As expected of a magical engineer, Arad’s bag was a spatial storage bag.

From that seemingly small bag, he continued to produce one item after another.

“What is that?”

“A smoking pipe.”

What Arad pulled out next was eleven small leather pouches, each about the size of a fist, and a smoking pipe as long as an adult man’s forearm.

“I can see that, but…”

“Here, take this.”

Without further explanation, Arad handed the pipe to Isabel.

He then took a handful of powder from one of the leather pouches and firmly packed it into the pipe’s bowl.

“This is called mana tobacco.”

The pipe, likely crafted by Arad himself, had a mana stone embedded beneath its bowl.

After filling the bowl, Arad infused it with magic.

Fwoosh!

Without needing a flame, the tobacco began to burn, releasing a stream of smoke.

“Just inhale deeply. Unlike regular tobacco, this mana tobacco is extremely beneficial for your body, so don’t worry.”

The pipe smoke slowly drifted up toward the audience hall’s ceiling.

As Arad had described, the scent was refreshingly clean and nothing like the acrid smell of ordinary tobacco.

“…”

Puff, puff, puff.

Entranced by his instructions, Isabel began smoking the pipe as if in a daze.

“Unlike mana potions, this won’t restore mana all at once, but it will replenish it steadily over time. Regular use will even increase your maximum mana capacity.”

“!!”

At this revelation, Arina suddenly jolted with excitement.

“It increases maximum mana capacity!?”

The mana tobacco was precisely what she needed to help rebuild her magic core.

“Once we’ve resolved the plague and the witches’ issues… I’ll have to ask him about it.”

Given the current situation, she couldn’t bring it up just yet, but Arina couldn’t take her eyes off the mana tobacco Isabel was smoking.

“Well, now you can begin speaking. Just make sure to maintain the balance between replenishing and losing mana.”

Even amidst his explanation, Arad pressed Isabel to reveal the truth.

“Phew… Fine…”

With a languid tone, Isabel finally began to speak.

“This year marks 4567 in the Sacred Calendar, doesn’t it? Already 223 years have passed. Time truly flies…”

The elderly witch’s eyes seemed to gaze into the distance, as if recalling a long-forgotten memory.

“This is the original sin of myself and our witches. It’s called the Curse of Harlan.”

***

223 Years Ago.

Sacred Year 4344.

It was the twilight of the Age of Savagery.

By then, human banners had been planted across much of Arcadia.

Elves, dwarves, and beastfolk, excluding the orcs, had begun their full-scale migration to the southern continent.

Six-circle mages were already being called Archmages or Grand Witches.

And the formation of the Northern Grand Duchy of Renslet was still a decade away.

At that time, I was seventeen, preparing to leave my master’s side and become an independent witch.

“Isabel, I’m sorry.”

“…”

“But this cannot be helped. The world is changing, and so must we witches. Just as mages have united under the towers, we too must combine our strength and knowledge to stand proudly in the open.”

It was a pivotal time for a young witch—a period of importance, pride, and fulfillment.

But I was miserable.

“Master! Do you really think other witches will support this? They’ll only exploit you!”

“I believe in witches. If we, like the mages, establish a tower and consolidate our strength and knowledge, we’ll no longer face persecution.”

“Master!”

The more the world changed, the more restless my master became.

Eventually, she became certain of one thing.

“The next enemies of humanity will be humans themselves, not monsters or other races. And when that happens… we’ll face even harsher persecution. Perhaps even extinction.”

Of course, even as a young and inexperienced witch, I could see the times were changing.

The Age of Savagery was ending, giving way to an era of human dominance—the so-called Golden Age.

I understood it intellectually but refused to accept it emotionally.

“We’ve been persecuted and ignored because we’re divided and reclusive. Isabel, my dear apprentice, this is both a crisis and an opportunity.”

“Master! We’ll never be acknowledged like mages! Elven blood runs through our veins!”

“Isabel, we’re not the only ones with non-human blood. Mages in the towers, knights in royal courts, even priests in the Papal See—all have traces of other races’ bloodlines if you trace back far enough.”

While other young witches were preparing for independence with dreams of the future, my master and I fought constantly, day after day.

“I, Harlan, the Grand Witch of Verdure, have made my decision. I will share all my knowledge and power with the witches.”

“Master! Please!”

“Forgive me, Isabel. But you, my dear, will not need to pass the graduation trials like other witches. From this moment, you are a full-fledged and faithful witch.”

“What meaning is there in becoming a witch this way? Every witch will unravel the spells you and I have created!”

“They won’t. Starting with me, others will gradually open their locks as well.”

“Master!”

“From this day forth, I am no longer your master. Call me Harlan, the Grand Witch of Verdure.”

“…”

“I’m sorry.”

My master—more progressive and innovative than any witch I’d ever known.

At the time, I was too foolish to understand her. I resented her and even felt betrayed.

“Did you hear? The Grand Witch of Verdure has created something called the Witches’ Council.”

“The Witches’ Council? What’s that?”

“She’s sharing all her spells and knowledge there. It’s ridiculous.”

“Is she trying to copy the mages’ towers?”

“What about Isabel, Harlan’s apprentice? Poor girl, stuck with such an eccentric master…”

My master’s decision wasn’t even respected by other witches.

“Well, isn’t it a good thing overall?”

“To gain her teachings, we have to offer our own spells and knowledge in return.”

“But come on, it’s Harlan, the Grand Witch of Verdure. Do you think our spells are even comparable to hers?”

“That’s true…”

My master did establish safeguards, but they were glaringly unfavorable to her.

The system was rife with potential for abuse.

“Welcome to the Witches’ Council. I am Harlan, the Grand Witch of Verdure. And this young witch here is Isabel.”

“Hello… I’m Isabel, the teaching assistant. If you have questions while studying, feel free to ask me.”

In the end, I couldn’t leave her. It wasn’t out of love or loyalty but fear.

I was a newly independent witch. Worse, I was a witch whose every spell was about to be analyzed by witches across the continent.

Half by my own choice and half by circumstances, I became a witch of the Witches’ Council.

“If there’s a spell you’d like to learn, feel free to ask.”

“I want to learn a weather manipulation barrier!”

“You mean a high-level barrier using elemental spirits? Very well.”

“Really?!”

“What vision spell will you offer in return?”

“Well, I…”

At first, it seemed like my master’s initiative was working.

She established the Witches’ Council and shared her vision spells, just as she had promised.

“She’s really sharing the Grand Witch’s vision spells!”

“Pack your things! We’re going to the Witches’ Council!”

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to advance!”

The council sent shockwaves through the cloistered witch society.

Witches from across the continent flocked to join.

Most were low- to mid-ranked witches seeking stability.

Even though they exchanged unimpressive spells for the Grand Witch’s vision spells—a blatantly unfair trade—they were ecstatic.

“Thank you! Truly, thank you!”

“Thanks to Harlan, I’ve finally reached the fourth circle!”

Seeing the joyous witches and the growing Witches’ Council, my master seemed genuinely fulfilled.

“Isabel, I feel so rewarded and happy right now.”

I had never seen her so content.

But happiness proved fleeting—fragile as dust.

“Why are witches getting so strong lately?”

“Didn’t you hear? That lunatic Harlan started a council and is teaching everyone her spells.”

“What?!”

Archwitches of similar rank to my master disapproved.

They neither understood nor respected her actions.

To them, it was intolerable that lower-ranked witches, whom they had always looked down upon, were suddenly rising to their level.

“Did you hear the latest?”

“What now?”

“Harlan plans to consolidate all the spells, magic, and spirit arts exchanged so far.”

“What does that mean?”

“She’s organizing everything into a single compendium to use as the Witches’ Council’s textbook.”

“She’s going to make the council’s vision spells public knowledge?”

“Yes.”

“What’s the price?”

“Excuse me?”

“The price for learning, of course!”

“There isn’t one. All you have to do is join the Witches’ Council and swear to abide by its rules. Anyone, even men, can learn the knowledge she’s offering.”

“!!”

Even the witches my master had taught began to change.

They, too, were human, and human greed and envy were not absent among witches.

“Is this fair?! We paid dearly for those spells, and now she’s giving them away for free?!”

“Not just that—our spells are included in the compendium!”

“This is outrageous! Even for Harlan, this is unacceptable!”

Despite benefiting from unfair trades themselves, they now turned on her, forgetting their own humble beginnings.

In less than three years, the Witches’ Council fractured.

My master’s ideals were ignored and ridiculed.

“Witches are becoming a nuisance. That council Harlan created is a disaster.”

“The mage towers are already dangerous enough. Adding the Witches’ Council to the mix… it’s blasphemy.”

“This is our chance. Inquisitors, infiltrate the council and make contact with its witches.”

The external enemies didn’t miss this opportunity.

“The Grand Witch is compiling all the council’s knowledge into a single book?”

“Yes. And it’s causing a stir among witches.”

“We need that compendium in our mage tower. Make contact with witches who oppose Harlan.”

The Papal See, mage towers, and other factions salivated as they closed in on the Witches’ Council.

Instead of uniting, we witches were consumed by division, infighting, and mutual distrust.

“Destroy the Witches’ Council, Harlan! We won’t tolerate your madness!”

Even witches outside the council joined the fray.

“I’m leaving the Witches’ Council!”

“Harlan, please exclude the spell I contributed from your compendium.”

We were too busy tearing each other apart to stand against external threats.

As time passed, the divisions deepened.

And finally, the Witches’ Council—and my master—were completely isolated.

“Master…”

“This is so miserable.”

For the first time, I saw despair on my master’s face.

“Master! Please, let’s run! The central barrier won’t hold much longer!”

“Isabel, even if I die, I will finish this. So go… Run.”

In the crumbling heart of the Witches’ Council, my master never stopped writing her compendium.

It was the last, desperate act of a failed witch—a resolve to leave something behind, no matter the cost.

“Master!!”

“Stop calling me that. I’m Harlan, remember? You’ve been independent for ages now.”

I was terrified—on the brink of madness.

Outside, it felt like the inquisitors could storm in any moment.

The mage towers’ forces seemed ready to breach the barriers.

The archwitches were surely cursing us with all their might.

“I’ve ignored the outside world while writing, but I have a bad feeling. Go now. No one will blame you.”

“I… I…”

Despite her words, I couldn’t leave. Loyalty? Love? No. It was fear and selfishness.

Running alone meant a predictable fate. The label of “Harlan’s apprentice” would follow me to my grave.

I’d spend my life hunted by the Papal See and the archwitches.

I needed a shield—something to protect me from all the chaos.