In Arcadia, summer finally arrived in the northernmost regions, the last place to feel its warmth.

As the weather improved, people began moving more energetically than ever. Yet, with this movement came something else—something sinister.

"…"

A lone witch wandered through the North, visiting one village after another.

Her ashen-gray skin evoked the depths of the Demon Zone. Her gaunt frame blurred the line between human and ghoul.

Everything about her screamed danger, her appearance enough to make anyone uneasy.

She traveled through the North, accompanied by an eerie sound.

Ding… Ding… Ding…

The chime of a bell rang out with every step she took, sending chills down the spines of those who heard it.

“That witch looks… unsettling,” a Northerner muttered, his brow furrowed.

No one welcomed this mysterious witch. She wandered from village to town without saying a word or causing overt harm.

“Are the witches up to something strange again?”

“Leave it. Witches doing odd things is nothing new.”

The North was the only place where witches could freely exist under the open sky.

Thus, the locals dismissed her, paying little mind to the ominous ringing of her bell.

Days passed—ten, to be exact.

Cough, cough…

“A cold? Me? A Northerner catching a cold in summer? Impossible… Ugh…”

It began in a remote village, the same place where the witch had first appeared. People started collapsing one by one.

The illness quickly spread, reaching neighboring villages and cities.

The North had fallen victim to a plague.

***

Renslet Citadel, Northern Grand Duchy.
The Hall of Glory, Grand Council Chamber.

"Is it true that a plague is spreading?!"

Having received an urgent report, Arina left her duties early, dismissed her Mary disguise, and rushed to attend the council meeting.

Rumors of a plague had begun circulating in the North days ago, perhaps even earlier. Yet, in a world where transportation and communication were underdeveloped, verifying such rumors took time.

“It’s true. Just now, Frostbite confirmed it and sent a message through the Winter Falcon. Furthermore… the plague is spreading at an alarming rate.”

“How far has it reached?”

“It has already passed Haven and is now causing people to collapse in Schuen and Remme!”

High Administrator Haitai reported with a pale expression.

“!!”

Arina and the other council members instinctively thought of the Empire.

“So that’s what they’ve been planning in silence.”

“This was their move.”

The hall filled with murmurs of unease.

Some council members responded with grim acceptance, as if expecting this moment.

“Have we identified the nature of this plague?”

“It’s a black magic-infused influenza.”

“And the witch ringing the mysterious bell?”

“We are currently searching for her.”

Haitai once again answered Arina’s question.

“…”

Isabel, the Grand Witch—normally quick with her insights—remained unusually silent.

“A plague wrought by black magic? At least it’s fortunate in that regard. If it’s black magic, our witches can… Halmeom?”

Arina turned to Isabel but stopped mid-sentence, startled.

“Halmeom…? What’s wrong?”

From the very beginning of the meeting, Isabel’s face had been unnervingly rigid. No, it was filled with palpable fear.

Murmur… Murmur…

The sight of the usually composed and confident Grand Witch visibly trembling caused a wave of alarm to ripple through the chamber.

Isabel’s reaction sent shockwaves through the council members—high-ranking knights and ministers alike.

“Today’s meeting is adjourned. Knights, focus all efforts on tracking down the bell-ringing witch reported by the townsfolk. Administrators, do everything possible to halt the spread of the plague!”

Arina hurriedly ended the council meeting.

After the Meeting

When everyone else had departed, only two remained in the chamber.

“Halmeom, what’s going on?”

Arina asked with genuine concern.

“…”

Isabel still didn’t respond.

“Your Grace!”

At that moment, Balzac entered the chamber in haste.

“Your Grace… The other witches…”

He leaned closer to Arina and whispered discreetly.

“They’re all in a state of panic, just like Isabel.”

Is this what the enemy planned?!

If the witches couldn’t be relied on, there was no way to combat the plague.

This wasn’t just an ordinary plague—it was one infused with black magic, making it far more dangerous.

If only the Renslet Church had grown stronger by now…

The Northern Grand Duchy lacked magical resources apart from the witches. There were no clergy capable of wielding divine power.

The fledgling Renslet Church had just begun to take its first steps, and no priest within its ranks had yet awakened to holy powers.

“Arad!”

Ultimately, only one name came to Arina’s mind.

The man who had been too busy to attend the council meeting, claiming to be preparing for a "pandemic" in his factories.

The same man who had sent Mary as his stand-in for the meeting.

“Balzac!”

Without hesitation, Arina called out to the Grand Knight.

“I’ll bring him immediately, even if I have to abduct him.”

Balzac instantly understood her intent and rushed out of the chamber.

Alone with Isabel

Once again, only two figures remained in the vast chamber.

“Halmeom…”

Arina called Isabel softly, her voice tinged with worry.

“Forgive me… Forgive me, My Lady…”

For the first time, Isabel broke her silence.

Her usually composed and authoritative tone was gone, replaced by a shaky, broken voice.

“Can you tell me what’s going on? I need to know to respond properly.”

“The… The curse…”

“The curse? You mean the one that prevents witches from freely teaching or learning magic?”

“Yes… That curse… Its source has appeared.”

“Explain. The more I know, the better we can act.”

“That… That’s… Hrk…!”

It seemed even uttering those words took all of Isabel’s strength.

She gasped for air, her body trembling as if on the verge of collapse.

“…”

Arina could no longer bring herself to ask further. She could only sit in silence, waiting for Arad to arrive.

Now that I think about it, we know so little about Isabel and the witches.

As she waited, Arina’s thoughts turned to the mysterious past of Isabel and the witches.

Isabel and the witches have always been with us, right from the beginning.

The witches had been with the Northern Grand Duchy since its founding 213 years ago.

Isabel had been at the Citadel long before Arina was even born and had always appeared as an old woman.

Her late father had often remarked that Isabel was incredibly old.

Even when her father was a child, Isabel had been there, guiding and managing the witches.

Her father’s father, and even his father before that, had grown up knowing Isabel.

Neither Father nor Grandfather knew much about the witches’ curse. They said Isabel and the witches couldn’t explain it due to its restrictive nature.

Until now, Arina had never questioned it.

To the people of the Northern Grand Duchy, the witches’ presence was as natural as the sun setting and the moon rising.

Though it was hard to believe anyone could live so long, Isabel was no ordinary witch—she was the Grand Witch, a being who had surpassed human limits.

After all, even Sword Master Balzac had lived over 100 years.

Balzac said he didn’t know much about the witches either. Even when he was a child, Isabel had always been at the Citadel, unchanged.

No matter how extraordinary Isabel was, her seemingly endless lifespan was undeniably peculiar.

When the Duchy was established, Isabel had already been there. This meant she had to be at least 200 years old.

Isabel once told me that a faint trace of elven blood runs through all witches.

Arina understood the source of their longevity.

She also said the stronger the witch’s rank, the purer the blood becomes, extending their lifespan.

Isabel, as the Grand Witch, undoubtedly bore the strongest traits.

She was the only witch still alive from the time the Northern Grand Duchy was founded.

But beyond that, we know so little.

Even Arina, the ruler of the North, lacked detailed knowledge about the witches’ mysterious curse.

All she knew was that it prevented them from freely teaching or learning magic.

While her curiosity occasionally flared, she had never forced the witches to reveal their secrets.

The witches are too valuable for the North. Losing them would hurt us more than the questions could ever help.

The witches were the North’s only means of magic in a land devoid of divine power.

Though the rest of the continent treated witches as pariahs, the North’s long-standing bond with them was too deep to sever.

“Halmeom, it’s okay.”

“...!”

Arina approached Isabel, who was trembling and gasping for breath.

“It’s okay.”

She gently placed her hands on the elderly witch’s shoulders.

“We’ll be okay. Trust me, trust Arad, and trust the North.”

She repeated the words over and over, trying to reassure the shaken Grand Witch.

***

The Golden Age had long since crumbled, giving way to the Fanatical Age of Sanctity and the Age of Darkness that followed.

Throughout these turbulent eras, witches and mages endured relentless persecution.

While mages managed to escape such oppression during the Age of Barbarism, witches were not as fortunate.

The exclusivity of their traditions—only accepting female disciples and adhering to a strict one-on-one lineage—led to political isolation.

The taint of elven blood flowing through their veins, descendants of the species that had once most fiercely opposed humanity during the Age of Barbarism, marked witches with an indelible original sin.

Adding to this stigma was their mastery of elemental spirit magic, a practice long lost to others. This uniqueness earned them the envy of tower-dwelling mages and disdain from religious authorities.

Moreover, their advancements in shamanic arts—surpassing even the necromancers of the Abyssal Den—gave the Church justifications for endless witch hunts.

Despite the minimal differences between female mages and witches, the latter bore the brunt of the hatred.

The Northern Duchy of Renslet was the only place across the continent where witches found safety and support.

"Perhaps that’s why the witches resisted until the very end to protect the North’s independence."

In Era of Silver 1, witches were central to the Northern Resistance.

Among them, the "Grand Witch of the Snowfields," widely believed to be Mary’s future incarnation, was a living nightmare for the Northern Governate alongside Sun.

“I hope Mary’s doing okay.”

Now, however, the witches had suddenly and inexplicably become incapacitated.

"This never happened in the original timeline. Even when the Empire faced the Northern Resistance, nothing like this occurred."

The Empire, ever cunning, had hidden even more tricks up its sleeve beyond the great famine.

"In the original timeline, the Northern Resistance not only fought the Imperial Army but also faced the Abyssal Den, extreme northern orcs, and savage tribes."

There hadn’t been a need for the Empire to neutralize the witches back then.

Or perhaps, the Grand Witch of the Snowfields had eventually broken the chains binding the witches.

“Lulu, the Witch of Clay, are you okay?”

“Ugh… uuuugh…”

As I sifted through my fragmented memories of the original story, I checked on the fallen witches one by one.

“Boss! All the collapsed witches have been gathered in one place! Not just from the factory, but even those from the Citadel!”

Theo’s report rang out from behind me.

"The Grand Witch of Spring must still be at the council chamber."

Hearing Theo’s words, I scanned my surroundings.

The soldiers and knights of the Citadel had already brought every witch they could find to this location—except for Isabel, the Grand Witch of Spring.

“Good work! From now on, halt all production operations and focus solely on preparing for the plague!”

“What about you, Boss?!”

“I’ll be tending to the witches! Believe it or not, I’m quite adept at healing arts.”

“Understood!”

The Arad Factory, of course, had witches constantly stationed there.

Advanced factory processes always relied on their presence. Even the ceaselessly rising construction of factory buildings made use of witches’ spirit magic as heavy machinery substitutes.

Thanks to this constant collaboration, I immediately grasped the situation when the witches collectively fell ill.

“Uuugh… Mr. Jin…”

“You’re okay. You’re going to be fine.”

I checked the condition of a young witch lying in front of me.

Max-level magical engineering and healing arts were now being utilized to their fullest.

"Mana exhaustion."

I quickly identified the issue.

The witches’ condition was simple: they had completely depleted their internal mana reserves.