Roland finished his breakfast and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "So you are worried that the Witches Union will learn she is still alive and come to rescue her?"
"Exactly, Your Highness!" Barrow stamped his foot. "They were traveling in haste, likely on some urgent mission. If the sorceress had been executed, it would not matter. But she is still alive! Those madwomen steal babies—they will not abandon one of their own."
Roland frowned. Something did not add up. Why did both Barrow and Carter speak of sorceresses with such fear?
The girl to be executed—she was a sorceress, was she not? Yet she was thin, weak, barely able to stand. If she possessed terrifying power, why had she allowed herself to be captured? According to the Church, sorceresses were demons incarnate. Except for the Inquisition Army, ordinary forces stood no chance against them. Yet this "demon" had been captured by townspeople, tortured, and now awaited execution without ever using her supposed powers.
"How was she captured?"
"There was a collapse in the North Slope Mines," Barrow explained. "She was trying to escape and exposed herself. The angry townspeople seized her."
Roland nodded. He remembered hearing about the mine collapse.
"How did she expose herself?"
"I... I am not entirely sure," Barrow admitted. "The situation was chaotic. Someone must have seen her use sorcery."
Roland's brow furrowed. "You did not investigate this thoroughly?"
"Restoring mine production was the priority," Barrow protested. "Half of Border Town's revenue comes from those iron ores. And the inquisitor confirmed that people at the scene died from sorcery."
"What kind of sorcery?"
"Their bodies were melted," Barrow said with disgust. "Heads and torsos flattened as if made of wax. Like a burned-out candle. Your Highness, you would not want to see such a sight."
Roland twirled his silver fork thoughtfully. Throughout history, most witch hunt victims had been innocent—scapegoats for the Church and ignorant mobs. But a small minority had been genuine practitioners of the arcane arts.
Some had discovered chemical reactions that seemed like miracles to the uneducated.
But melting human bodies? That was beyond ordinary chemistry.
How had this sorceress achieved such a feat?
If she used alchemy, she was a rare talent in this territory. If not...
Roland made his decision.
"Take me to see her."
"W-wait, Your Highness!" Barrow stood up in alarm, knocking over his untouched cup of milk. "You want to visit a sorceress?"
"Yes. That is an order." Roland smiled at the panicked minister. Sometimes, the original Roland's unpredictable nature was useful.
At the door, Roland paused. "One question I have—why hanging? Shouldn't sorceresses be burned at the stake?"
Barrow looked confused. "Burned? But she is immune to flame."
...
Border Town had only one dungeon, small and crude. Most prisoners did not stay long—they were either released or executed quickly.
Roland descended into the depths with Barrow, Carter, the warden, the jailer, and two guards.
The dungeon had four levels, each smaller than the last, carved from solid granite. The air grew fouler with each step down. There was no proper drainage—filthy water seeped down the stairs, pooling on the floors.
The sorceress was held in the lowest level.
"Your Highness, this is too dangerous," Carter said, having followed them when he learned of Roland's intention. "Even with the Divine Punishment Lock, I cannot guarantee your safety."
The knight had been arguing throughout the descent. Roland's royal commands meant nothing to him when it came to the prince's safety.
"If you cannot face evil, how can you defeat it?" Roland asked.
"Fighting evil requires caution, not recklessness," Carter countered.
"So you only oppose enemies weaker than yourself?"
"That is not what I meant, Your Highness—"
"First you feared sorceresses coming to rescue her, now you fear facing a young girl. My chief knight is truly unique."
Carter was skilled with a sword but not with words. Roland's verbal attacks left him defenseless.
They reached the bottom of the dungeon. Only two cells occupied this level.
The jailer lit the torch on the wall, and the darkness receded. Roland saw the sorceress huddled in the corner.
It was deep autumn, and the dungeon was freezing. Roland could see his breath in the air. He wore a wool coat over silk undergarments and felt the chill. The sorceress had only a thin shift that did not fully cover her body. Her exposed arms and feet were blue with cold.
The sudden light made her turn away, squeezing her eyes shut. But then she opened them and looked directly at Roland.
Pale blue eyes, calm as a lake before a storm. Her face showed no fear, no anger, no hatred.
Roland felt a strange sensation—as if he were not looking at a frail girl but at a shadow consuming the very flames of the torch. For a moment, the torchlight seemed to dim.
She pushed herself up the wall, moving slowly, as if she might fall at any moment. But she kept going until she stood fully, then shuffled into the light.
Such a simple movement, yet everyone gasped and stepped back. Only Carter remained in front of Roland, shielding him with his body.
"What is your name?" Roland patted Carter's shoulder, signaling him to relax.
"Anna," she answered.