The Wandering Witch VOL. 2 - The Witchfolk Genocide Arc

18.2| Sparking a Fire

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He had missed this.

Noct felt the rush of the wind as he leaped over a rooftop, jumping easily across a wide gap and landing on his feet. His red scarf trailed behind him, leaving behind a scarlet blur to anyone who saw him zip past. A grin crept across his face. He stretched his arms and secured closed his eyes, taking in this feeling.

How long has it been?

He broke into a run, nimbly balancing himself on the slanted surface. He seemed to have missed this old routine as a thief more than he imagined. He recalled this sense of freedom back in Uldard, and a rush of adrenaline and euphoria gripped him. Despite being on foreign territory, his body seemed to remember how to move by carry him as fast as it could to wherever he wanted to be taken to.

After minutes of streaking across the skies, Noct finally stopped at the edge of the place he had in mind: the market. One of the many valuable things that his experience as a thief had taught him was that information was easily collected in places where a lot of people gathered and gossiped.

And where else but the marketplace to do so?

Meters below, the place was as bustling as he expected it to be. Even in the early hours, men and women were already engaged in their own work. The chatter around him rang loud, making it hard for him to single out a conversation worth eavesdropping in. He would have to do the work by foot. Noct looked around to search for a way down from the thin ledge he was crouching at. He darted onto a railing to his side, quickly scaling the walls of a narrow alleyway and reaching the bottom in seconds. He straightened his back, tapping his shoes on the ground. Almost unconsciously, his hand hovered over the fatal arrow wound he'd gotten from the fight with the witch hunters. It didn't seem to hurt anymore. In fact, all that remained when Noct last checked it was a small scar where arrow had pierced flesh.

He always had a sturdy body. That was one of the many things he was grateful he was blessed with. Along with his other talents, of course.

Earlier he had snuck out of the palace by climbing over a tree next to the high walls. After that, all it took was for him to quickly make his way down, carefully planting his feet on any ledge or jutting rubble that he could find. He and the Chell had decided that it was safest to mark his absence unannounced. The last thing they needed was a rumor that said one of the princess's guests were gone on the day after she was attacked. Furthermore, Noct was less easier to spot from a crowd compared to The Snow Witch. He was also better at talking to people, too.

As Noct left the alley and mingled into the crowd, he suddenly remembered the conversation he had with Chell the other night, a talk that seemed to have happened ages ago. The Snow Witch had said something about leaving this place quickly because she couldn't stay for long. He hadn't brought it up earlier because he had forgotten about it, and because he knew that even if he did, it wouldn't have changed her mind at all.

What a troublesome employer.

He looked around, acting like a young man out for a leisurely stroll. He relaxed his shoulders and masked an innocent expression, following the tide of people. All the while, he listened keenly to his surroundings, picking up on whatever he might be able to use to look for Jul's whereabouts. He passed by various stalls, scanning the items for sale. By force of habit, he couldn't help eyeing the people he passed. He mused at how how easy it would have been to snatch their coins clinking in their pockets. But of course, those days as a thief was behind him now... at least, for the moment.

He stopped to buy two loaves at a bread stall with the coins from Chell that he had brought with him. While he received his change, he caught wind of a snippet of a hushed conversation between two men standing in the shade nearby. Their faces were grim.