Lycan Alpha's Witch

8) Conscription

“Name, soldier.” Her rough unyielding voice made me gulp. Just from her tone alone I knew doing anything rash would mean trouble. And not just easy-to-deal-with trouble. Even though she looked old, her clothes all dirty and torn, she wasn’t to be taken lightly. Slowly, the reality was dawning on me with each minute passing. I was standing here, in the middle of nowhere, in a territory which was potentially quite dangerous as it didn’t belong to us witches. There was an old witch in front of me, with a book and quill without any ink bottle. Giving her my name would mean I would be under the spell all soldiers sent to battle were.

It was enough it would be known I was taken hostage by our enemies and the spell would seal all my memories that pertained to the Floating Island, spells or magic itself. Some books even stated that mana flow of a witch would be rashly compromised, meaning using mana or any magic was going to be impossible. Every breath would feel like thousands of daggers digging into your body.

As if losing magic wasn’t like getting your arms and legs cut off from your body, almost ripping your soul apart, this pain was multiplied by physical pain as well.

I drew a shaky breath. Did this mean I was to be put under this awful spell? Dying would be easier than to get this spell activated if I was captured by werewolves.

But the witch was unrelenting. She was clenching the quill in her bony fingers, ready to write my name in the book of soldiers. Even if she had to get the name out of me by taking my brain out, she would fulfill the duty given to her by the queen.

“V-Valencia Rosemary Zaeske.” I murmured. She scratched my name into the book. The moment she finished writing, I could feel my mana knotting. The red sigil of the spell appeared in the air in front of me. I hung my head while clenching my fists. I was being treated like an expellee. An outcast sent to the front lines. I could smell the burning smell from the sigil coming closer.

“Left upper shoulder.” The witch pointed to it with the feathery part of the quill she was still holding in the bony fingers which were barely covered by her shriveled skin. I took the cape off and pulled the dress down to reveal my left shoulder. I was to be branded by the sigil. Like the ousted witch princess I was.

All I could hear in that moment was hissing while my tears welled with tears of pain. My skin was being branded. That skin that never knew what it meant to have a single scratch. That skin which was only slightly tanned.

“Group eight with Iana Amberwood.” She said in the same tone as she had been talking to me the whole time. She didn’t care about my pain. She was completely indifferent to everything that was going on. Even if she had seen hundreds of witches getting branded for the battlefield, one would expect her to be more humane. But it was like she lost all care for any pain the conscripted witches would feel.

I pulled the dress up to cover at least a part of the sigil which was stretching on the upper edge of my trapezius towards my neck. I was branded for now and maybe even forever. And I made up my mind. If I had to be ever captured by werewolves, I would rather end all of this than to live on without being able to feel the pure and beautiful flow of mana.

The moment the old woman put down her quill, I got warped away once again. But this time it was different. The quietness of the forest was gone. I could hear shrieking and inhuman sounds around me. Fires were roaming around, the smell of burnt flesh and hair was hovering in the air. I gasped for air. It felt like I couldn’t breathe. The spicy inhuman stench was entering my lungs, bringing me to my knees. All of this was happening just too quickly. My stomach was in shambles. In fact, all of the insides just came out right in front of me once again. I was gripping the forest grass in my hands, trying to stay focused. I had to breathe this dirty, heavy air without enough mana in it. This dirty place. That sharp pain I felt in my lungs with every breath I took. I started coughing and felt the queasiness coming once again.

Warping just once without being properly prepared for it was enough to make one sick, the sudden change of mana flows, the awful burning smell all around me… It was all weighing on me, making me want to just stop fighting it to survive. Just to close my eyes and give in. I was branded anyway. What else could I do here but to just lie down and give in to this overwhelming feeling that was overtaking my whole body.