Isabel’s tale, which began at a slow pace, finally arrived at its conclusion.

“Fifty witches, including myself, barely clung to life... wandering the continent like lost dogs.”

The old witch, clutching her pipe, did not let it leave her lips.

“And then, by chance, we heard a rumor. That in the northern reaches of the continent, neither the Church nor the Mage Towers had any influence.”

The grand hall seemed veiled in a faint mist, created by the smoke wafting from the mana-infused tobacco.

“At the time, the people of the North were desperate for magic or holy power. But the mages of the towers and the priests of the Church had no interest in such a barren place.”

The witch, who had lived through countless years, gazed up at the ceiling of the grand hall.

Faintly painted there was a mural of Rune Renslet’s accomplishments.

“So, I led the witches endlessly northward. Sometimes riding on brooms, sometimes trudging on foot...”

Puffing on her mana-laced pipe, Isabel recounted her tale of old. Her eyes, fogged with memories, seemed dazed, as if entranced.

“We had heard that even black mages, persecuted like us, were operating in the North... We hoped, at least, that we wouldn’t be driven out there.”

Her voice carried regret, sorrow, and longing as tears began to stream from her eyes.

“And so, we finally arrived at the roof of the continent, the northernmost reaches of the Empire. It was there that we met Rune Renslet, the ancestor of my lady’s lineage. I was twenty-five at the time, two years before the establishment of the Grand Duchy of Renslet.”

The old woman’s nostalgic tale came to an end.

“That’s the story of how the witches and I came to the North.”

Her eyes, clouded by the past, slowly refocused on the present.

“Do you have any more mana potions?”

Her first words upon returning to reality were a plea for more mana potions.

“Running low after recounting all that, I see. Good thing I saved a little.”

Arad carefully administered the remaining mana potion to Isabel’s arm.

“Haahhh...”

The old witch let out a sound of deep relief, her face losing its earlier weariness.

“I feel... remarkably refreshed.”

As the mana replenished her, her expression brightened.

“For the first time, it feels like the weight in my chest has been lifted. I’ve never had the chance to share this story since I’ve never taken on a disciple.”

While other witches in the North took on apprentices, Isabel had not trained a single disciple in over 200 years—likely due to the trauma stemming from her mentor, Harlan.

“Are you all right, old one?”

Arina finally stepped in to check Isabel’s condition.

“Of course, my lady. Sir Arad is truly... not just a savior for you and the North but also for me and the witches.”

For the first time, Isabel’s gaze was filled with genuine warmth as she looked at Arad.

“By the way, the other witches are probably in a similar state, aren’t they?”

“They should be capable of returning to their daily routines by now. Mana potions may be difficult to produce, but mana pipes are far easier to manufacture.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Well then, now that you’ve had a little rest, shall we continue?”

Arad spoke as he refilled Isabel’s pipe with a fresh batch of mana tobacco, tamping it down firmly.

“You’re asking about that entity, correct? Yes.”

Isabel answered even before the question was fully asked.

“The witch heard throughout the North, with the bell that tolls—her identity is...?”

“Yes. It’s my mentor’s corpse. Her soul has long departed, leaving only the hatred and resentment from her life. She is now an undead entity that resonates unnervingly well with the curse eating away at us.”

Hoooh. Isabel exhaled a thick plume of smoke through her nose and mouth before continuing.

“It seems the black mages from the Abyssal Den have amplified this even further.”

“But why does the Imperial Church possess something that was once in the hands of the Papal See?”

“Because the founder of the Imperial Church who rebelled against the Papal See—her real name was Helena.”

“Ahh...”

So the first Archbishop of the Imperial Church had another name. That was news to Arad.

The Papal See and the Imperial Church were so secretive that even Arad, with his encyclopedic knowledge, knew few details about them.

“Still, it’s unexpected. I thought the Church would have burned it long ago.”

“The inquisitors of both the Imperial Church and the Papal See are infamous. In some ways, their methods are far more insidious than those of the Abyssal Den. If such a thing as the Grand Witch’s corpse were in their hands, their intentions would be obvious.”

“And yet, knowing this, why wasn’t anything done to prepare?”

“Because it’s a curse that can’t be resisted.”

Isabel’s voice carried a hint of protest.

“Though I never imagined they’d use it in this way... For the Church, of all institutions, to collaborate with the Abyssal Den...”

Her voice was tinged with confusion and lingering disbelief.

“Is there any way to counter it? To stop the bell-tolling witch and the plague?”

Arad respectfully referred to the undead Harlan as the “bell-tolling witch.”

“The bell-tolling witch is beyond us. The curse renders us witches powerless against her.”

Isabel adopted the term immediately, as if it made her more comfortable discussing it.

“Leave the bell-tolling witch and the black mages to me and the knights of the North.”

Arina interjected with determination.

“You can’t, my lady.”

Isabel shot her a cold, disapproving look.

“But...!”

“She’s right, Your Grace. You haven’t yet fully recovered your strength. It’s far too dangerous.”

Balzac added his voice to the protest.

“...I understand.”

Reluctantly, Arina acquiesced. She seemed to have learned caution after the harrowing events in the Abyssal Depths.

“Knights facing black mages and the bell-tolling witch... That’s going to be perilous, isn’t it?”

Arad muttered, his thoughts drifting to the events in the Abyssal Depths.

“Of course, it’s dangerous. But this isn’t the first time we’ve faced them. We’ll manage.”

“I’ll craft a few magical tools to aid you in battle.”

“That would be greatly appreciated.”

After exchanging reassurances with Balzac, Arad turned back to Isabel.

“Now, Lady Isabel.”

“Yes, Sir Arad?”

“The witches—if they use the mana pipes, they should be able to manage a spell or two, correct?”

“Yes.”

“The black magic plague... I’ve looked into it, and it seems to be just an ordinary plague, augmented by black magic.”

“You want us witches to deal with the black magic part?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll try my best. But I can’t promise anything. Neither I nor the witches have much mana left.”

“My company and I will support you. Leave the black magic to the witches, and I’ll handle the plague itself.”

“And how do you plan to do that? No matter how skilled you are in healing arts, curing thousands of patients and preventing the spread of disease is impossible.”

“It’s not impossible. It’s just expensive.”

With that, Arad reached into his spatial bag and pulled out another item.

“This is the Arad Medical Kit. I created it as soon as I heard of the pandemic.”

What he brought forth was a compact box, no larger than a notebook and about a finger’s width thick.

“Inside are various remedies, ointments, and disinfectants that I’ve personally developed.”

“A cure! You’ve made a cure?”

“Calling it a cure might be a stretch. Once the black magic is removed, this plague is little more than a common flu.”

“Still, you’ve acted fast. It’s been less than a week since rumors of the plague began to spread.”

“Are you planning to sell the kits as-is? They could double as military supplies.”

As everyone’s eyes lit up with interest, Arad explained the kit in detail.

“This box contains not only medicine for this flu but also instructions—illustrated for simplicity—on how to prevent disease and treat wounds. I’m planning to mass-produce two versions: one for households and one for professional healers.”

“Crisis breeds opportunity, as they say. If this is handled well, the number of Northerners dying from disease and injury will drop significantly.”

“The population of the North could grow enormously!”

Isabel and Balzac examined the kit with fascination.

“Oh, and the name of the kit can be changed if needed. Perhaps something like ‘Mary’s Aid’ or ‘Renslet’s Grace’ would work.”

“!!”

“There’s no reason witches have to handle this alone. With these medical kits, even the Renslet Church—lacking divine power—can play a major role.”

At this, Arina’s eyes widened as realization dawned.

“Of course! Why didn’t I think of this sooner? I’ll inform the Renslet Church immediately.”

With this, Arina resolved to solidify the Renslet Church’s presence in the North.

***

When a terrifying plague spreads, people naturally turn to faith.

On the other hand, those who exist in opposition to faith become persecuted.

Witch hunts are the most representative example of this phenomenon.

“The healing arts and spells of the Northern witches are quite impressive.”

“Thanks to them, countless black mages have failed in their schemes in the North.”

Isabel and the witches, who had taken root in the North, had done their utmost.

For nearly 200 years, they had been fighting black mages in the shadows, far from the awareness of the Northern people.

“According to rumors, Frostbite was also created by witches.”

“Not rumors—facts. The Grand Witch of Spring has been leading Frostbite for over a century, and witches occupy key positions within the organization. That’s proof enough.”

On the surface, they appeared to spend their days conducting strange experiments, communing with spirits, or tending to farms. Yet beneath that facade, the witches were living lives of intense struggle.

“We must deal with the witches. We need to sever the bond between the witches and the Northern people.”

“Let the Northerners see the Renslet Church as inept and begin to distrust the witches.”

“No matter how capable that Northern sorcerer, Arad Jin, may be, he’s powerless without the witches.”

This was the foundation of the current operation.

The Imperial Royal Family, the Imperial Church, and the black mages of the Abyssal Den had joined forces in an unprecedented collaboration.

They unleashed the black magic plague.

They even dared to use Harlan’s corpse to ensure the witches wouldn’t dare defy them.

Yet, unlike the Imperial Royal Family, the Imperial Church had been reluctant from the start.

“God, forgive us for this decision! Absolve us of the sins born from it!”

“Was it truly the right choice to hand over Harlan’s coffin to the Abyssal Den? I still can’t be certain.”

“That cursed coffin was something we’d sworn never to unseal…”

Despite possessing the source of the curse—Harlan’s corpse—the Church had refrained from using it until now.

“The witches had their uses, after all. They’ve done a decent job of keeping black mages and barbarian druids in check in the North.”

“Not to mention, they’ve served as a buffer against the Royal Family’s growing influence.”

While there were moral reasons for leaving the witches alone, the primary reason was political.

Leaving the witches in place had been advantageous for the Church.

“Witches with clear vulnerabilities are better off staying in Renslet. That’s why the first Archbishop spared Isabel and the other 49 witches.”

The Church feared that if the witches were eradicated, the Grand Duchy might replace them with black mages—a prospect that would create its own set of headaches.

“Let’s hope the black mages don’t grow stronger through Harlan’s corpse...”

After all, there wasn’t much the Church itself could do with the Grand Witch’s body.

Only the black mages of the Abyssal Den possessed the expertise to fully exploit it.

“That’s why it’s been a card we’ve kept in reserve until now…”

That the Church would go so far as to collaborate with the Royal Family and bring Harlan’s corpse into play demonstrated just how alarming the North’s recent growth had become.

***

Archbishop Theresia of the Imperial Church gazed toward the northern lands with irritation clouding her sharp eyes.

“God may have created nothing without purpose, but who would have thought that desolate northern land would become so crucial?”

During the days when the North was merely a neglected backwater of the Empire, the Church had little interest in that barren frontier.

No cleric from the Imperial Church had ever willingly ventured into the untamed northern wilds.

For years, the Church spoke of ridding the North of witches, but it had never actively pursued the matter.

Now, however, that negligence was proving to be a grave mistake.

“Damn Northerners. They truly are insufferable.”

Northerners were fiercely proud and inherently defiant.

They were fully aware of how the Imperial Church had scorned them for generations.

Thus, they refused to accept the Church.

Instead, they worshipped their ancestral spirits in silent reverence, spurned the Church’s authority, and embraced witches.

Recently, they had gone so far as to establish the Renslet Church—a heretical cult, in Theresia’s view.

This was a transgression far beyond what she could tolerate.

Crack

Lost in her thoughts of the North, Theresia ground her teeth without realizing it.

Bwooooooo!

At that moment, a resounding horn blast filled the air, interrupting her brooding.

“So, the army finally moves. How expedient of them.”

Her gaze shifted from the northern horizon to the Imperial Palace, where the sound of the horn had originated.

“Kan Brahman is always so indecisive. For someone who chastises his son Julian for being soft, he’s hardly one to talk.”

“Archbishop! There are ears everywhere,” a cardinal beside her muttered, unable to contain himself after overhearing her pointed remarks.

“Well then, I suppose I should see them off. After all, our Church is contributing to this northern expedition.”

Theresia smirked at the cardinal’s concern before turning toward the palace.

“Come now. Let us head to the square in front of the Imperial Palace, where the relief army is gathering.”

“Yes, Archbishop.”

“But first, let us stop by the Spring Palace, where our ever-cautious Emperor is no doubt busy at work.”

With a confident stride, Archbishop Theresia led her pristine entourage toward the heart of imperial authority, her white robes gleaming in the sunlight as her entourage followed closely behind.