>> Chapter 05: Secrets And The Awakening
The night had fallen over the Frontier Village, a few hours after the battle against the demonic beasts. The cold wind howled outside, carrying snowflakes that beat against the windows of the inn. Inside the simple room, the air was warm thanks to the small fireplace crackling in the corner. The wooden walls creaked lightly with the wind.
Radan was sitting on the bed, counting the few silver coins he had received as a reward for his performance in the battle. He had been promoted to leader of the militia, ranking just below Iron Axe, the fierce hunter with the musket.
Nightingale was leaning against the opposite wall, twirling her dagger between her fingers with a distracted air. Her violet eyes observed Radan with a mix of amusement and curiosity.
"You seem to regret joining that militia." She said, breaking the silence with a provocative tone.
Radan raised his gaze, frowning. "Tch... I thought I'd earn a good amount of coins by being part of it, but unexpectedly the reward for joining the militia was just and only getting some eggs for lunch..."
Nightingale let out a short laugh, her lips curving into a smile. "Getting some eggs isn't a small reward, you know? Especially in a time like this, in a small village like this, where food is scarce, and hunger is more dangerous than the demonic beasts... In this time, any food is worth gold."
He sighed, letting the coins fall back into the small leather pouch. Thinking about it, it really was a great reward. For a small village like this, isolated and fighting against the cruel winter, money didn't abound. Food, on the other hand, was essential. In a medieval period like this, where most of the population could barely get a decent meal a day, some fresh eggs were a luxury.
"Yeah... you're right." He murmured, scratching the back of his neck. "But now, with this promotion, at least I got these silver coins. It's enough to pay for this room and a bit more. And it seems the prince values me highly, after my skillful work with the arrows today."
Nightingale crossed her arms, still smiling from the corner. "Skillful? You mean those arrows that seemed guided by the wind? Be careful not to draw too much attention... Not everyone is blind."
She obviously knew he was using his magical power to somehow guide and increase the penetration power of those arrows. Because just as he had his telekinetic sense, she also had a magical sense that could see anyone who had magical power and was using it.
Radan shrugged, but felt a slight shiver remembering how he had used his telekinesis to guide the shots. No one had noticed anything abnormal, because what he was doing could still be explained as someone who had great skills with the bow and arrow.
Then he leaned back against the wall and changed the subject, leaning forward with genuine curiosity.
"Alright, leave that aside. Explain to me better about this awakening process you mentioned before. What's happening with that witch named Anna now?"
Nightingale stopped twirling the dagger, her face becoming more serious. She sat on the worn chair beside the fireplace, her eyes reflecting the dancing flames.
"The awakening is when the magic manifests completely, when it reaches its peak and stabilizes. It's a process that every witch goes through, usually at adulthood, and it's one of the reasons why we're seen as... aberrations by so many people. But some witches, like Anna, are different. They can use their powers even before the awakening, although it's unstable and dangerous."
The awakening of most witches happens in the months of the demon, which is when rumors say that the gates of hell open.
Normally, "maturing" for a witch is the dividing line between her and a normal woman. Because a woman who doesn't awaken at 18 years old has no possibility of becoming a true witch.
Then after maturing, the witch will suffer from something known as "devil's torture." Something that will "devour" her body every year during the months of the demon.
The pain felt is unimaginable, it's simply the worst pain someone can feel in their life. It's as if something wanted to come out from inside our body. It's a growing pain that's felt in every vein and muscle of our body.
And if by some miracle a witch survives and endures all this. After 4 to 5 days, she can recover completely.
But... for the witches who can't endure this...
They die... And their deaths are too horrible to be seen.
It's for this reason that people and the church see witches as incarnations of the devil.
"Because with this kind of horrible death. It's with the rumors spread by the church saying 'see, this is what happens to someone who believes in the devil.' So over time, we were titled as incarnations of the demon." Said Nightingale, finishing her explanation.
Radan stayed silent for a few seconds, thinking about everything she had said. Deep down, he understood. It was almost natural for the people of this world to hate or fear witches. Since ancient times, humanity always reacted the same way to the unknown — blaming God or the Devil for what they couldn't explain.
Remembering how, in his past life, history books said that during the Middle Ages, the Black Death had devastated Europe and many believed they were being punished by God. Some even whipped themselves in the streets, begging forgiveness for sins they didn't even know what they were.
Ignorance bred fear, and fear always led to hatred.
It seems that in this world it was no different.
Especially knowing that only women were born with powers, it was easy to imagine how much this fueled the envy of men who felt powerless and even of other women who feared being seen as inferior.
But, even with all this human logic, there was something that bothered him.
Magical powers... telekinesis, fire, invisibility. All this not only went against but simply broke all the laws of physics that he knew.
Anna, for example, with her ability to create fire from nothing, completely violated the second law of thermodynamics — energy cannot arise from the void, much less in such a concentrated form.
Nightingale, with her ability to become invisible and transform her body into mist, broke any principle of mass conservation.
And he himself, with his telekinesis, was a living contradiction — moving objects without physical contact, without visible reaction, without apparent energy exchange. A phenomenon that, by all the laws he knew, simply shouldn't exist.
In his old life as an engineer, he had learned that every force had a cause and every effect an explanation. But there, in that new body and in this new world, he was the living proof that perhaps science didn't have all the possible answers.
Radan breathed deeply, pushing away the weight of the infinite reflections for a moment, and then asked in a calmer tone:
"I understand... But what happens after a witch goes through this maturing process?"
"After maturing, a witch's powers become stable," replied Nightingale, her eyes reflecting the flame of the fireplace. "Then, after stabilization, their strength increases substantially. And in some cases, it can even evolve into something totally new."
Radan frowned, intrigued. "Alright... But is there any way to alleviate or cure this?"
She shook her head, her gaze serious and distant. "No one knows for sure… but the witches in my group believe that, on the Holy Mountain, they wouldn't need to suffer the devil's torture anymore. There, they could finally live in peace."
Nightingale paused, looking at Radan with a firm expression. "Another thing they say is that, if a witch manages to live freely, without repression, without constant fear… somehow the force of the torture in her body weakens. It becomes more bearable, less devastating."
"What is this Holy Mountain?..." murmured Radan, curious.
"I can't tell you much, only that this is our purpose, to gather the greatest number of witches and together search for and go towards the holy mountain... Because they say that there is the only place where we will have peace." Replied Nightingale.
Radan scratched the back of his neck, thoughtful. "I see. But will I also have to go through this process... devil's torture?"
"I'm not sure... I've never heard that wizards existed, but I think yes... Because I can feel the magical power inside you pulsing, something I see happens when the witch or in your case wizard, is close to going through this torture." She replies.
"Damn." He murmured, feeling a shiver run down his spine.
"Well," she said, standing up and adjusting her cloak, "I'll say goodbye now. I'm going to see how Anna is handling the process… and maybe I should introduce myself and talk to the prince too."
Radan frowned, worried. "Wait… you yourself said I shouldn't show my powers. So why are you going to introduce yourself as a witch to him?"
Nightingale gave a half-smile, confident.
"From what I investigated, the prince really treats witches well. I can sense when someone is telling the truth or lying, and when I heard him talking about protecting Anna and another witch who lives in his territory… he didn't lie. He seemed to truly believe what he said."
She crossed her arms and added:
"Besides, he knows how to use their powers intelligently. Anna, for example, is working on something that only a witch with the power of fire could do."
"Other witches?" asked Radan, surprised.
She nodded. "Yes. There's another witch in the Frontier Village: Nana Pine, a young girl with healing powers. She might also go through the devil's torture this month."
Radan remained silent, absorbing the information. Then curiosity spoke louder: "What kind of work is Anna doing for the prince?"
"He's hiding her, in a secret area inside the iron mines." Said Nightingale, leaning forward, "In there she's using her fire power to fuel something... strange."
"Strange thing?" He arched his eyebrow.
Nightingale smiled from the corner and pulled a piece of paper from her cloak. With a quick gesture, she threw it onto the bed. Radan caught it and saw the sketch of a large machine with gears and boilers.
"I stole the design of this thing from the prince's office... From what I heard, it was he himself who
created this. He calls it—"
"A steam engine?" Radan completed, without thinking, his eyes shining with recognition.
Nightingale just nodded, without surprise. "Exactly! Do you know what this is? From what I could tell, Anna needs to channel her fire so that machine works. I don't know exactly how she does it… I just know that it was the prince who built it, and that, somehow, it depends on her magic to operate."
Radan stayed silent for a moment, staring at the paper in front of him.
Magical fire… steam engine…
That made too much sense.
If it was what he was imagining, that machine didn't work with coal or wood but with the constant fire of a witch.
An unlimited supply of heat. A living energy source.
It was the equivalent of replacing fuel with a person.
He breathed deeply, his eyes fixed on the drawing.
"So that's it... he's using her magic as a thermal source," he murmured, almost to himself. "If he really understood the principle of steam pressure and condensation… then he's trying to create a complete steam engine."
Nightingale frowned. "What exactly is this?"
Radan hesitated. The term had escaped naturally from his mouth, but it was clear she wouldn't understand.
"It's… a kind of tool." he replied, disguising. "It serves to move other things using heat."
Nightingale frowned a bit because she sensed he hadn't told the truth but also hadn't lied completely, so she stepped away from the fireplace a bit and returned a few moments later, bringing with her a small pile of papers.
She placed them in front of Radan, opening them carefully.
"I found some drawings from the prince… things he's been building," she explained, looking at the young man with a half-smile. "I don't know exactly what all these things are for, but they seem important."
"They call this… flintlock," she said, frowning slightly. "You must remember that two people were using these things during the demonic beasts' attack. With the sound of the shot being deafening… and the power, much greater than any arrow shot from a bow. The creatures were thrown back with a single shot."
She shook her head, still intrigued.
"I have no idea how they work, but… it's something I've never seen before."
"So you're saying he's the only one who has these weapons?" Asked Radan curiously.
"Yes." She replies and then slid another paper to him. "And this… is called cement.
I have no idea what it is, but one of the knights commented that thanks to this, the prince managed to raise the new huge wall in record time. Something that would normally take years… he did in weeks."
Radan touched the papers, studying each stroke. Those inventions not only seemed too advanced for the medieval period, but also carried a unique signature — a genius alone couldn't master three such different and sophisticated creations at once.
He raised his gaze to Nightingale, suspicious. "Wait… you're telling me he did all this alone?"
She shrugged, with a serious countenance. "From what I heard and saw, yes. But I don't know how. I just know these things are powerful… much more than anyone in this village could imagine."
Radan remained silent for a few moments, his heart racing. His past as an engineer left no doubts: that level of knowledge and invention didn't match the medieval world they were in. And if he thought he was the only one with knowledge that surpassed the era… maybe he was wrong.
A chill ran down his spine. If Roland Wimbledon could create these wonders alone… then maybe he, just like him, had also come from another place.
....