"Wolves, Gather In My Forest" V4 Chapter 3 - Orphen's Imprisonment
He was floating. Alone in the darkness.
He couldn't tell if he was standing or sitting — there was no sensation left in his body. He felt something at the tips of his fingers, and his back felt warm. Then, he felt a shiver from the unbearable cold.
Then, there was a flash before his eyes — and even though he couldn't see his own body, he could clearly discern a figure floating in the light. It was a young girl, still almost a child, wearing a thin silk dress that fluttered in the light.
Suddenly, her eyes opened.
| You must be Orphen...? |
............
He couldn't speak to answer. Even so, he was surprisingly calm in this situation.
She continued.
| I'm sorry... I just wanted to apologize.
I'm speaking to your mind. |
Her expression twisted in fear. He was bothered when he saw it, but it wasn't like he could say anything back.
| I'm sorry. I'm sorry — for making them attack you. |
... I don't understand. Was I attacked? I don't remember anything, or rather — I think I've lost the ability to remember. I don't even know my own name, and I have no desire to remember what it is, either.
But, she's not going to give me an explanation.
|
I let the dragon attack you because I knew that you were trying to take Majic back... Because I have no one else to turn to. |
............
|
I didn't want him to leave. Or perhaps I was jealous. He had someone coming to help him, when I didn't. |
Her voice was clear, but he couldn't quite make out what she was saying.
|
But I didn't think the dragon would leave you crippled... |
Dragon — for some reason, that word unsettled him. Just hearing it made him want to turn and run away. That's how he felt.
|
I'll heal you the best I can. It may take some time. |
With those words, the darkness around him slowly faded.
|
And don't go against MacDougall. Don't kill him. Because of him, this village... |
The rest of the words were lost in the light that destroyed the surrounding darkness, and he heard nothing else.
(... What was that?)
He suddenly realized that he was bombarded with questions, as if he'd dumped a whole box of notes out into a pile for him to sort through — and he was the one asking those questions, asking himself. He figured it'd be good if he could answer those questions in order and refrain from panicking, but the questions never seemed to stop.
Where am I—?
Who am I—?
Where's the pain—?
What part of my body is breathing—?
(Damn...)
He turned over. That was the only movement he could manage, but even still, he had to use all of his strength to accomplish it. His left shoulder hurt, he realized. It was wounded.
(I can't remember anything... Wait, no?)
He remembered some things. The girl who'd appeared to him in the darkness, for one.
The obeisant look in her eyes, afraid of something...
He opened his eyes. It was dark — but there was light. The dim light seemed to be coming from somewhere behind him. He was lying on his side, facing the wall. The wall itself was made of earth, and he was lying on the ground. For a moment he thought he'd been buried in a cave or something, but then...
"So you're awake, sorcerer."
A voice... was calling to him. In his hazy memories, he could just barely recall the face that belonged to it. It was the man they called MacDougall, who'd shot at him. he called himself a priest or something.
He turned again in the opposite direction.
The first thing he saw was a pair of shoes — MacDougall's, or some other guy's shoes, standing right in front of him as he lay there. Beyond the dirty hiking boots was another pair of shoes. How lucky for him. Beyond those, he could see iron bars — and a crooked staircase with a faint light shining from somewhere within.
So more or less, he understood his situation. He was locked in a dungeon. The bars were slightly ajar, and in front of him was MacDougall and another man. Glancing up, he recognized his companion as the man who'd thrown the knife at him. He was still wearing his belt, and probably had the knife hidden somewhere as well — the knife that was no longer sunk into his left shoulder. It seemed that the blood-soaked clothing had stuck to his skin and served as a bandage, but without it, he might've bled to death.
(Can you stand?)
He asked himself. Maybe he'd be able to, but it'd be better to hide the fact that he still had the strength to do so.
MacDougall looked down at him with cold eyes and opened his mouth.
"Let's hear your name, sorcerer."
"............"
He didn't answer — or rather, he couldn't answer.
(My name?)
I can't remember — My head's all over the place, there's just nothing. I was dreaming—
He couldn't say anything, and eventually MacDougall sighed.
"So you're not talking?"
"Well, I don't think he'd want to answer that question regardless."
It was the man with the sword who'd answered MacDougall, with a smirk on his face. He was wearing his ranger jacket in the same hideously disheveled manner as the night before. MacDougall turned to ask him a question.
"What do you mean by that, Salua?"
Apparently, that was the name of the guy in the jacket — Salua. He ticked the name off in the back of his mind.
"This guy's wearing the crest of the Tower of Fang. They're the most elite among black-magic users. If he was captured so unceremoniously, he certainly couldn't give up his real name."
"Hmm... So he's a sorcerer after all."
MacDougall snorted. But—
(— Tower of Fang...)
The word resonated with him as well — Yes, he'd spent most of his life there.
Then — MacDougall continued.
"If we inflict a little bit of pain, I bet he won't be able to stop talking."
"Torture? Of a sorcerer? They're trained with withstand torture."
Salua shook his head as he answered. MacDougall gave him a stern glare.
"You haven't forgotten who's boss, have you?"
"No way."
Salua chuckled.
"You're the heart of this village, after all—"
MacDougall was satisfied to hear that. He nodded and turned back to Orphen.
"I want to know more than just your name, sorcerer. What happened to the villagers who came to greet you? Did you kill them?"
Kill? What a ridiculous word. He couldn't help but give a wry smile.
— Only, that didn't sit well with MacDougall. For a split second, he saw his face scrunch up.
"Who do you think you are!?"
At the same time, the priest's boot struck him right in the face.
If he'd wanted to fight back, there were plenty of options — he could grab his ankle and give the ligaments a twist. He could have slammed his heel right into the priest's eye socket, destroying his brain along with his eyeball. He wouldn't even have to go to the trouble of all that, he could just shout a single word — and with a single spell, he could wipe out the priest, let alone the man standing behind him.
With the skills he'd learned from his teacher, he could've done it, but—
He looked up at MacDougall silently from the ground.
MacDougall seemed to take his silence as a sign of submission. With a quiet gleam of pleasure in his eyes, he spoke up in a satisfied tone.
"My name is MacDougall, and this sacred place is the Great Heart, the capital of those who seek the truth of the world. The home of the warriors who serve the dragons, who are truly powerful, possessing genuine sorcery, unlike you humans and your cheap imitations."
"............"
He said nothing. He saw Salua shrug behind MacDougall, and MacDougall continued alone.
"It'd be easy to execute you right here and now, but I won't. We have to find out why you sorcerers from the Tower of Fang appeared in this village. We've also captured your student. If one of you escapes, we'll kill the one that remains."
Student? — He couldn't remember. It was certainly possible he had one.
"Rest now — I'll make you regret ever coming here once you're back on your feet. Have you ever had a tooth pulled without anesthesia?"
Apparently, that was his closing line. With a triumphant smile, MacDougall turned his back to him.
He and Salua left. They had nothing else to say. The door was swung shut and latched with a clank.
Orphen healed the wound on his shoulder with a spell, then went back to sleep. When he woke up about an hour later, his memories had already been recovered.
"... Why do you live alone in this room?"
The question seemed to torment her — He could see a small wrinkle of emotion forming on Fiena's profile as she looked out the window. The impression vanished in an instant, but it was likely to remain in her memory for some time to come.
(She's not the shrine maiden now.)
Majic thought.
She turned to him. She was wearing only lounge wear, a white linen top and bottom. She looked somewhat ashamed when she answered.
"I mustn't show myself in public too often... 'Lest the rags start to show."
"Rags?"
Fiena laughed, as if in mockery of herself.
"I'm a tool — I'm the one who brings the people of this village together. I only show up at important ceremonies, say what I'm supposed to say, and then... I perform miracles."
"Miracles... Like healing my injuries?"
Fiena didn't answer. She continued to look around the room as if she was searching for something.
Majic, too, looked around, looking for something. This was the only room on the top floor of the cult tower, which stood in the center of the village. It wasn't very spacious, being only ten meters above the ground. At most, one could reach the other end of the room with a few steps. Because the tower itself was made of wood, the walls of the room were all bare boards. Inside the room, there was only a stand on which a voice tube was installed to speak to the assembly hall, a small round table, a single chair, and a simple bed that Majic was currently lying down in.
Majic was lying motionless on the bed, dressed in a woman's nightgown — with his torso bandaged up under the nightgown. The wounds from MacDougall's gun shot still hadn't healed yet, although for some reason they didn't hurt. She'd told him that he could probably stand and walk by now, but that he should take it easy.
What she was looking for was apparently on the table — She walked over to the round wooden table and picked up a pitcher and cup that were on it. She poured some water into the cup and spoke.
"Your wound isn't hurting, correct?"
"Huh? Oh... Not at all, actually. When I try to move my body, my muscles feel tight, though."
"I think it's because the skin hasn't closed up yet. I'm not a doctor, so admittedly I'm not sure, but I guess sorcerers just have strong bodies."
"I guess so. Well, Master is ridiculously sturdy..."
As he was about to say it, he suddenly wondered if he, the apprentice, would eventually become like him — in both good and bad ways. Majic shuddered and decided to forget his fears.
"By the way, why am I wearing this?"
He asked — indicating the baggy negligee he was wearing. He finally saw Fiena laugh, amused as she touched her mouth to the rim of the cup.
"I had to pretend you were a girl, or I wouldn't have been able to take care of you in my room."
"Ugh... Y—Yeah, but still."
Majic groaned under his breath.
(I wonder what would happen if Master saw me dressed like this... let alone Cleao.)
He paled at the thought of it. He didn't even want to think about it.
"Who's nightgown is this, by the way?"
Majic asked, and Fiena gave a simple response.
"Aunt Roz's, from the cafeteria."
"... Well, that's the way of the world, isn't it...?"
He mumbled in a slightly more upbeat tone.
Then—
Bam!
The door swung open. MacDougall, the stern-faced man from before was standing there. He wasn't accompanied by any of his cronies, nor was he with that vigilante, Salua. He was alone. He saw Fiena shudder at the sight of him, though.
MacDougall opening his mouth seemed almost as sudden as his entrance. He glanced at Majic with an air of absolute disregard for the sorcerer, then spoke.
"Are you not ready yet, Fiena?"
"What are you... doing?"
Fiena, Majic suddenly realized, had donned the face of the shrine maiden. This was her defense mechanism.
MacDougall's cheeks tightened in frustration.
"I told you — our departure is imminent."
"... Yes."
Fiena nodded. MacDougall took in a patient breath.
"I told you this yesterday, too. And the day before that."
"I — I..."
Her mumbling lines were almost inaudible to Majic. But MacDougall heard it — or perhaps he expected her answer from the start? There was a look of understanding in his eyes.
Even still, MacDougall asked again.
"What did you say?"
"I... said..."
Fiena repeated, hesitating. Either way, he couldn't hear her. Majic watched, somewhat uneasily, as cracks began to form in her shrine maiden's mask.
MacDougall stepped into the room.
"I'm the one who rescued you six months ago when you were lost in the woods."
"I... I wasn't lost."
She slumped down and took a half-step back. MacDougall's eyebrow twitched deftly.
"You weren't lost? Then what were you doing?"
"I was looking for..."
"... What was that?"
Fiena's voice trembled as she spoke.
"Y... you. I was looking for you."
MacDougall's brow furrowed in suspicion when he heard her answer — but then he continued on, as if he had an idea.
"Then it's divine guidance, no?"
"............"
Fiena didn't answer. MacDougall took another step forward.
"You're essential to this plan. In the first place... without your presence, this great vision would never have been possible. For that I'm grateful. Thank you—"
He shrugged.
"You should be more responsive to gratitude, don't you agree, Fiena? You have that power, after all."
"Power... How..."
Fiena stuttered again. MacDougall continued, following up on his words.
"It's just power, isn't that right? Fiena. You're harnessing the dragon's sorcery."
(... Wha—?)
That remark, coming suddenly out of the blue made Majic's mind go blank for a second.
In the meantime, MacDougall continued, folding his arms.
"You must use your power to find the Heart of the Forest. Only you can do this, Fiena."
"I...—"
Fiena repeated her inaudible words again. MacDougall violently snatched the hand that she'd been holding to her chest.
"Don't play dumb with me. I've listened to your every whim, and I even gave you this filthy sorcerer."
MacDougall pointed at Majic. As expected, he was pissed, but he still couldn't move his body.
The priest continued.
"You wanted to breath fresh air, so I allowed you to open the windows — When you wanted to feel the dirt, I allowed you to take walks in the Forest once every three days! But still you refuse to cooperate with me!? You ungrateful stray—"
"Enough—"
Majic made sure his voice reached, then breathed back in.
"Now!"
He used his voice as an incantation to release his spell. Immediately, MacDougall's body floated in the air for just a moment, and he was thrown across the room. Majic got up from the bed, glaring at MacDougall, who'd been torn away from Fiena and slammed into the round table. Still feeling some discomfort around his injury, he could only move slowly, but he managed to stand up and step between Fiena and MacDougall.
"This sorcerer—"
MacDougall spat venomously. His face was even more twisted and dark. He honestly didn't want to face a guy like this, but he wasn't going to back down at this point.
"Majic!?"
She shouted from behind him. Majic nodded his head.
"I won't give you a chance to fire that gun again. I can cast a spell faster than you can pull it out and aim it."
That is, if the spell works, he thought to himself. This was a serious problem, though.
MacDougall grinned and put his left hand on his pocket.
"Oh — So you recognize this thing, huh?"
"I heard about them from my Master. I thought it was forbidden to manufacture or possess firearms, according to royal decree. Why do you have something like that?"
"I—"
MacDougall stood up.
"Take what I want, and whatever I need to get, I take — because I'm destined to be welcomed by the goddess."
(Goddess...?)
Majic wondered.
"If you believe in the Wyrd Sisters, shouldn't you be in the Kimrak Church?"
"My goddess is nothing like that — the goddess who gives me strength. Don't get carried away, sorcerer."
MacDougall's hand slowly moved closer and closer to the pistol in his pocket.
"I'll gain a power so strong that even your sorcery won't be able to match it... with the Heart of the Forest."
"...Ugh..."
Majic let out a meaningless groan. MacDougall's hand finally slipped inside his jacket pocket. There should be a pistol holstered on his right side.
(If he draws that gun—)
He made up his mind as a cold sweat dripped down his face.
(I'll have to kill him. If I don't, he's going to kill me.)
This situation was just too crazy. Even in his dreams, he never imagined that he could kill someone. In fact, in reality, he didn't even think it was possible.
(What would Master do in this kind of situation?)
MacDougall continued, his eyes shimmering.
"I've got all the weapons I need — This pistol, my guards, and Fiena!"
"She's not yours!"
Majic shouted out of reflex, raising his right hand. At the same time, MacDougall drew his pistol, a few steps quicker than he'd expected.
"I release you—"
Majic was stunned as he shouted. The magical composition didn't knit as he'd expected it would.
(I'm screwed!)
MacDougall's gun was clearly pointed right between his eyes. He thought he could even see the lead bullet at the back of its black barrel.
(I'll be killed—!)
But—
Even though MacDougall's left hand was still aimed directly at him, it didn't even twitch. With a cold look on his face, MacDougall murmured.
"You did this to me... Fiena."
"... Yes."
Fiena confirmed from behind Majic. MacDougall spoke up irritably.
"Remove the spell... I can't move my arm."
"Once you no longer intend to kill Majic, you'll be able to move. That is what I've instilled."
(Spirit... domination?)
Majic looked over his shoulder with a startled look. His Master, Orphen, had said that controlling the mind was a skill of white magic. Even so, Fiena hadn't uttered a spell.
(This isn't human sorcery.)
As he stood there horrified, suddenly... MacDougall's arm fell to his side. He scoffed, and holstered his pistol.
"The day after tomorrow... we'll be leaving. Be ready by then."
Fiena gasped at his words. Majic felt a chill run down his spine, even though he had no idea what that meant.
"Wait!"
She shouted, but MacDougall ignored her and left the room. He heard the sound of the cold door slamming shut.
Left in the silence of the room, Majic fell flat on the floor. Sweat poured over his skin as he ran out of energy. Looking up at Fiena, who was putting her hand on Majic, he asked.
"What's the plan?"
She didn't answer. He figured it couldn't be helped, and managed to get up.
"Where are my clothes...? The ones I was wearing when I came here."
"...! Are you leaving the village?"
Fiena gave him a worried look.
"No way."
Majic wasn't exactly sure what his plan was, so he answered vaguely.
"At least not yet, but this MacDougall guy is dangerous. We have to be ready to take action at any time."
"Take action?"
She asked curiously. Majic stammered in surprise.
"Of course! We have to get out of here. You're bullied by that guy, too, Fiena."
"But..."
"No buts. You have to get out of this village and out of this forest. I'm sure Master is looking for us, and if we manage to meet up with him, he'll do whatever he can to get rid of that MacDougall guy. He'll even make mincemeat out of him if we ask him to."
"Umm..."
"Ahh, sorry. I'm just joking about that part, but I mean it when I say that Master will do something about this—"
"No, umm, I forgot to tell you."
"... Hmm?"
Fiena continued in an apologetic tone.
"I'm sorry, but they've already caught him as well."
"What were you thinkiinnngg!?"
"... Don't yell, or else I'll crack your skull open."
Orphen groaned as he was lying on the floor of the dungeon. The noise echoed in his ears like a beehive in his head. He didn't have the strength to move his body, like he did when he was hung over. The knife wound in his left shoulder no longer left a mark, but rather than the ordinary pain he expected to feel, he felt like he was going to pass out.
The pain had come after his memories returned. It's like I forgot the pain, only to remember it again once I regained my memories, he thought sarcastically.
There had been two villagers standing guard in front of the jail, but they'd been excused by a girl named Fiena, who arrived with Majic. According to Majic's brief explanation, she was some kind of priestess of the village.
She was also the girl who'd appeared in the dream (?) he'd had a few days ago.
"People are relying on you, and you got caught so easily, and what's more, now you can't move!"
Majic explained as he clung to the bars of the prison cell. He noticed a hole the size of his index finger and a blood stain on the side of his apprentice's shirt, which he'd tried to bleach out, but Orphen chose to start a different topic instead.
"... You should be praising me for being alive. I was spiritually attacked by a Deep Dragon."
The moment he'd said the word 'Dragon' he thought he saw Fiena's body freeze — but it could've just been a hallucination, which was honestly more likely. Majic continued.
"You're so selfish, expecting praise just for being alive! People are only human if they achieve something."
"Oh, shut up. What the hell were you doing, then? You were the first one who got caught so easily. I came to save you."
"How can you say something like that?"
Majic snorted, looking more determined than ever.
"Listen, and be amazed — I managed to get myself out of three tight spots in the last twenty-four hours by using sorcery."
"Uhhmmmm..."
Fiena tugged at his sleeve from behind. Majic glanced at her, thought for a moment, then added.
"Err... Okay, sure, she helped me a little bit with the third one, but still—"
(... Fucking dumbass, getting carried away just because there's a girl here.)
Orphen thought grumpily — If there was even one Deep Dragon in any of those three predicaments, then I might consider giving him a congratulatory pat on the back, damn it.
But Majic persisted.
"Now, Master, you have to admit that I'm a full-fledged adult, don't you? And I'm completely unharmed!"
"Uhhmmm..."
"Uh, okay, so I got a little banged up, but I'm fine now. Hey, Master, you don't look so well, you know?"
"You little shit, I'm going to remember this when I recover..."
When he heard that threatening tone, Majic's expression got a little more hesitant, but for now, he decided to prioritize his immediate enjoyment. He continued, even though he was looking a little more stiff.
"Well, if its come to this, we have no choice... What do you think? Shall I help you out, Master?"
"Go ahead — say one more thing. I've still got means of retaliation."
"What retaliation? Even I could beat you right now, Master."
"I'll let Cleao give you a massage."
"... Is that supposed to be retaliation?"
"You'll see. Anyway, I can't move, so no matter how you slice it, it's not a fair fight."
"That's true, but... Master, what's a spiritual attack?"
"Just what it sounds like."
Orphen muttered bitterly and looked up at the clay ceiling.
"—A single glare could wipe a person's entire personality — and I was only able to get away with being hit by it because I received thorough training for mental control at the Tower of Fang. If I were an ordinary sorcerer, I'd not only be crippled, but my body itself would've been reduced to dust."
"Huh... But how can a body be disintegrated by a spiritual attack?"
"What makes you think it wouldn't?"
When Orphen asked back, Majic looked troubled.
"I mean — It'd just affect the spirit, wouldn't it?"
"Do you know what all spirit encompasses, then?"
"............"
Majic folded his arms and looked up at the ceiling.
"I don't know."
"Well would you look at that. Basically, when it comes to us sorcerers, the term 'Spiritual' has two meanings: One deals with memory and neural information, things like mind set, and the other — which is the main meaning — is a general term for things that doesn't physically exist."
"Right..."
Majic replied with an abrupt answer, like he understood even when he didn't. Orphen pushed his upper body up, holding his aching head.
"Souls, prophecies, voices in your head, time — that sort of thing. With humans, that's the domain of white-magic sorcerers. It's an entirely different realm from what us black-magic sorcerers use — a more generalized 'Power' — a combination of energy, matter, and semantic information. But just as we can change people's minds by threatening them with force, Deep Dragons — they can create physical phenomena from the realm of white magic. Human white-magic sorcerers don't have that kind of power, though. Spiritual attacks are extremely effective against living creatures. So, you can't go up against a Deep Dragon who's skilled in the dark arts."
"... Are they really that dangerous? The Deep Dragons?"
"You know what — Yeah. Just look at me and judge for yourself..."
Orphen turned his head to the girl standing behind Majic. With just that one motion, pain shot through his head.
Pain all the way down to the marrow.
"Fiena... was it? I have a question for you."
"Y-yes?"
The girl stammered — she couldn't seem to bring herself to look directly at him, her eyes instead fluttered downwards. He knew she had the ability to speak directly to his mind — but if that was really something she had done, it wasn't the kind of sorcery that could be used by humans.
"This dungeon is in that tower in the middle of the village, right? What's that big building next to it, then?"
"That's..."
Then, she fell silent. She was forbidden from talking about it — whatever it was, it didn't seem like she was completely clueless, but he still hadn't recovered enough energy to interrogate her.
So, Orphen decided to ask something else.
"Then... that dragon. It was a Deep Dragon that appeared in the middle of the village, wasn't it?"
"What do you mean...?"
She asked back again with downcast eyes. Orphen sighed.
"The Deep Dragon is the guardian of the Forest — At least, that's what the legends say. It'll instantly destroy anyone who enters the forest. And yet, standing in the middle of this village, the dragon didn't attack anyone — except for me. You don't really think they're the guardian god of this village, do you?"
"............"
"If you don't want to talk, that's fine. This is the last question. Why did that village priest — MacDougall, was it? — Why did he kidnap us? Is it just because we entered the forest? Surely he's not planning to capture every single traveler, is he?"
"It's... because you're sorcerers. We had some information from... a dwarf who recently wandered into our village and told us that he and his friend were being chased by sorcerers. He told MacDougall that they must be closing in. MacDougall doesn't like sorcerers."
"... Ahh, that damned tanuki... causing one problem after another, everywhere he goes... Ow..."
After hearing that explanation, there wasn't anything more he wanted to know. Or rather — as far as the stuff he actually wanted to know was concerned, he had a feeling that Fiena wasn't going to tell him anything anyway. On top of that, his headache was getting worse as he talked.
(I guess I'll just have to find out on my own... but I'll have to wait until I can move...)
Why was there a Dragon Faith village in the middle of the Forest like this?
What was with that Deep Dragon?
He had a lot of questions about the details of Majic's story, like the pistol used by MacDougall, Fiena's sorcery (?), and that plan—
And as an added bonus, he wondered how he could make a bloodbath out of that idiot Vulcan.
He could make a number of analogies for all of the above questions.
But without daring to answer them, Orphen mumbled.
"Fiena."
"Y...es?"
She looked up, caught off guard. Orphen mumbled.
"Thank you for healing me. I'm guessing you saved my life."
"Oh, that..."
"You healed my Master?"
Majic asked from the side. Orphen didn't wait for her to explain the situation to him. He ignored him and continued.
"I didn't understand it then, but I understand it now — I was spiritually dead, and no human power could have healed me. You know that, don't you?"
"...Yes."
Fiena nodded her head. Orphen opened his mouth again, fighting off his sleepiness.
"But you healed me."
"............"
She didn't answer. She looked at him, meekly folding her hands in front of her stomach. No, she wasn't even looking at him, she was looking at the floor just in front of him. She didn't want to make eye contact with anyone.
"Let me ask you one question — and you don't have to answer, but I'd like for you to look at me. I'll judge your answer for myself."
"Master, that kind of interrogation—"
But it was Fiena, not Orphen, who interrupted Majic's protests. She quickly extended her gaze toward him and spoke up.
"I can answer you. Or at least I can answer... some... things."
Her answer grew gradually weaker as she spoke. Orphen asked, thinking that there were probably an overwhelming number of things that she wouldn't be able to tell him.
"Then answer me. What is there to be afraid of when you have such power?"
"............"
Fiena didn't answer. He couldn't even read anything from the shrine maiden's emotionless expression.
