The Speedrun Manual of Miss Witch - Chapter 50

The next day.

In a row house across from the Clock Tower Hospital, a man woke up in bed.

He dressed himself, stood in front of a full-length mirror, and adjusted his robes.

Picking up a dark green potion from his bedside table—its surface bubbling with foam and green mist—he slowly unscrewed the cap and drank it down in one gulp. His facial muscles contorted briefly before settling back into calm.

The potion had now seeped into every part of his body.

He slowly put on his silver raven-beak mask and picked up a brown leather briefcase with a brass clasp.

The path of the “Reborn” was something he could never take… He lacked the courage to die and be reborn. He feared death.

So, he had spent years developing a formula and had finally created a virus—one with minimal symptoms, nearly undetectable, and spreading at an extremely slow rate.

It was the most covert pathogen ever crafted, made by his own hands, and no one would ever know.

The best “Plague Doctors” would always be the most formidable “Plaguebearers.”

If one path didn’t work out, then take another…

He had already tested the virus on two villages, and there had been no issues at all. To this day, no one had ever discovered the cause behind the occasional deaths in those villages.

A year ago, he began spreading the infection. Given the slow nature of dehydration syndrome’s transmission, by now, much of the Clock Tower District had already succumbed without anyone noticing. But if he waited too long, the virus’s replication speed and lethality would start to accelerate.

Now, all that was left was to complete his routine task, wait for the moment when the largest crowd gathered, and detonate the sealed artifact he had placed in the sewers…

Then, those damn church lackeys and the lowly commoners would become his nourishment for ascension.

The potion was already in his gut. Tonight, he would activate the artifact.

Everything was in place.

He took his briefcase and walked down the stairs.

“You’re up, Doctor?”

“Good morning, Doctor!”

“You seem to be in a good mood today, Dr. Sherlon.”

Sherlon nodded at those around him, greeting them in return. He noticed more people than usual on the streets, all heading in the same direction, holding something in their hands—pamphlets.

Just as he was about to head toward the hospital, Sherlon stopped in his tracks.

“Hey, where are you all going?” Sherlon called out to a passerby, curious.

“Here, take a look.” The passerby was quite straightforward, handing over his pamphlet.

Sherlon took it, and his pupils contracted slightly.

“Shocking! Mysterious and terrifying dehydration syndrome is spreading! Have you been feeling thirsty lately?!”

The eye-catching headline made Sherlon scan the pamphlet quickly. The first section merely described the symptoms of dehydration syndrome—subtle signs that most people tended to overlook.

But toward the end, the tone shifted.

It claimed that a high-ranking bishop from the Ansu Holy See had arrived and would be conducting a free sermon to cleanse people of the mysterious dehydration syndrome. After the sermon, there would even be a free meal distribution.

Fraudsters.

Bullshit.

Sherlon clenched the pamphlet, crumpling it in his hand. Beneath his mask, the veins on his forehead bulged.

How could anyone have discovered his virus? A sermon to cure it? Years of painstaking research and a unique pathogen, undone by a simple prayer?

Screw that!

His breathing became labored, and soon, a terrifying thought crept into his mind.

Love giving sermons?

Love gathering people in plazas?

Fine, I’ll thank you for that.

I’ll activate the sealed artifact during your sermon, and everyone will die right in front of you.

Sherlon tossed away the infuriating pamphlet and quickly made his way toward the Clock Tower Church. His ascension ritual was at stake—he had to see for himself what this sermon was all about.

This plan had been long in the making. He had already consumed the potion and had no time left to craft another virus. He had switched paths mid-way and only had time to develop a single strain.

Before long, he arrived at the crowded plaza, trying to push his way toward the sewer maintenance hatch.

As he squeezed through the crowd, he bumped into something. Frowning, he looked down at a cloth-covered pushcart filled with barrels.

What is this? Sherlon’s brows furrowed.

At that moment, the entire plaza fell silent. A red-haired girl stood on stage, holding a paper in one hand and a sound amplifier in the other. Her voice, tinged with mockery, echoed across the plaza.

“Uh… I’m sorry, but you lost in your Reconstitution Ritual. Your dehydration infection is garbage.”

“A thousand people? A thousand people belong to me…”

Sherlon’s pupils trembled violently as he listened to the voice from the amplifier. A sense of foreboding washed over him.

What? What does she mean, I lost my Reconstitution Ritual?

Who?

What does she mean, she has a thousand people…?

“Ssszz…”

A faint scent of gunpowder reached Sherlon’s nose. His eyes darted to the pushcart beside him—peeking out from beneath the cloth was a burning fuse.

“Who?! WHO?!” Sherlon’s head shot up, scanning the crowd frantically, searching for the mastermind behind this.

BOOM!

BOOM BOOM!!

BOOOOOM!!!

A deafening series of explosions erupted, igniting countless barrels of gunpowder. Fire, shrapnel, and dismembered bodies engulfed the entire plaza. Screams and wails filled the air as flames spread unchecked, turning the scene into a living inferno.

Sherlon was flung backward by the blast, half of his mask blown away. His exposed face twisted in terror as he beheld the hellish carnage before him. His mouth hung open, but no sound came out.

Madwoman.

A madwoman!

Was this a Reconstitution Ritual?

Was this the “Instigator” path or the “Assassin” path?! Ten thousand people?! HOW DARE SHE?! TEN THOUSAND PEOPLE?! HOW COULD SHE?!

Beneath his torn flesh, dark green muscle rapidly regenerated. His left eye socket, now empty, began filling with a dark green gelatinous substance.

Dead… they were all dead…

No… no no no no… The sealed artifact was still in the sewers, it hadn’t even been activated yet! They couldn’t just die like this!

How could anyone gather in the church plaza again after such an explosion???

It was her.

As the ringing in his ears from the explosion subsided, his gaze locked onto the girl standing on the church steps, watching the chaos unfold with an expression as if she were witnessing a mildly amusing play.

“My ritual… my new path… my virus…”

Everything had been reduced to a joke, shattered beyond recognition.

Sherlon could feel the whispers in his mind growing louder, his vision blurring with overlapping images.

“It was YOU!!!”

Sherlon, his sanity slipping, charged through the inferno, vaulting over the smoldering remains of bodies and debris. He reached the stage and flung his arms forward, spraying his poisonous green blood directly at the girl’s face.

“YOU BITCH! WHY DID YOU RUIN MY RITUAL?! DIE!!!”

The girl’s skin burned as the poison corroded it, but her grin only widened. She looked at Sherlon with sheer delight, as if she had found a priceless treasure.

Sherlon followed her gaze downward—his black robes, trembling from the blast, revealed a barely clinging Redemption Society insignia, with his name etched onto it.

Her smile deepened.

“I found you.”

A shadow surged from behind her, wielding a brand-new revolver, pressing it against her own temple.

“See you in a bit.”

BANG!

A gunshot rang out. The shadow vanished. The revolver clattered to the ground. The girl’s brains splattered onto Sherlon’s face as she collapsed, lifeless, before him.

“Madwoman. MADWOMAN!!!”

Sherlon, surrounded by the raging inferno and the escalating whispers in his mind, threw his head back and howled.

“WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?!”

“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!”

Sherlon roared helplessly, a sinister green arm bursting from his mouth in sync with his cries. The potion was rapidly consuming his body, corroding his spirit and sanity…