Witch Hunt (Part 1)

Inside the infirmary, the smell of antiseptic clung to the air like wet paint, sharp and suffocating. It drowned out every other scent, leaving Hugo's nose tingling with irritation. Hugo nursed a cup of herbal tea, handed to him by Sister Lydia Grimmel. She loomed over him with a scowl that said if he so much as moved, he'd be in a lot of pain, and not because of his wounds.

Lydia was a striking figure: middle-aged, with vibrant red hair that cascaded down her back in waves. Her emerald-green eyes glinted with authority, framed by faint lines etched into her stern face. She wore her usual warrior habit with chainmail underneath and plate armour on her shoulder. A beautiful, intricately designed gorget covered her neck with the crest of the church on it. 

Hugo knew Lydia well—too well for comfort. They had crossed paths on several missions, and she possessed insights into his methods that made him uneasy. Yet, despite her disapproval of his tactics, she couldn't deny his effectiveness. And so, she tolerated him, hiding behind a façade of righteousness while grappling with her own darker impulses. Over the years, Hugo had learned much from observing her, particularly how to feign guilt and remorse convincingly. By mimicking her subtle expressions, he had honed this skill dramatically.

For these reasons, Hugo found her useful, not just as a healer, but as a study in human complexity. Thanks to her divine connection, or whatever force fueled it, his injuries were already healing rapidly. His leg would take time to mend, but the rest of his wounds were now little more than scars. Still, Hugo remained skeptical about the source of her abilities. Was it truly divine intervention? Or had the Church secretly bestowed upon her some artifact of power? Such gifts weren't unheard of among loyal servants.

"You got bested by one witch," Lydia said coldly.

Hugo nodded with a neutral expression. He had underestimated that witch, letting his superiority complex cloud his judgment. That mistake had cost him dearly. For now, though, he maintained an eerie calm, studying Lydia carefully. His dominance, so painstakingly cultivated, had been shattered in a single night. Going forward, caution was essential.

"Is there any news of her whereabouts? Did we catch her yet?" Hugo asks.

Lydia's lips curled into a thin smile. "We have the bloodhounds after her and Aldric. They will track them down. No one escapes the justice of the church."

At that moment, Conrad entered the room, followed by another man Hugo recognized as Voric, one of the higher-ranking Inquisitors. Lean and muscular, with frizzy black hair and piercing blue eyes, Voric exuded a stoic coldness that commanded respect. His presence filled the room, overshadowing even Lydia's imposing demeanour.

"How is your patient, Lydia?" Voric asked, his tone clipped.

Lydia rose from her seat to greet them. "What a delight to see you here. Hugo is recovering, but he won't be walking without crutches for a while."

Voric frowned. "Get him on crutches, then. We need a skilled interrogator for this operation. The bishop has ordered the formation of a task force to hunt down Aldric and the witch. You and Hugo will accompany me."

Hugo sat up straighter at the announcement. "A task force? Interesting. Do we have any leads?"

Voric nodded curtly. "Perhaps our hounds are tracing something. We'll know soon enough."

With careful precision, Lydia helped Hugo out of bed, handing him two sturdy crutches. Leaning heavily on them, Hugo hobbled after Voric, wincing only slightly. As they moved, he turned to Conrad. "I didn't get a chance to thank you for saving me," he said, offering a polite smile. Hugo understood the value of calculated gratitude—it could go a long way in securing alliances. Without Conrad's intervention, he might very well be six feet under.

Conrad returned the smile, his voice steady. "The divine guided me."

Hugo resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he widened his grin. "Then I should thank the divine."

Together, they exited the room and made their way toward the chapel. The dimly lit aisles were lined with rows of wooden pews, where a handful of worshippers knelt in silent prayer. Faint beams of light filtered through stained-glass windows, casting colourful patterns across the stone floor. The air carried the faint scent of incense, mingling with the quiet rustle of robes and whispered prayers.

At the front of the chapel sat a warrior nun, her posture rigid as she knelt in fervent prayer. She wore attire similar to Lydia's, chainmail under a white habit. Her flaxen hair peeked out from under her coif. Her hands clasped tightly around a rosary, beads clicking softly as she murmured devotions.

"Sister Constanza," Voric whispered to the girl.

Her ice-blue eyes opened slowly, sharp and piercing as they scanned the group. She was young, perhaps in her early twenties. Rising gracefully to her feet, she fixed her gaze on Voric. "Yes?"

"By order of the bishop, you are tasked to join us in hunting down two dangerous fugitives."

"I heard what happened," She said, looking at Hugo's injured leg. "Interesting. To think a witch would so blatantly attack an inquisitor inside Bramholt."

She got up from her seat and picked up her backsword, sheathed in its scabbard.

"Any leads?"

Voric nodded, "Conrad saw the witch get into a carriage, our bloodhounds have been sniffing every carriage in the city. We'll get the suspect soon enough."

Sister Constanza smirked, "Then hopefully the witch will soon be brought to justice. What about Aldric? Any leads?"

"None so far. But he is only a secondary concern."

Constanza nodded. She knew Aldric well, since she had been to his mansion multiple times as a child. She had been a childhood friend of his daughter Jenny. She knew of Aldric and his habits. That the man finally fell out of grace with the church put a smile on her face. From what she knew, he had not been a good father to her friend.