Iron Harvest: When Farming Becomes Conquest-Chapter 264 - 33: Margaret

When Shasta saw Margaret, she was emerging from that remote village, carrying something in her hands, and the scent of blood seemed to grow even stronger.

"You’ve killed how many more?"

"I didn’t count," said the blood-soaked witch.

Another witch said, "Killing too many will cause you to lose yourself."

Margaret ignored her, "I want to spend money to buy things, but no one will sell to me."

"Looking like you do, anyone would be afraid."

"They pelt me with stones, throw pitchforks at me, curse me, swear at me—and all this happens before I do anything, say anything."

"Because they can guess who you are—you’re not a runaway slave, a poverty-stricken peasant woman, a haggard prostitute, a down-and-out noblewoman. You enter the village alone, dressed like that—their first glance tells them what you are."

"They’re not afraid of me, throwing stones, unwilling to listen to my intentions, nor to take my money."

Shasta said with a trace of sorrow, "No, it’s precisely out of fear that they throw stones at you, just like people instinctively kill a poisonous snake they encounter... No one wants to deal with a poisonous snake..."

Margaret said, "We’re not poisonous snakes."

"That’s right, we’re not poisonous snakes," Shasta repeated.

"We are beasts more terrifying than poisonous snakes! We’re just like the noble knights," Margaret said. "They dare not provoke noble knights, fearing disaster, yet they don’t fear a witch."

Shasta said, "It’s not the same."

"It is the same, all the same. I am stronger than them, I am stronger than most knights. When knights come to the village for food, no one dares to throw stones at them, but witches bring about the opposite result. Wrongdoing comes with a price, they should hold respect in their hearts—at least I am willing to pay."

"Witches earn their bad reputation this way," Shasta said, feeling an intense sense of powerlessness from deep within.

"We now need food and water, we have injured who need herbs for treatment, but we can’t buy those things with money because they’ve excluded us from human society. Whose bad reputation is it? Witches or humanity?"

"Margaret, but we must have a destination... Witches can’t keep wandering like this—this is what you used to tell me. Now you’ve lost yourself and have become more and more unfamiliar."

Margaret quietly placed her hand by her ear, as if listening to something.

She whispered, "The Netherworld calls out to me, if the world has no place for me, then that is my only destination..."

"No! Margaret! That’s just an illusion! The teacher said your spirit will get lost, you won’t gain anything and will end up as a wandering ghost."

"Lord Thunder has a grave misunderstanding about the Netherworld. Her spells are unbeatable, her character is strong, never relying on others, convinced that the self is the source of magic. That’s why she can’t perceive the existence of the Netherworld as vaguely as I can. Since the Holy City Battle, my feelings have become clearer..."

Shasta sternly scolded, "Enough! Margaret! Stop now! Even a prophet can’t reach that world!"

"I have no more attachment to this world," Margaret shook her head, "Of course, Shasta, I’ll accompany you to the end..."

Shasta refused to continue.

Arguing was pointless, Margaret was too stubborn for her.

The two met up with their companions and distributed the dark bread from their bags to everyone.

The bag was stained with blood, but no one said more.

The older witches, seeing the blood on the sack, all smiled, having anticipated such things, otherwise why send Margaret to find food.

Might as well find some amusement on this monotonous journey of escape.

The younger witches were silently gnawing on the dark bread, coarse in texture, tasting awful.

They ate as they walked.

Along the way, they engaged in a battle with a mercenary group and bounty hunters.

Twenty or so mercenaries died.

And on the witches’ side, there was one more wounded.

"We’re being surrounded," said the wolf-headed witch with her own eyes.

Shasta said, "Find the weak spot, break through."

Monica said, "Margaret, you take the lead, no problem right?"

Margaret nodded silently without uttering a word.

They broke out in the deep of night.

The fifty-man mercenary group responsible for the encirclement was wiped out.

Carcasses scattered everywhere, a scene of bloody cruelty.

By dawn, the Witch, taking advantage of the cover of night, led the wounded to escape ten kilometers away.

Exhausted in spirit and physically drained, they were spent, utterly unable to move any further, not even capable of casting the smallest of spells.

Shasta had no choice but to order a rest and had Margaret stand guard, to be rotated with someone else after an hour.

At that moment, the witch with the wolf’s head looked up at the sky with a surprised gaze at a tiny bird.

"It’s my bird," she gestured.

True enough, the bird landed on her finger—it was a little nightingale.

"We’ve fed it," Monica said with a worried frown. "Don’t tell me it’s bringing bad news from Cangyue."

"This isn’t one of the birds I keep in Cangyue; this is one I gave to...who was it again?"

The Beast Witch squinted her eyes.

She kept many such birds close to her, highly intelligent, convenient for entrusting her spirit, though most were now dead.

She sent it back the way it came, flying along with her spirit entrusted to it, and saw a small boat on the river with a young trader sitting in it.

She controlled the nightingale to fly back and told her companions, "It’s the Pereya Family’s kid."

"Looking for us?"

"Could be a trap."

The wolf-headed Witch shook her head, "I’ve seen it, just ten or so people, no ambush."

"No ambush... hmm, let’s play with him a bit!"

They mustered the last of their energy and approached stealthily.

Half a day later, they saw Morry and his boat.

...

"You looking for us?"

The abrupt voice startled Morry, and he felt an overwhelming pressure that made it difficult to breathe.

Then, he saw the Witch named Monica appear.

They were twenty or thirty meters apart, but somehow she used a method that made it impossible for him to breathe.

"Oh, dear Monica, don’t scare the poor lad. He’s one of the few who still dares to come looking for us," Gwen followed behind Monica, smiling gently.

"Selin vanished, said he went to Igo to look for the Conqueror’s Treasure Vault, pah! Who would believe his words! The Prophet knows more about the vault than he does, her Magic Mirror even came from there. So, you boy, why are you still here? Spill it! What’s your wicked scheme!"

Morry pointed at his neck, his face turning red, unable to say a word.

Monica dispelled the spell, and Morry coughed a few times, "Cough cough cough, I’m looking for you, and so is the River Valley King."

"What king, never heard—"

"Gwen, shut up! Let him speak!" Shasta commanded.

"The River Valley King is willing to offer you protection, as long as you are willing to pay a fee..."

"What fee?" Shasta asked.

"I don’t know; you’ll have to negotiate with him."

Edith sneered, "Negotiate? It had better not be another trick to lure us in and kill us!"

"It’s not..."

"Boy, you’re not lying! But let me tell you, the world is full of deceitful and despicable acts. I can tell with my backside, that damned River Valley King must be in cahoots with that bastard Gael, right?"

Morry hesitated, then realized Edith was right.

"Everyone who used to be on good terms with us has turned their backs! In the face of power and profit, setting a little trap for a Witch is nothing..."

"But the River Valley King just had a battle with Lord Gael." He couldn’t help but interject.

...