Fake Saint of the Year: You Wanted the Perfect Saint? Too Bad! Volume 4 Part 1 by kabedondaikou

Author:kabedondaikou
Language: eng
Format: epub

Chapter 72: Witch

The dark clouds had gathered, merged, and materialized into a single figure. No, calling it a single figure would be somewhat misleading—it had first taken the form of several women.

No one but Profeta could recognize each of their faces, but these women were the past witches that had plagued humanity for a thousand years. Their forms had gotten tangled together until a single figure had emerged—a dark, cloudy giant that stood as tall as the firmament.

It was a gruesome spectacle.

The witches’ faces haphazardly stuck out from the giant amalgamation, while others were at the tips of tentacles that had sprouted from the giant’s back. Each visage was of varying sizes—some much larger than they’d been during their lives—but each had pitch-black skin and sclera, white pupils, and tears of blood that trailed from their eyes.

Alexia, who’d died a short while ago, was among them.

Cold sweat ran down Alfrea’s back. “It’s a been a while, mother,” she whispered.

She was looking at the largest face protruding from the giant’s chest like a tumor. That one—a beautiful woman with cold eyes—was as big as a castle. It was Eve, the first witch. Only Alfrea, her daughter, and Profeta recognized her.

“That’s not Eve,” Profeta said. “This is just a residue.”

“You’re right...”

Alfrea had been reunited with her mother after a thousand years, but her mother’s soul was long gone. What remained were the negative emotions the witches had accumulated over a thousand years. However, since witches were practically soulless dolls who, having lost their free will, were controlled by their negative emotions, one could say that these cursed dregs were, in fact, the very essence of the witches.

The faces all put their resentment into words:

“I hate you...”

“I’m so jealous...”

“Curse you...”

“I’ll never forgive you...”

These feelings didn’t belong solely to the witches. They’d accumulated them over the years, pulling them from the air—they were the mass of negative emotions that constantly poured out from everyone.

“If only Hans didn’t exist... I would’ve been the next commander. It should’ve been me. I hope he kills himself. I hope a carriage runs over him,” one of the witches said in a man’s voice.

No one really understood those words except for one soldier who suddenly paled.

“Th-That’s...my voice?” he noted, shaken.

“B-Barry! Is that truly what you think of me?!” another man—presumably Hans—exclaimed.

“No! This is a misunderstanding!” Barry immediately shouted.

Hans couldn’t hide his shock. Someone he’d always considered his friend had been thinking horrible things about him.

The next moment, another witch spoke in Hans’s voice. “That damn Barry... He doesn’t come close to me, but he wants to pretend he’s as good as me, huh? He’s so freaking annoying too—he’s always following me around like a damn dog.”

Having heard those words, Barry impulsively jumped at Hans’s throat. The other man was just as angry.

“You asshole!”

“Shut your trap! You wanna fight, is that it?!”

“Stop it, you two! Can’t you see it’s not the time to fight among ourselves?!” another soldier cried.

How could they face such a terrifying enemy if they were busy

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