Cheng Yan felt as if someone was calling him.

"Your Highness, wake up…"

He turned his head away, but the sounds he had heard did not disappear, instead they became even louder. Then, he felt someone gently tug on his sleeve.

"Your Highness, my Royal Prince!"

Cheng Yan opened his eyes immediately. He did not see any of the things he had grown familiar with—the screen was gone, the desk was gone, and so too, was the wall which he had plastered with Post-its. They were replaced by a strange scene—rows of small brick houses, a round public square that was crowded with people, and a door-shaped gallows that was erected in the middle of the public square. He was seated on an elevated platform from across the square. The chair he sat on was not his usual soft swivel chair, but instead, a cold and hard iron chair. Sitting alongside him was a group of people whose gazes were fixated upon him. Among them were a few young women who were dressed as medieval ladies like what he had seen in Western movies, and they were busy giggling among themselves.

"Where on Earth is this? Wasn’t I working urgently on my blueprints?" Cheng Yan’s mind was vacant, perhaps caused by three consecutive days of working overtime that had pushed him to the limit mentally and physically. All he could remember was when he finally broke down, his heartbeat began to palpitate unsteadily, and he wanted nothing but to lie on the office table for a brief rest…

"Your Highness, please announce your verdict soon."

The speaker was the person that had quietly tugged on his sleeve. His face was old, seemingly in his fifties or sixties, and he wore a white robe. At first glance, had a little resemblance to Gandalf, from The Lord of the Rings.

"Am I dreaming?" Cheng Yan thought as he licked his dry lips. "Verdict, what verdict?"

He soon knew. The people in the public square were all looking in the direction of the gallows, while waving their fists and yelling as loud as they could. Some even threw stones at the gallows.

Cheng Yan had only ever seen such an ancient instrument of death in movies. The gallows of two pillars extending upwards about four meters from a raised base. The top ends of the two pillars were connected by a crossbeam, which was embedded with rusty metal rings for a thick yellow hemp rope to travel through. One end of the rope was tied to the frame of the gallows, and the other end was tied around the felon’s neck.

In this strange dream, he discovered that his eyesight was extraordinarily good. He would usually require glasses to read the words on a computer screen, but now, he could clearly see every detail of the gallows, which was fifty meters away, without his glasses.

The felon was hooded and her hands were tied behind her back. Her shabby gray garment was akin to a piece of rag. Her body was so emaciated that her ankles—the only part of her body which was exposed—seemed like they could be broken by pinching them. It was her faintly bulging chest which gave away that she was a female. She shivered terribly in the cold wind, yet she was observably trying hard to maintain her straight posture.

"Alright then," Cheng Yan thought to himself, "exactly what crime did this woman commit that so many people are waiting with indignation for her to be executed?"

As he pondered, memories suddenly came flooding back to him, and the answer to his question abruptly appeared in front of him. Cheng Yan’s memories appeared, almost as if they’d suddenly been turned on and he realized the cause of the situation, and the answer to his question, at almost the same time.

She was a ’witch’.

Witches had degenerated after falling to the temptation of the Devil and are now the incarnation of impurity.

"Your Highness?" ‘Gandalf’ urged cautiously.

Cheng Yan glanced at the old man. Ohhh, actually, he’s called Barov and not Gandalf. He’s the Assistant Minister of Finance, and was sent here to assist me with government affairs.

As for myself, I’m the Fourth Prince of the Kingdom of Graycastle, named Roland, and I’m in charge of this place called Border Town. It was residents who caught and arrested the witch, and immediately brought her to the police station—no, it was the court of justice. The warrant to execute the witch would typically have been issued by the local lord or bishop, which, in this case, would mean me.

For a period of time Roland locked himself in his room as he carefully reviewed the memories of this new world, such that dinner had to be sent directly to him by his servants.

Roland suppressed his fear of the unfamiliar environment he found himself in under his strong will to live. He was very clear that if he wanted to blend in and avoid being suspected by the people around him he needed to get more information as soon as possible.

Roland had to say that the fourth prince had, apart from fooling around with some other sons of the nobility, no additional things in his brain. Over and over again, Roland was unable to remember any valuable information such as knowledge of the aristocracy, the political situation in his own country, or the diplomatic situation with his neighbors. As for basic common sense, such as city names, or the years of significant events, they were completely different than the history of Europe he knew.

It seemed that based on his memories, the old Roland had had absolutely no chance of obtaining the throne. Perhaps the King of Graycastle was aware of this, and because of that, the prince had been thrown into this hellish place, even if he made a mess of things in this border town, it wouldn’t result in much damage to the kingdom.

The next memories Roland looked at were of his brothers and sisters, and what he found left him unsure whether he should laugh or cry.

Roland’s eldest brother, the First Prince, had an above average military power, his second brother was scheming and horridly treacherous, his third sister was afraid of death, and his younger sister was brilliant. This was the entirety of the former fourth prince’s impressions of his siblings. Roland felt a little awkward, after more than a decade of living with them the old Roland’s knowledge had been summed up in a few words. What forces they’d developed, who their competent subordinates were, what they were experts at, what their plans were and so on…he knew nothing at all.

It was only three months ago that the fourth prince had come to this frontier town, but the nobility had already stopped hiding their contempt for him. It was obvious that the fourth prince wasn’t cut out to be a leader. Fortunately, when the King had left Roland this territory, he had sent along two of his more capable subordinates to provide assistance so the townspeople wouldn’t suffer under the old Roland’s inept rule.

After Roland woke up the next morning one of his maids, Tyre, repeatedly mentioned that the Assistant Minister wanted to see him. When it seemed that he could put it off no longer Roland acted according to his past memories and reached out to cup the maid’s *** before sending her to fetch Barov, who had been waiting in the drawing room.

Seeing the flushing Tyre exit the room, Roland suddenly realized that, since he had reincarnated, shouldn’t he have a system or something like that? At least in many tales that was the standard formula, but the arrival of a system never happened.

Sure enough, what Roland had read in those novels was all fiction.

****

In the drawing room, Barov was already restless from waiting. The moment Roland appeared he asked, “Your Highness, why didn’t you order the execution yesterday?”

“One day earlier, one day later, what’s the difference?” Roland said as he clapped his hands, letting the attendants know to bring his breakfast in, “Sit down, Barov.”

The impressions he had from the old Roland’s memories, and also based on his own opinion, was that the Knight Commander liked to confront problems with the fourth prince directly face to face, even in the presence of others, while the Assistant Minister was more circumspect and liked to discuss issues in private. In any case, the loyalty of the two was likely to be to the King.

“A day later may lead to other witches appearing, my royal prince! This isn’t the same as before with your previous escapades, not during this time of chaos!” Barov cautioned.

“How can you even say that?” Roland asked while frowning, “I thought you were capable of distinguishing the differences between superstition and fact.”

Barov looked bewildered, “What superstitions?”

“That a witch is evil and the devil’s messenger,” Roland seemed to not mind as he patiently answered the question. “Isn’t that what the church teaches us? They won’t intervene here, I think it’s actually the opposite. Their propaganda states that witches are evil, and while we’ve chosen not to actively aid their witch hunt, all the people in this territory believe in these shameless superstitions spread by the Church.”

Barov was shocked, “Could…could a witch really be…”

“Indeed evil?” Roland asked, “Like what?”

The Assistant Minister was silent for a moment, trying to decide if the prince was deliberately making fun of him, “Your Highness, this problem can be discussed later. I know you don’t like the church, but this pursuit of conflict is counterproductive.”

Roland curled his lips. It seemed that reversing this superstition about witches wasn’t something that he could do overnight, but for now he decided to put it out of his mind..

When Roland’s breakfast of toast, fried eggs and a carafe of milk arrived he made up two plates, one of which he served to the assistant minister.

“You haven’t eaten until now, right?” asked Roland before he started eating. The maid had told him that Barov had arrived outside his chambers at dawn, and had directly requested to see him, so he shouldn’t have had time to eat. While he’d decided to imitate the former prince’s way of life, he’d also decided to begin to change the way people perceived him a bit at a time.

The Assistant Minister was a good first target for his plan. Roland thought to himself, If you can make your men feel valued, then they’ll be more motivated to work for you.

Taking the initiative had always been the most efficient way to win, hadn’t it?

Barov took the cup of milk Roland handed him but didn’t drink as he anxiously said, “Your Highness, we still have a problem. The guards reported that three days ago a suspected witch camp was found in the western forest. Because they left in a hurry and didn’t clean up all of their traces, a guard found this in the camp.”

He took out a coin from his pocket and put it in front of Roland. This wasn’t the common currency of the kingdom, at least according to the memories of the old Roland, he hadn’t seen such a coin. It wasn’t even like theirs, it wasn’t even made of metal.

Feeling it in his his hands, he was surprised to find that the coin was warm, and the assistant minister definitely wasn’t the source of this sweltering heat of at least forty degrees celsius, which reminded him of the moment when one took a bath.

“What is this?” Roland asked.

“I thought it was just some foul trinket that a witch made, but it’s actually more serious than that.” Barov had to pause to wipe his forehead, “the printed pattern is known as the Devil’s Eye of the Sacred Mountain, which is the emblem of the Witch Cooperation Association.”

Roland rubbed the coin’s uneven surface, he guessed that it was probably fired ceramic. Indeed, he saw that the center of the coin depicted a “mountain” shaped pattern of three triangles juxtaposed with one eye in the centre triangle. The pattern’s contour lines were very rough, he judged that it should’ve been polished by hand.

Roland recalled the two terms ”Devil’s Eye of the Sacred Mountain” and the “Witch Cooperation Association”, but wasn’t able to discover any details. It seemed that the fourth prince had had no interest in occultism.

Roland didn’t expect that Barov knew more, but he continued, “Your Highness, you haven’t seen real witches before, so it’s understandable if you think their abilities are exaggerated. Indeed, they can be injured, they’ll even bleed and aren’t any harder to kill than the rest of us, but that’s only for a witch who can’t resist. When they receive the devil’s power it can shorten the lifespan of a witch, but it can also give them terrible power. Ordinary people just can’t match them. Once a witch grows to adulthood, even an army will have to pay a high price to kill her. Their desires are almost impossible to suppress, ultimately causing them to degenerate into the devil’s minions.“The Church therefore declared a Holy Inquisition, If a woman is found to have even a chance to be a witch they’re to be immediately seized and executed. The King has also approved of this decree and in fact, these measures have been highly effective and the incidents where witches have wreaked havoc have already greatly declined in comparison to a hundred years ago. The Sacred Mountain, or to say the doorway to hell, is only a rumor illustrated in an ancient book from that era.”

Roland, while gnawing on his bread, sneered again and again as he heard this. Although the histories of this world and the world he knew were very different, their historical trajectories were surprisingly similar. No matter if it was the church in this world or the church he knew from his, he thought that religion itself was the devil’s minion, the real source of evil. You don’t think sentencing someone to death only because they are different isn’evil? Using God’s name to kill someone was all kinds of wrong.Unaware of Roland’s thoughts, Barov continued with his speech, “Recorded in ancient books is that witches can only find real peace at the Sacred Mountain. They wouldn’t have to suffer uncontrollable desires because their magic would have no side effects. There’s no doubt that the so-called Sacred Mountain was certainly the birthplace of evil, an entrance to hell on earth. I think that only hell won’t punish those who’ve fallen for the devil’s temptations.”

“The “League of Allied Witches,” who are they? What’s their relationship with the Sacred Mountain?” Roland asked.

Barov explained with a sour face, “In the past, everything was good because the witches would run away before the Inquisition arrived and were living in seclusion. But in recent years, the League of Allied Witches appeared and made a difference. They want to gather all of the witches and find the Sacred Mountain. For this purpose, the Witch Cooperation Association will even take the initiative of luring others into becoming a witch. In the last year, many babies disappeared in the Port of Clearwater, and the rumor was that it was their doing.”

Roland swallowed the last piece of fried egg from his breakfast, took a napkin and wiped his mouth before saying, “So you are saying that you are worried that the Witch Cooperation Association will hear the news that the witch did not die and hence will try to rescue her?”

“It is as your Highness has said,” Barov stomped angrily as he exclaimed, “If the prisoner had died it would be bad enough, but now she is still alive! If those witches are even crazy enough to steal babies on the chance they might become future comrades, how far do you think they’d go for someone who has already become a minion of the devil? With how recklessly they behave, attempting a rescue wouldn’t be surprizing.”

Roland was confused, he had always felt that there was something amiss about this situation. Why were the Assistant Minister and the Knight Commander so scared of witches?

The woman who should have been hanged was a witch, right? The woman who was so thin it was as if she would fall down when the wind blew? If she really had such a terrible power, why would she need to stand there and wait for death? No, she would not. According to the preaching of the church, she was the devil incarnate, to be executed without trial. Even the army would need to pay a hefty price when going against a witch. However, this “devil” was caught by the normal townspeople of this border town, was tortured, even fitted with a noose, but until now they had not seen a trace of that supposed terrible power.

“How did she get caught?” Roland queried.

“I heard that when the North Mine collapsed, in order to escape, she exposed her identity as a witch and was then captured by angry villagers.” Barov answered.

Roland thought as he listened to Barov, Why do I have the impression that this happened the day before my reincarnation?

“How did she expose herself?” The prince asked aloud.

“I, well… I am not sure,” the assistant minister shook his head and said, “the situation was very confusing, it could be that someone saw her using witchcraft.”

Roland frowned as he asked, “you did not thoroughly investigate the situation?”

“Your Highness, to resume mining was the priority,” the assistant minister protested, “The revenue from that iron mine accounts for half of the production of this town, and the guards confirmed that someone at the scene was killed by witchcraft.”

“What kind of witchcraft?” Roland asked, interested.

“The head and a large part of the body were spread out on the ground as if they were melted. The corpse looked like a used up candle,” the minister said with a look of disgust. “Your Highness, be glad you didn’t see such a scene.”

Roland started playing with a silver fork thoughtfully. Historically, most of the victims of the inquisitionwitch hunt were innocent, tools for the church to maintain control over the populace or possibilities for ignorant townspeople to vent their anger. Sure, a small part of the accused caused their own downfall. The kind of people dressed that oddly while mixing together all sorts of strange material, claiming that they could predict the future and knew the conclusion of life and death.

The truth was those people did figure out some tricks, such as the use of chemical reactions, but then they used that to claim that they had gained the power of the gods.

To modern eyes, these were just some simple chemistry tricks, but in medieval times, those could easily be misrepresented as incredible phenomenon.

As for melting people, the first thing Roland thought of was an acid solution.

But it would be a hassle to prepare those kinds of things, and you would also need to thoroughly soak the body with it, but it wouldn’t look like a burned down candle, as for other methods they were out of the question.

Then how did she do it?

If she relied on alchemy, and that was rare, maybe…

Roland thought until there and then said in a determined tone, “Take me to see her.”

The Assistant Minister was shocked for a moment before spluttering, “Sir, you want to see the witch?” Barov stood up in panic, knocked over the cup with the milk which he hadn’t drunk.

“Yes, this is a command.” Roland said looked back and smiled at the assistant minister, he was now really thankful for the fourth prince’s unreasonable style.

Roland went over to the door but suddenly paused, asking, “Right, I have to ask, why would we use the gallows?”

“What?” Barov said.

Roland reiterated his question, “Why would she be hanged? Shouldn’t witches be burned at the stake?”

Barov face seemed puzzled as he asked, “Isn’t it true? But she is not afraid of fire.”

*

The dungeon was small, this barren land could not afford to have too many prisoners. Most criminals would face trial after a few days and either be released or killed.

In addition to Barov, the Prince was entering the dungeon with the Knight Commander, the prison warden, and two guards.

The dungeon had a total of four levels and the walls were built out of hard granite blocks. It was Roland’s first time being at this kind of place and he noted the deeper he got, the narrower the hallway became.The number of cells was also reduced. He thought they probably they dug a pit in the form of an inverted cone first, and then build layer after layer out of stone.

This rough project would of course not have a good drainage system. The ground was wet and the muddy sewage was flowing down the stairs, down to the last floor.

Obviously, the witch was at the bottom of the dungeon. Each layer they went down, the stench in the air became thicker.

“Your Highness, you are risking too much by doing this, even though she is sealed with God’s Locket of Retribution, it isn’t safe.”

It was Carter who had spoken. As soon as he knew that the prince was planning on visiting the witch, he immediately went after the prince, advising him all along the road to stop going over. But it was all for naught, even the repeating the direct command of the king not to engage in any dangerous situations had no effect. Obviously, he wasn’t only a pretty face, he was also a chatterbox. After being subjected to this for some time, Roland only wished that someone would sew his mouth up. “You must look evil in the eye before you face it on the battlefield and stand toe to toe.I thought you knew that.” he said.

“In addition to fighting the evil with courage, it is also important to assess one’s capabilities and act accordingly; reckless behavior is not considered courageous.” Carter rebutted.

“You mean to say that if you ran into an enemy weaker than you, you hold justice, but if he is stronger than you, you will turn a blind eye?” Roland challenged.

“No, Your Highness, I mean …” Carter stammered.

“Before you were already afraid of a witch raid, and now you are even afraid to see a little girl, my Knight Commander is indeed fearsome.”

Although the knight was a good speaker, he didn’t excel at debate, encountering a smooth talker like Roland he completely lost. Taking advantage of this effort, the group reached the bottom of the dungeon.

This floor was many times smaller than the one above, with a total of only two cells. The warden lit the torches on the walls and as the darkness faded, Roland saw the hunched over witch in a corner of her cell.

It was already late autumn and the temperature in the dungeon was low enough to make people see white fog when they took a breath. He wore a fur coat with silk lining inside, so did not feel cold, but the girl only wore coarse linen that couldn’t even fully cover her body with her arms and feet sticking out and turning blue.

The suddenly lit up torches made her cringe away with her eyes closed. But soon, she was able to open her eyes and looked straight at them.

It was a pair of pale blue eyes, like a calm lake before the onset of heavy rains. There was no fear on the witch’s face and you couldn’t see any anger or hatred. Roland saw a vision, it was as if what he saw in front of him was not a weak little girl. Instead, it appeared as if he was in front of a raging flame. He suddenly felt that the torch light from the walls was a little dim.

The girl tried to stand up while leaning against the wall, in slow-motion as if afraid to fall. But in the end, she ultimately stood up and hobbled her way out of the corner, allowing the light to cover her.

Already such a simple movement, yet it made his men suck in several breaths of cold air as they even retreated two steps back, only the Knight Commander could resist and stood in front of Roland.

“What is your name?” Roland asked the witch and patted the knight on the shoulder, indicating that he did not need to be so nervous.

“Anna,” she replied.