Reborn as a witch in another world [slice of life, isekai] (ch. 98)
Blurb:
What does it take to turn your life around? Death, of course!
I died in this lame ass world of ours and woke up in a completely new one. I had a new name, a new face and a new body. This was my second chance to live a better life than the previous one.
But goddamn it, why did I have to be a witch? Now I don't just have to be on the run from the Inquisition that wants to burn me and my friends. But I also have to earn a living?
Follow Elsa Grimly as she:
- Makes new friends and tries to save them and herself from getting burned
- Finds redemption from the deeds of her previous life
- Tries to get along with a cat who (like most cats) believes she runs the world
- Deals with other slice of life shenanigans.
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Chapter 98. A not so pleasant surprise
“Stop that man!” someone yelled. “He ran off with the holy scripture!”
For a moment, I was annoyed by the interruption while I was contemplating the nature of truth and reality. But it sounded serious. I looked in the direction of the noise.
A man in raggedy clothes was running down the cobblestone path of the park while being chased by a priest of steam. I raised an eyebrow.
The priest’s robes didn't seem to allow him much mobility. While the thief had all the advantage. At this time, there were only children and old people at the park. I seemed to be the only adult with sturdy limbs on the scene. But I wasn't a fighter. So I did what any dainty girl of my size would do.
I rose to my feet and pulled out a gun. The thief had been running in my direction so he halted the moment he saw the revolver's muzzle gaping at him.
It was one of the guns we'd swiped from the Iron Snakes after croaking them all. And I'd quickly put on my enchanted mask (I carried it everywhere I went, these days. It came in handy in a lot of situations. I was also carrying an extra abyss with me just in case if I needed it during my lesson with Zir).
The gun had managed to stop the thief but he was already trying to run in a different direction. However, the priest of steam had already caught up to the man and grabbed the collar of his tattered shirt. “Stop!” the priest said. “Stealing from the priest is a sin! Especially in the kingdom of the Steam Elemental. The kingdom of plenty!”
I recognized the priest, he was one of those wandering missionaries of the steam temple. One of the two guys who had ambushed me and the others at the tram stop to give us a sermon about the gifts of the Steam Elemental. Brother Humphrey Or Marsh. Right now, he was too busy inspiring the fear of god into the thief. So he didn’t notice me slip my gun back into my reticule. Regular citizens could only carry guns if they had been ardent devotees of the Temple of the Steam Elemental. This priest probably hadn't seen me wave my piece at the thief. So I was safe.
The wandering priest went on about a lot of things like how the Steam Elemental hated crime and hated those who committed it. “You will be bathed in boiling water until your soul becomes steam itself!” the priest said. “That's the only way to wash your sins.”
I gawked at the judgement. “Woah, okay, wait,” I waved my hands. “You found your…scripture or whatever. There's no need to fry the man with boiling water.”
“What about his soul that is tarnished with crime?” The priest said, his grip on the thief was tight. He wasn't about to end this easily.
“Why don't you ask him why he did it?” I said. “I mean…look at his clothes. He doesn't seem like someone who would steal something just for the thrill of it, would you?” I looked at the man, taking in his dishevelled look and ragged clothes.
“The steam…” he said in a tone of both fear and awe. “It cleanses the soul, doesn't it? It should also cleanse the body, right?”
I frowned. Even the priest paused. “Why do you ask?”
“There is the blessing of steam locked inside that book,” the thief pointed at the metal bound tome he had just returned to the priest. “I've seen what the blessings can do. They've helped the cripple walk again with a metal limb. They've helped the blind see again with a brass eye. My son…his bones can be seen through his skin. His cheeks have sunken into his face to make craters. His eyes are bulging out so much they might fall out. He stays in bed all day. He can't even lift a finger without putting all his strength in it. My son needs the blessing. The blessing of steam.”
The priest stared at the thief dumbfounded, as if unsure what to say. Then his face hardened. “No,” he said. “The Steam Elemental only blesses his devotees. And you can only become a devotee if you are capable of dreams. The child of a sinner doesn't have a place in our temple.”
I frowned. This wasn't going to work. I dug into my reticule and broke the arm of a flour doll Lily and I had baked. It was the arm of ederanth. I blew the powder of the broken arm into the priest's face while he was busy cursing at the man.
The priest coughed and almost in an instant, his eyes rolled back in his head and went down, falling to the ground with a loud thump. The thief was shocked.
I grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the park. I hailed a carriage once we got to the street and shoved him in. “Tell the driver your address,” I said to him.
“It won't work,” he said.
“What do you mean?” I said.
“He won't take us there,” the thief said, “it's…a bad neighborhood.”
I rolled my eyes and shoved ten steambolts at the carriage driver. “That's on top of whatever the fare turns out to be,” I said. “Just take us there quickly.”
“Why are you doing this?” the thief asked after telling the driver the address. “Why are you helping me this much?”
“Don't you want to help your son?” I said.
That seemed to shut him up.
He kept gazing at his hands nervously throughout the way. His abyss kept repeating, “Lord give me strength, Lord give me strength, Lord give me strength,”
He was right, his neighborhood was indeed bad. It was a strip of single narrow street, flanked on either side by single storey weather-beaten buildings that looked like ancient mausoleums. The air stank of piss and garbage and emaciated stray dogs wandered the place. The carriage driver refused to pull into the street. I felt bad for the guy when I heard the anxiety in his voice. I asked him to at least wait for us here when we return. He nervously agreed but I didn't trust him to keep his word. I wouldn't have blamed him either way.
I followed the thief into the neighborhood. On the way, I asked him his name. He told me it was Nemo Bridges. I told him a made up name. I was feeling a bit nervous because his abyss kept repeating, “Lord give me strength.”
As Nemo led me down the narrow street, I saw all the residents gazing down at me. For some reason, their unblinking eyes reminded me of the eyes of a vulture.
Nemo led me up the stairway of a three storey building that looked like it could crumble anytime. He unlocked the door to an apartment and led me inside.
The place couldn't have been bigger than two hundred square feet. There were a couple of rickety chairs for guests, if anyone cared enough to stop by. A single bureau sat by a wall next to the window. The room adjacent to this one was the kitchen and another room in the back was probably the bedroom.
“I-I'll go and bring my son,” Nemo said, walking towards the bedroom. His head hung nervously and he seemed unable to meet my gaze.
He left me alone in the tiny sitting room. I stood there, listening to the sound of my own heartbeat. Something didn't feel right about being here.
That's when my eyes happened upon the bottles of liquor in the corner of the living room. I counted seven of those. From the label, it looked like the cheap bootleg stuff but it seemed to be enough for Nemo. That's when alarms seemed to go off in my head. Even if the stuff was cheap, it still would cost a good amount to drink this much. I moved my eyes over the lack of furniture. If Nemo didn't have a job, then it meant he had to pawn household stuff to pay for the booze.
On instinct, I went to the kitchen to check and I wasn't surprised to find that there was no stove, almost no utensils in the cabinet. Only more empty bottles lying around. No, poverty wasn't Nemo's biggest problem right now.
That's when I heard the door open in the living room. A boy's voice echoed down the room. "Dad, are you home?"
I gasped softly. I peered out to see a boy of about seven or eight years old, wearing old and dark stained clothes, soot marked his face and he wore a tattered muffler around his neck, a patchwork jacket that was too small for his scrawny frame and a pair of trousers that were two sizes too big for him.
He looked at me. I looked at him. I heard the boy's abyss, "Who is this woman? Where is dad?"
Nemo's son. And though he looked like he didn’t have a large calorie intake, he didn’t seem sick in the way that Nemo had described. That meant Nemo lied to me. But why?
Then I heard a woman giggle behind me. "I'd thought finding you would be a lot more difficult than this."
I turned around and forgot to breathe when I saw her. She wore a wide brim sunhat but her blonde hair still cascaded down her shoulders like a golden waterfall. Her face was pale as snow, her lips were painted red and she wore a blood red dress. But what really made my heart stop was the design on the skirt of her dress. It was a single gaping black eye.
"You didn't think we would let Oswald's death slide that easily, did you?" she said.
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Posted Feb 10, 2026, 9:59 AM UTC