Another World Witch Training Manual

104. Disguise

Alaya did not act immediately.

She stood by the window, her fingertips gently tapping the windowpane, her gaze fixed on the old oak tree in the courtyard.

The tree canopy casts dappled shadows in the midnight moonlight, like an unfolded map.

This is not a good situation.

The dungeon was actually filled with Simondo's spies; they were like a pack of hyenas, guarding every corridor and every door leading to the dungeon, their eyes greedy and vigilant.

Anyone entering or leaving the dungeon will be repeatedly questioned, and any suspicious activity will be amplified, reported, and exploited.

Alaya turned around, walked to the desk, spread out a piece of paper, dipped it in ink, and began to write down a few names.

The sound of the pen tip gliding across the paper was delicate and rapid.

The first group consisted of three young trainee pastors.

My face is unfamiliar, so it won't attract attention. My task is to go ahead, distract the guards, and create a little harmless chaos.

They know nothing, and even if questioned, they won't get any information out of them.

The second group consisted of two intermediate priests carrying stretchers and medicine boxes, with Eve mixed in among them, making a total of three.

The third group included an old pastor.

The real key.

Alaya's pen stopped at the last name.

Edric.

The name made her hesitate for a few seconds.

Pastor Edric is one of the most senior members of the Church of Light. He has offered last prayers for countless dying soldiers on the battlefield, witnessed too much life and death, and kept too many secrets.

His hands were steady, and his heart was even more steady.

More importantly, Simondo owed him a favor; three years ago, during a plague, Edric saved the life of Simondo's only son.

Alaya put down her pen, folded the list, and tucked it into her sleeve.

"Come with me." She pushed open the door and said to Xinlai and Eve, who were waiting in the hallway.

Eve stumbled as she stood up.

Xinlai reached out and held her arm, feeling her muscles taut like a violin string.

Her eyes were swollen and red, but her lips were pale and cracked.

"Eve," Xinlai whispered, "you can do it."

Eve looked up at him, her eyes swirling with a torrent of emotions—fear, grief, gratitude. She didn't speak, but simply nodded vigorously.

Alaya led them through the back porch of the church and into a secluded apothecary.

The room was filled with the bitter smell of herbs, and the shelves were filled with pottery jars and glass bottles of all sizes, with labels written in Asgardian, the handwriting so illegible that only the apothecary himself could read them.

Edric was already waiting there.

The old pastor sat in an oak chair, his white hair neatly combed, his face covered with deep wrinkles.

His eyes were special; they weren't the cloudy kind of eyes of a kind old man, but rather like a lake in winter—clear, calm, and unfathomable.

He was polishing a silver holy emblem with a piece of chamois leather, his movements slow and focused, as if it were not an object but a living thing.

"Is it her?" Edric glanced at Eve, his voice hoarse but gentle.

Alaya nodded.

Edric didn't ask further, simply saying, "I'll disguise her as an intermediate priest who needs to bind Holy Light to advance to a high-level priest. Is that alright?"

He stood up, took a roll of linen bandage from the shelf, picked up a ceramic jar, and opened the lid to smell it.

"An extract of calendula and myrrh." He handed the earthenware jar to Eve. "Apply it to your face and hands; it will cover up your original scent."

Eve was stunned.

Edric pointed to his nose:

"Those people in the dungeon might be blindfolded, but their noses won't. The scent of lavender and rosewater on a noble lady can be smelled through three doors. Apply this, and you'll smell like an inflamed wound."

Eve took the earthenware pot, her fingers trembling slightly.

Xinlai unscrewed the cap for her, scooped out a dollop of dark yellow ointment with her fingertips, and evenly applied it to her cheeks, forehead, bridge of her nose, and the back of her hands.

The ointment was cool to the touch and had a pungent herbal smell, like a mixture of decaying vegetation and bitter tree roots.

As the scent filled the air, Eve's tears fell again. Not because of the hurt she felt, but because the smell reminded her of something: of being sick as a child, when her mother would apply a similar-smelling ointment to her forehead; of her father returning from battle, his body smelling of mud, rust, and horse sweat.

Those smells are still in my memory, but those people are gone.

Alaya helped Eve remove her long dress and put on a priest's robe.

Then came the bandages.

Edric did it himself.

His hands were very steady, and he applied even pressure with each wrap, neither too loose nor too tight.

The bandage started from the top of Eve's head, went around her chin, and covered her forehead, cheeks, and ears, leaving only her eyes and nostrils exposed.

One layer, two layers, three layers, until that young face completely disappeared beneath the layers of white linen.

"Breathe," Edric said.

Eve took a breath.

Is it tight?

Eve shook her head. The shaking motion, hidden beneath the bandages, was so subtle it was almost imperceptible.

Finally, Edric took a bronze incense burner from the shelf and lit the frankincense and myrrh inside.

wisps of white smoke rose, and the intense fragrance acted like a wall, shutting out the last trace of Eve's original scent.

Xinlai stood aside, watching all of this.

He watched Eve disappear bit by bit under the bandages and ointments, transforming from a living young girl into a mid-level priest wrapped in bandages to bind the Holy Light.

His expression was calm, but his hands, hanging at his sides, were clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms.

"Let's go." Alaya pushed open the door, her gaze lingering on Xinlai's face for a moment. "You go wait in the front. Leave the rest to Edric."

Xinlai opened her mouth as if to say something, but in the end she just nodded.

He glanced at Eve, whose eyes, hidden beneath the bandages, were also looking at him.

No words were needed; he nodded, Eve nodded, and then Xinlai turned and walked out.

……

……

The path to the dungeon wasn't long, but Eve felt like she was walking on knives with every step.

She walked in the middle, flanked by two intermediate priests, one in front and one behind.

The stretcher beside him swayed gently with each step, like a small boat drifting on an underground river.

Edric walked beside the stretcher, shaking a copper bell in his hand. The sound of the bell echoed between the stone walls, carrying a certain ancient rhythm.

The trainee pastors walked at the front, chattering amongst themselves.

This was arranged by Alaya to have them create some chaos when they passed through the first checkpoint, to distract the guards.

We've reached the first hurdle.

Two guards stood before the iron fence, halberds crossed, their faces expressionless. They saw the novice priests approaching and were about to begin questioning them when the three young men suddenly started arguing.

"I told you long ago to take the left-hand path!"

"You didn't say anything! You were just staring at the moss on the wall!"

"Quiet down, quiet down, guard. Excuse me, does this path lead to the lower dungeon? We're here to treat the prisoners' wounds—"

The guards, annoyed by the noise, waved them through without even questioning them.

The second obstacle is Simondo's men.

A tall, thin man wearing leather armor and sporting a goatee stood in the middle of the road, his gaze sweeping over the line like a hook.