Young master Damien's pet

The white witch made sure to keep his son behind him as he turned around to look at the trees which appeared to be suspicious. Something wasn't right and he knew it by the movement of the wind which whisked past the ground in front of him to pick something very ominous with it.

Suddenly a knife flew right past his face grazing over his cheek which left a cut, drawing blood to let drops trickle down his face.

"Father!" his son, exclaimed looking at the blood but before they could react to it, a few more knives flew in a different direction and he pulled his son.

"Run!" he shouted, having his son follow him quickly behind him. Undoubtedly, with the smell of the metal objects that were flying at them, he could tell that those belonged to the black witches who were targeting them.

He knew that there would be black witches in here as the border was where people crossed the lands which were easy to pick up victims. But he didn't know he would be facing more than one or two witches. There were six of them and he was outnumbered. He couldn't go too far as the place was blocked with two more witches.

"Don't you think you can run," said a female, rotating a knife with a hole around her finger. Her eyes set on him with a smile on her face. Her broken skin and scaly appearance were carried by the rest of them.

"We don't mean any harm," the white witch man spoke with sensible words, "We are only crossing by. Let us through without any harm," he suggested.

The black witch stopped rotating her fingers around the knives in her hands, "Then you shouldn't have come here at all."

Crickets chirped behind the bushes. The breeze of wind picking the leaves that had fallen down in the evening on the ground, picking and putting it down as they were whisked away in the thick forest.

"We didn't know the black witches reside here. We will walk by like we never met. I have a job that needs to be fulfilled," said the white witch, his eyes darting around the witches who had surrounded him and his son.

The black witch put her knives down, jerking her head and saying, "Alright. Walk by quickly."

He looked at them, making sure they weren't going to do anything. Walking by quickly, he placed a hand on his son's shoulder. The eyes of the black witches following every movement of theirs and just when they passed the last one, the man raised his own knife to clash it against the witch who had attacked him.

The knives clanked in the empty forest, one spark flying after another. On the other side, the young boy could barely keep up with the sudden outpour of the black witches where three of them attacked him. The boy unable to keep up got a cut on his arm that had him wincing in pain, another knife came sharply before the second witch who was in front of him drove the knife right through his chest and into his heart.

"No!" screamed the man seeing his son fall down on the ground. The hand clutching his chest, his body fell back on the ground.

He fought the witches, one after another, injuring them but he was no God to be able to deflect every single black witch who was attacking him. His emotions were out of place after seeing his son lying motionless on the ground.

Kicking the witch who was close to him, he bit into his thumb, drawing blood to have the witch who had spoken to him raise her eyebrow at him. The man was making use of a black witch's magic. A white witch making use of black witch so easily meant he had tapped in the forbidden magic of the white witches.

"What is the point if you turn to a black witch?" she asked him, her snake-like tongue coming out of her mouth as she spoke, "Don't you understand? You are outnumbered and you cannot win even with the black magic."

"I would have avenged for my son's death," hate-filled the man's eyes, "We didn't mean to attack you. I gave my word."

"Words don't matter to us, witcher. You shouldn't tap into that magic if you want to die as an honorable white witch. But then witches never have an honorable death," said the black witch, "Don't you know, that you weren't sent here so we could trap you."

"What?" the man frowned.

Another black witch walked around him, keeping a good distance away from him but not too far to say, "The councilman sent you here so we could take those bottles that you have with you. Did you think the Lord had the time to ask a witcher who lives in Woville for help, when help could be taken by the witches who reside in the land of West?"

His wife had been right...

"The man you thought to be helping you was helping himself for his own reasons and someone in the higher-ups," said the black witch, "All we wanted was the bottle that you made, knowing only you can make it, we wouldn't want others to have it," the black witch smacked the man from behind. Beating him until his life passed out, "Light them up. We don't want any residue here."

Back in Woville, the next day, the woman sat on the chair. Seeing her daughter play she looked towards the window. Hoping that her family would be safe. It was only a matter of time where she would be able to move away from this village where people looked at them with unwelcoming eyes.

Hearing a knock on the door, she asked,

"Who is it?" but there was no reply to her question. Opening the door carefully to peek out, the door was suddenly pushed open for the man who had been invited to come back here. She could sense his intentions.

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Scroll to read chapter 270.Sorrowfull sparrow- Part 2