Silent Witch

Book 14: Chapter 1: The Truth of the Black Chalice

Book 14: Chapter 1: The Truth of the Black Chalice

Special mention to Thomas Elliott. Thank you so much for the generous donation!

I changed "Eig" to "Ike" to make it more sense since it was abbreviated from Isaac.

Anyway, here's a bonus chapter.

The night's entertainment district was as bustling as when Monica had visited before no, it was even more lively than that time. It seems that when spring comes, people tend to get excited and want to go out to the city.

When the women who attract customers smile seductively, men flock to them like moths drawn to streetlights. The ones who flock to these men are street vendors carrying goods. If a street vendor calls out, "How about a unique hair ornament?" young girls raise their voices in delight with high-pitched cheers.

While watching such a scene from the corner of her eye, Monica was walking quickly through the night city, relying on her scant memories.

Eventually, the hustle and bustle fade away, and if you pass through a particularly dark and narrow road in the night city, you will see the sign of "Porter's Antique Bookstore".

Monica took a deep breath once and opened the door to the bookstore. The creaking sound of the door was the same sound she heard when she came before.

In the dimly lit store, bookshelves were arranged at regular intervals. Monica walked between the second and third shelves, remembering the time when she was brought here by Felix.

There were no other customers in the store, and at the counter in the back, the shop owner, Porter, was writing in the same posture as before.

The shop owner, with his dark skin and black hair, seemed to have mixed foreign blood, making it difficult to determine his age.

However, he looked convincing enough to be said to be of the same generation as Monica's father.

"Good evening."

Even when Monica called out, Porter did not stop his handwriting. The almond-shaped black eyes behind his glasses remained fixed on the paper.

But it seemed that Monica's voice was not unheard. While moving his quill pen smoothly, Porter opened his mouth reluctantly.

"It took longer than I thought. Did I glue it too firmly?"

"No, I found the memo right away, but I didn't immediately understand what the Black Chalice meant."

Porter stopped the hand moving his quill pen and finally looked up at Monica.

His slightly darkened eyes lazily reflected Monica, and he muttered as if he understood, "Ah."

"I thought it was a simple cipher that anyone who read my novel would understand but come to think of it, you were a child who didn't read novels. You've always been reading math books."

"Have we met before?"

"Ah, it's a story from when your father was alive."

Porter returned his quill pen to the pen stand and wiped his ink-stained hand with a handkerchief.

"Well, if we're going to talk about old times, shall we make some coffee? Please sit anywhere you like."

Even if he told her to sit, there were no chairs in the bookstore besides the one on which the shop owner sat.

Monica looked around and found a small footstool, which she sat down on as a chair.

Porter retreated into what seemed to be a small living space in the back of the shop, and after a while, he returned with a tray in his hand. On the tray were two cups and a silver pot Monica recognized that pot.

"That pot is"

It was exactly the same as the memento of her father that Monica cherished.

Porter poured coffee into the cup and handed it to Monica.

"It's something I asked your father to make. This is the best for staying up late."

Indeed, this man was a friend of her father's.

Thinking about that again, Monica accepted the cup.

Porter sat down in the chair in front of the counter, took a sip of coffee, and exhaled.

"Well, where should I start the story Have you already read The Adventures of Bartholomew Alexander?'"

"Just the fourteenth chapter of the fifth volume"

Porter tilted his cup and wrinkled his nose.

"It's like reading only the mystery-solving part of a detective novel. As an author, I wanted you to read from the first volume."

"I'm, I'm sorry I'm not good at reading novels."

"So, what did you think after reading it?"

The flame of the candlestick in Porters hand flickered, illuminating his gloomy face.

If I said everything would you despise me, who knew everything but did nothing for my best friend, and just watched?

Porters voice was quiet and monotonous, but a slight sense of guilt was seeping into the depths.

This person is just like me.

Monica slowly shook her head.

No. I couldnt do anything either.

Did nothing and could do nothing are similar but different. The circumstances are different between you, who were young at the time, and me, an adult who knew everything.

I think theres not much difference between adults and children in front of the Duke of Crockfords power.

Porter probably didnt do nothing. At least he moved in his own way, collecting information to uncover the truth about his friends death.

But when faced with the truth he had arrived at, he must have been able to do nothing but stand still.

The second prince is an impostor. The Duke of Crockford executed Benedict Rain, who was conducting inconvenient research for him, to hide that.

Who would believe such an absurd story?

I was surprised when the prince, who was the cause of my friends death, visited this shop hiding his identity. Ah, yes. I was surprised, but I did nothing. I did nothing. I was just a bystander. Until the day I die, I thought I would remain a bystander for the rest of my life, scattering my delusions on paper like this

The black eyes behind his glasses stared at Monica.

That fake prince brought you here. The man who caused my friends death brought my friends daughter. I thought it was a nightmare.

Thats when the bystander moved off his own accord for the first time.

He quickly wrote cryptic characters on the edge of the manuscript paper. And tucked it into the back of the book.

Mr. Porter, youre amazing. Collecting information on your own, deducing, and getting this far

Porter glared at Monica and pointed the tip of his quill at Monicas forehead. As if he were pointing the tip of a knife.

This is not deduction or anything. Theres no evidence, no conviction, just a novelists delusion. Do you understand? Youre listening to my delusion right now.

Porter cut off his words and furrowed his brow just a little really just a little.

So dont think of recklessly opposing the Duke of Crockford.

That was probably his clumsy way of caring.

But Monica, who had made a promise with the emperor of the neighboring country, could no longer be a bystander. If Monica does nothing, this country will either go to war with the empire or be devastated by civil war.

Monica opened her mouth, staring at the pen tip pointed at her forehead.

I I could only watch as my father was executed.

The words my father is not bad stuck in her throat, and Monica could not raise her voice but just watched as her father was burned and died. She burned the numbers of the books that were burned with her fathers body into her eyes.

I dont know what I can do but

Monica cast a wind spell without chanting.

The quill slipped out from between Porters fingers and began to spin in the air on its own. To the surprised Porter, Monica quietly told him.

I think I can do more than I could back then.

Porters black eyes behind his glasses widened, looking at the quill and Monica.

Apparently, he knew the true identity of Felix, but he didnt seem to know what happened to his friends daughter afterward.

Monica plucked the quill floating in the air and smiled awkwardly.

Because I am the Silent Witch.

While pretending to be strong in an unfamiliar way, Monica thought in the back of her head.

Ah, does Ike know that a researcher was killed to make him king?

If he knows, what does he think of the researchers death?

What would he look like if I told him, My father died to make you king?

I want to talk to him.