The Lazy Witch

Ura looked at Zebril, who was staring in horror. “Didn’t you say that crystal was supposed to strike down bad people? Why haven’t Sir Baltram and the Vice-Captain been incinerated yet?”

“I… I don’t know…” Zebril whispered, her last shred of faith in the system crumbling to dust.

Baltram, now triumphant, kicked Jarce’s sword away and swaggered towards the cell, his eyes filled with a possessive, greedy light as he stared at the two women. His gaze, however, was fixed on an imagined prize.

“That vampire, Anna…” he growled, more to himself than to anyone else. “She thinks she’s so powerful. So untouchable.” He was clearly jealous, his resentment for Jarce’s easy rapport with Anna boiling over.

“But just you wait! She’s going to be mine. I’ll break her. She will bow down to me! Be my submissive wife!”

Ura’s face twisted in disgust. “Really now…?” she muttered. “Are all knights here the same?”

“No!” A pained voice came from the floor. Jarce was struggling to push himself up, “She is not an object! She is no one’s!”

Baltram’s face contorted in a furious sneer. “Still talking, pretty boy?” He laughed cruelly, then turned his leering gaze to Ura.

He looked her up and down, a disgusting appraisal that made Zebril’s blood run cold.

“But you know,” he said, “I’m a generous man. After I’ve tamed the vampire, I’ll make you my second wife. You’re a royal, aren’t you? You and the vampire will look good on my arm. You will give me many strong children.”

“You pig,” Zebril snarled as she strained against the ropes that bound her. “You dare… you dare speak to them that way?!”

Olomyar simply smirked, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle of the Captain’s powerlessness.

“Such passion, Captain,” he purred. “But your anger is misplaced.” He looked Ura up and down. “I must admit, Baltram, she is a rather unique specimen. Once we are finished with our interrogation, would you care to share that witch?” He let out a low, cruel chuckle. “She made me so mad, you know. How dare she fake being a Tier 5 magic user when she’s this weak?!”

“You DARE—!” Zebril roared, straining against the ropes with all her might, managing to get to one knee. “You are a Vice-Captain of the Knights, Olomyar! Have you no honor?!”

Before she could rise any further, Baltram, who was standing nearby, casually pointed a hand at her. A bolt of yellow stunning magic crackled through the air and struck her in the shoulder. Zebril cried out and collapsed back to the floor, her muscles spasming.

Ura watched all of this, her expression of utter, academic confusion. What on earth are they doing?

Baltram, now feeling powerful and in control, swaggered over to Ura, the same yellow stunning magic crackling in his palm. He pointed it directly at her face.

“Now,” he sneered, his voice a low, threatening growl. “Beg.”

Ura looked from the crackling magic to his face, her green eyes completely calm and analytical. She tilted her head slightly.

“Are you seeking an emotional display of submission? for your own gratification? If so, I must inform you that I cannot generate an authentic plea under these conditions. Would a fabricated one be acceptable for your purposes?”

Baltram’s face, already twisted with rage, contorted further at Ura. She wasn't giving him the fear he craved.

“Beg!” he roared again, lunging forward. He grabbed the front of her thin, plain tunic and tore it from top to bottom, leaving her exposed in the cold, oppressive light of the cell.

But the terrified, shamed reaction he expected never came. In a blink, Ura is not there.

“Looking for me?”

The voice was calm, bored, and directly behind him. Baltram spun around.

Ura was standing there, now fully clothed in her familiar, oversized, rune-inscribed robes. In her hand, she held her dark wood staff, which now pulsed with immense power. She smiled and playfully poked the top of his head with the end of her staff. “Boop! Hehe.”

When Olomyar saw this impossible reversal, he reacted immediately. He turned to run, dropping all pretense of authority. However, the arcane runes engraved on the cell's walls and floor came to life as he approached the door.

He was bound in a magical cocoon by the vines that grew from the stone and wrapped around his torso and limbs.

"Hmm? I see. so that's how Orivaneia's magic work. You wanted me to punish them right?" She looked at the big crystal.

Baltram, frozen in terror, finally broke. He tried to run, but Ura was a faster. She did a simple elegant slash with her staff, and a blade of pure green energy severed both his legs at the knee. He collapsed to the floor, screaming.

Ura looked down at him, “Now now,” she smiled, “Can’t have my future husband being such a coward, can we?”

Ignoring his agonized cries, she approached Zebril. She removed her own bulky, heavy robe with a shrug and covered herself by gently draping it over the captain's shoulders. Zebril's fear was overshadowed by awe as she looked up from the floor.

“Who… who are you, really?” she whispered.

“Just Anna’s friend,” Ura replied simply, untying Zebril.

She then strode over to the groaning Jarce, knelt down, tilting her head in a perfect imitation of a concerned heroine. “Are you okay, Prince?” she asked, her voice full of mock sweetness. But she immediately broke character, rolling her eyes. “Ugh, it’s too cliché.” Her tone turned sharp and efficient.

“Quick, get up. Run as far as you can from this place. I will take care of the cowards here.”

Apu, who was also waking up, scrambled over to help Zebril to her feet. “I can walk by myself,” the captain insisted, her pride still intact.

She looked at Ura, who was making no move to follow. “Why aren’t you coming with us?”

Ura just sighed, “I already said to just leave me here.”

Without another word, she gestured with her staff. A shimmering, green portal of spatial magic enveloped the three of them. Zebril, Jarce, and Apu were pushed slowly through the solid stone wall of the cell, depositing them safely in the corridor outside on the third floor.

The portal closed, leaving Ura alone in the cell with her two prisoners. Olomyar was bound and silent. Baltram was still on the floor, screaming and bleeding.

She walked over to him, her expression a blank canvas of detached, academic curiosity.

“Now…” she thought, a small, analytical smile on her face. “What should I do with him?”