Chapter 46: I’m the One Who Cares About Crazy People, It’s My Flaw
What a strange situation, let me tell you. It’s different from waiting in an emergency room, but the sensation is similar.
Right now, Leonhardt and I are outside the bathhouse, patiently waiting for something to happen inside or for an evil spirit to appear from beyond for the handsome guy next to me to kill.
The world of Sword of The Iron Maiden has a super simplified magic system, and if there are more complex things, it’s not like I’d remember, besides, I hated just reading that thing and didn’t care much for specifics of events and all that.
What’s going through my head is a combination of knowledge in this life with what I know from the original manuscript, so basically it’s this: mana is a vital energy that everyone needs to survive, and the overwhelming majority of supernatural activities require it.
Let’s say, if a cleric needs the divine power of a god, he needs to pray and connect with him through mana, thus being able to strengthen his own faith and the miracles he knows how to use. The mage, on the other hand, relies on knowledge and how good he is at handling magic circles, speaking quickly, or even gesticulating his fingers.
Witches fall into this spectrum, but a large part of their power comes from rituals, where they meet that entity they made a contract with or a spirit. Elves go through a similar situation, considering that these pointy-eared people live in nature and it’s part of the race’s culture.
Still, it’s a bit different. Witches are seen very poorly, which only makes Leonhardt’s calm attitude extremely strange to me. He’s an inquisitor, guys like him literally hunt witches, demons, and anything out of the ordinary to purge the world.
Why doesn’t he complain, or, I don’t know, try to intervene in this whole thing with another solution? It’s too convenient for my taste.
About a couple of hours later, while he and I are dying of boredom in the middle of that empty corridor, having already killed at least two assassins who tried to bleed me dry in the process, Illonar comes out of the bathhouse.
I drop my crossed-arms pose, staring directly at the elf’s face, who for some reason avoids my gaze and seems to have a somewhat frightened look. What did Ravenna do to scare this guy so much?
"So, how was it?"
My question hits him like nothing, because the answer takes longer than I like to come.