“Before that, there’s something I’ve been curious about.”
“Ask me anything.”
“I understand the importance of security and the pride of witches, but I find it puzzling that sharing my magical knowledge with the witches is completely off-limits.”
I finally voiced the question that had been bothering me for so long.
Why did they avoid me whenever I tried to share even a fraction of what I knew?
‘The Archwitch of the Snowfield is intriguing, but that’s something to explore later.’
There were other mysteries I was curious about, but I decided to shelve them for now, wary of inadvertently influencing that particular witch’s fate.
“The reason is simple. An uninitiated witch who hasn’t achieved independence can only learn magic from her master.”
Isabelle answered my question casually, as if it were common knowledge.
Had I known it was this straightforward, I would’ve asked sooner.How foolish of me to have misunderstood.
“…Is it some kind of tradition?”
“It’s a tradition, but not a harmful one. It’s closely tied to the fact that witchcraft is passed down as a one-to-one legacy.”
Isabelle continued explaining.
“Each witch trains in vastly different ways due to the complexity of spirit summoning and esoteric rituals. That’s why they can’t recklessly learn magic from anyone other than their master—it could disrupt the circle within their heart.”
As expected, there was a legitimate reason behind it.
Come to think of it, even Arina, when I gave her the bag, had mentioned ‘the ways of witches.’
“Learning or practicing different magic becomes possible only after they’ve achieved independence from their master.”
“Then why don’t independent witches ask me to teach them directly? In fact, they seem to avoid me whenever I try to share something.”
“That’s… because of respect for their masters. They don’t casually ask others to teach them magic. If an independent witch wants to learn a different kind of magic, they usually procure grimoires or research and develop it themselves. That includes me.”
Hearing this, I began to understand why the number of witches was so small.
It felt like a miracle they were managing to sustain their lineage at all.
‘So that’s why they’re so obsessed with examining my Golden Carriage and magitech tools—they’re studying and learning through observation.’
Even so, I had the sense that magitech would gradually flourish in the North within the next decade.
But for someone like me, who needed to return to Earth as soon as possible, even that pace felt far too slow.
‘There has to be more to this. Can respect for one’s master really suppress a wizard’s insatiable thirst for knowledge to this extent?’
I still felt uneasy, as if there was another layer to this mystery.
‘Well, it’s not like they’ll tell me if I ask directly. I’ll have to find another way.’
If that’s how things stood, I’d have to raise the level of magitech in the North on my own—quickly.
“Then, if I were to write a book on magic stone studies or magitech principles, would you read it?”
If I couldn’t teach them directly due to the witches’ peculiar customs, I could always write a book.
Something like The Fundamentals of Magitech sounded like a fitting title.
“Hmmm…? That’s surprising. You’re willing to share your knowledge and expertise so openly?”
Isabelle looked genuinely astonished by my suggestion.
“Why go to such lengths?”
“I can’t explain in detail. Just think of it as… my personal way of repaying a great debt I owe to the North, to Renslet in particular.”
“…?!”
Isabelle stared at me with a curious expression, as though trying to discern how much of my explanation was sincere.
“No.”
But then, shaking her head, she rejected my proposal.
“As tempting as it is, not right now. Don’t distribute any grimoires yet. If you’re already writing one, put it on hold for now.”
“May I know the reason?”
“Because that grimoire could fall into the hands of the Empire.”
Her reasoning mirrored the warning Arina had once given me.
“Do you think there are Imperial spies in the Witches’ Assembly?”
“The Assembly isn’t composed solely of witches. There are those who’ve lost their masters to accidents or lacked the talent to continue as witches and now work as clerks or alchemists. It’s better to be cautious.”
“What if I engrave the grimoire with protective magic so that only its intended reader can access it, like the barrier on the Golden Carriage?”
“Unlike the Golden Carriage, grimoires are small and light. If I were an Imperial Sigma operative, I’d kidnap the witch along with the book. For example… by abducting that witch’s apprentice.”
“…”
Hearing her reasoning, I nodded reluctantly.
“Then, when do you think it might be safe to share knowledge?”
“It won’t take long. At most a year. Once we’ve completely eradicated the Empire’s rats from the High Tower, that’s when we’ll be the ones asking for your knowledge instead.”
With a confident smile, Isabelle suddenly glanced at me with an almost playful expression.
“But Sir Arad? I get the sense you’ve been stalling the conversation about intelligence from earlier.”
“Well…”
‘Here it comes.’
“Judging by your tone, the results aren’t good, are they?”
“…No.”
Sighing deeply, I finally decided to come clean.
“There’s no point in delaying any longer. I’ll explain now.”
Feeling a weight settle over me, I opened the desk drawer and retrieved a sample of the depleted soil I had collected earlier.
I placed it on the desk and spoke to Isabelle.
“Using mana detection, I recently confirmed where the drained intelligence from the soil is being funneled.”
“Don’t tell me… the greenhouse farms?”
Isabelle asked cautiously, her tone apprehensive.
“That’s right. The greenhouse farms at the High Tower are siphoning the North’s magical energy. If this continues, the entire region will face a massive famine within decades.”
“…Why didn’t the spirits say anything about this?”
“Because it’s the spirits themselves that are draining the magic.”
“?!”
“The greenhouse farms were flawed from the very beginning.”
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