Inheritor Of Magic: The Magi King

511 511 Questioning the PoWs

Wolfe looked over the collection of witches that they had saved after the attacks with great concern. Their recovery times had been suspiciously long, even before he had cast the captured witch heal them so that he could put an anti-magic band on them.

He knew from exhaustive personal research that while a Rank Two witch didn't become stronger in a physical sense or more durable, they had greatly improved stamina and incredible innate recovery abilities that even his magic enhanced physique had troubles keeping up with.

But these witches healed like the locals, or perhaps even slower. They had been healed of the worst of their injuries by a Rank Three Witch, so they should be in pretty good shape, but most of them were still winded, slow moving and achy. It didn't make any sense.

That ability wasn't tied to their aura, it was innate to their body when it adapted to the change between ranks. They were becoming more at one with nature, and gaining some of its durability and longevity.

That should be the easiest way to test their knowledge, since the training of these military witches seemed to be lacking.

"Tell me, before you go with the locals. How long does a Rank Three Witch live where you are from? Something seems off about your bodies." Wolfe asked of the only witch still unrestrained.

"The same as everyone else. Why do you ask?" She replied.

"Because that shouldn't be true. As a witch gains power, and especially as they ascend through the ranks, they should gain an increased lifespan. A Rank Four witch who was born around the time of the war should still be alive, and even some of the Rank Three witches should still be old crones at that point. A Rank Two Witch was known to live well over a hundred and fifty years." Wolfe explained.

The witch shook her head. "That's a legend, a myth from before the war."

"How old are the Saints?" Wolfe asked.

"Nobody knows, they were born before..."

Wolfe nodded his head. "Before the war, exactly. Their advancements have extended their lives, but for some reason that isn't true for all of you. It is true here, though. Even those afflicted with the curse, who can never make it to Rank Two, still extend their lifespans as their aura gains strength.

One of the witches here who advanced in her later years, roughly seventy years old if I had to guess a lady's age, returned to the looks of her forties when she advanced after the curse was partially lifted. She got the sweetest Werewolf as her second Familiar, too. They're a great pair."

The witch smiled. "I have been looking forward to getting mine. We get permission when we are discharged from the military. Unfortunately, for those of us who advanced to the second rank during the awakening ceremony, there is no chance to summon a third Familiar, only the one we get during service, and the one afterwards if we reached Rank Three."

The confirmation of their short natural lives and the missing Familiar were enough in Wolfe's mind to place the blame for their strangeness on the way they were awakened. Suppressing the Curse for their entire lives was limiting them in odd ways, and even their future advancements were unnatural.

"We will see about getting you your second Familiar after all of this battle nonsense is over. But the scouts want to be on their way, and I need to get this lot of prisoners moving. Good luck finding a safe spot, and I hope that you remain well.

I'll give you one more bit of advice as well. If you set it up more than fifty metres underground, the natural magic will hide the presence of a magical garden. Use a Garden Charm and a light spell, and you can grow as much as the village needs safely. It's part of your agreement to help them rebuild, after all."

The Witch saluted him and left under escort of a pair of armed scouts, though without her magic restricted. The [Favour] spell should have been enough to keep her in line, but the Witch seemed like she was fairly agreeable by the time that Wolfe had ensured she found all the survivors for healing.

Wolfe turned to look at the eight bedraggled witches in front of him, the survivors of the battle who had not been able to flee.

"Greetings ladies, I am known as the Snow Demon, and I will be escorting you to a safe space to sit out the ongoing conflict as prisoners of war." Wolfe greeted them.

"War? There is no war going on." One of the Witches asked in confusion.

"In case you missed it, you just started one. By Government decree, the people here were given seven days to evacuate, and you attacked on the second, killing hundreds. The people here aren't under the jurisdiction of the United World Government, so, the attack by your army is an act of war, and you have been taken as prisoners.

Your compatriot made a deal to spare your lives, so I must insist that you come with me. You won't be harmed, nor will we break labour rules or starve you. All we require is that you are peaceful until the end of hostilities, and then you may return home if you wish, or remain on this continent as a permanent resident, if that is still a feasible option."

The witches all gave a salute in the direction of the retreating witch and then placed their hands over their hearts, a very touching gesture, and more appreciation than Wolfe had expected from them.

"We won't let her sacrifice be in vain. Suffering as a Demon's slave for eternity is a horrible fate," one of the witches near Wolfe announced.

"Back up a second. First off, I didn't take her as a slave. She agreed to relocate the village you attacked to safety and help them rebuild. Secondly, it's not for eternity, she's free from the agreement as soon as the last of you are released. As I explained earlier, you are prisoners of war, and that means for the duration of the war, not forever. Well, unless your leaders never give up."

The looks he got spoke volumes about how unlikely it was that the leadership would ever give up on this conflict. Perhaps he had taken them forever.