossible for those who heard his sermon not to echo his words.
“The Lord hath said!”
“Thou shalt not suffer a maleficus to live!”
The mannequins chanted.
With one hand reaching upward and faces devoid of features, they drew ears and mouths with insects to proclaim their cries. Each time the mannequins shouted, the insects moved and reshaped themselves, creating bizarre sounds that echoed throughout the café.
“What is a maleficus?”
“It is a creature that mocks God!”
“One who associates with idols, worships them, and performs rituals to them!”
The shadow stretching along the walls answered.
Using the flickering light of the café’s fixtures as its base, the shadow stretched and morphed, forming mouths and ears, swaying as it spoke.
A sound heard not by ears, but by the soul.
The chilling, heavy intent delivered through the shadows clearly reached both the man and the Great Witch.
“Those who lead people into spiritual ignorance. Idol worshipers who stray from God. Creatures who taint all with sin, whose corruption spreads wickedness and misfortune to those they encounter. God proclaims such beings to be evil witches.”
The man shouted.
“You shall not suffer an evil witch to live (Maleficos non patieris vivere)!”
“Maleficos non patieris vivere!”
“Maleficos non patieris vivere!”
“Maleficos non patieris vivere!”
Echoes resounding from every corner of the café. Tables spawned spirits, which performed grotesque dances. Shadowy humanoid forms emerged from the walls, swaying and repeating cries, while the faceless mannequins, using insects to form mouths, shouted again and again.
“But we must not put the innocent to death, for justice demands order.”
The man grasped the air.
A small wooden hammer decorating the café flew into his hand.
“Hereby, in the name of God, this trial commences. No sin will violate this sacred ground!”
“Divine trial!”
“Divine trial!”
“You insane Holy Sorcerer!”
Odilia burned with fury. She rose abruptly, grabbing her handbag, and summoned immense power coursing beneath her skin. Permeated sweat laden with pheromones burst forth, and her temperature rose as her body flushed red. Her heart, usually steady, thudded wildly, while her blood circulated powerfully, boosting her vitality.
That’s right.
Vitality.
The power that witches use in witchcraft is none other than vitality.
The force that determines the health and lifespan of all living beings.
That which enables the world to transform into miracles.
“Would you dare attack me? Do you think creating this pathetic barrier can kill me?”
Odilia screamed, her voice fierce and terrifying, piercing ears and scrambling minds to anyone who heard it. However, the man merely stood there, calmly looking at her even as she summoned her vitality and unleashed her wrath.
No, he wasn’t merely watching; his gaze was almost warm, full of benevolence.
“Hahahaha. I have no intention of attacking you now.”
The man’s demeanor shifted.
From the boyish tone of an innocent youth to that of an ancient elder who had seen every battle, and from a pure, clear atmosphere to one deep, dark, and unpredictable, like a swamp.
His face, clothes, and body—nothing about his physical form had changed. Yet the transformation in his presence was so profound, so alien.
Because it diverged so sharply from his earlier innocent appearance.
Odilia couldn’t help but stare, forgetting her anger.
“Therefore, contain your vitality and return to your seat.”
The man spoke to the dazed Odilia this way.
His tone was so peaceful. As if he truly believed Odilia could not harm him. Or perhaps he simply knew she could not.
This attitude sufficiently provoked Odilia, who, as the fire of her rage reignited, sat glaring at the man with an intent to kill.
The man, undeterred by her malevolent gaze, continued to look at her while holding the book.
“Contain your vitality, have I not asked?”
A tone of absolute authority, far from any form of request.
Enraged by his unbearable arrogance, Odilia deployed witchcraft.
“Who do you think you are, you insignificant Holy Sorcerer!”
The synergy of vitality and will enables the manifestation of miracles. The witchcraft she summoned seeped into the chair and table where the man sat.
This power would transform the table into a monstrous shape, making it her loyal servant to tear him apart.
Indeed.
She must tear him apart.
“…You.”
“Why isn’t it working?”
The man chuckled mockingly. His smirk bore resemblance to the expression Odilia had initially directed at him.
—
The origin of witches is not accurately documented.
Some say female druids migrating to the European continent underwent transformation, and others claim a ‘first witch’ discovered a systematic rule that evolved into witchcraft. Some argue witchcraft stems from its resemblance to alchemy, originating from the Arab world, while others point to the quest for youth, suggesting it came from China. There are even those who argue witchcraft was simply a crude imitation of forces gained through contracts with transcendent beings.
However, what is certain is that witches, through the power of witchcraft, seek eternal youth.
Witchcraft is the ability to use vitality as energy.
More precisely, it’s the power to carve vitality with intent, manifesting the force of ‘change’.
To move inanimate objects as if they were alive, to transform plants and animals into monstrous guardians, or to combine substances extracted from living beings into medicines.
While alchemy changes inanimate objects, witchcraft changes living beings.
Of course, since it affects life forms, uncontrolled transformations can occur. So much so that the phrase ‘witch’s cauldron’ emerged to describe chaos and uncertainty.
And these uncontrollable mishaps, known to witches as “fairy pranks” (variables), have sometimes resulted in calamities. A disease-fighting medicine might turn into a terrible plague, an intended fertilizer into a poison that could kill twenty strong men from a single drop, or an attempt to enhance a pet into creating a monstrous abomination.
Such accidents weren’t major problems for witches. It was difficult to kill a witch with mere poison or disease when they brimmed with vitality, and even if a pet turned monstrous, it would rarely overcome a witch’s near-mythical regenerative capabilities. They could reattach severed heads within hours or regrow entire limbs with their vitality.
Yet what might be manageable for a witch does not always remain so for others.
Poison.
Disease.
Monsters.
The results of witches’ mistakes often slipped beyond their control, affecting ordinary people.
Transported by water or wind, or hiding in animals, they moved.
Poison harmed and desiccated lives and land.
Disease wracked families and neighbors with pain.
Monsters merged into the night’s shadows, attacking and becoming symbols of dread.
Of course, these incidents weren’t common. Fairy pranks were rare; even when they happened, witches usually resolved them immediately.
But if even one in a hundred or one in a thousand cases slipped through and harmed people…
Perception formed, and perception hardened into prejudice.
This prejudice simmered under the powerful might of witches, morphing into resentment.
The amassed anger turned to hatred, and the hatred finally erupted.
A witch hunt ensued.
Back then, those called ‘Saints’ or ‘Seers’—holy sorcerers—raised their swords against witches.
