Chapter 7
As he followed the narrow, winding path, Max thought about the people known as witches.
Witch. It was the name of an occupation that encompassed both men and women. Dragons used dragon magic, human mages used formulaic magic circles, and witches were known to primarily borrow the power of spirits from the Middle Realm. It was unclear exactly what kind of people became witches, but it was said that they tended to share certain characteristics.
The spirits that frequently appeared in fairy tales were, in truth, a race with no understanding of good or evil. Only those with a particular sensitivity could see spirits, and those people also tended to have vague boundaries between good and evil, along with equally ambiguous moral standards. It was said that, as long as they were paid, they would readily curse complete strangers or even brew poisons to kill them.
Because of such behavior, Witches were shunned as ominous beings and usually lived in hiding. Nevertheless, they always lurked like shadows near villages. There was never any shortage of people who secretly sought them out.
In any case, after walking for quite some time, the witch’s residence finally came into view.
Who else would live in a place like this? It was a witch’s hut. Maximilian was certain of it. A pinwheel stuck beside the door of the moss-covered log cabin spun round and round. It was a sign that someone was home.
As Max drew closer to the witch’s hut, he was momentarily aghast.
What bastard built a house this shoddily…?
The roof was tilted, and the doors did not fit their frames, so wind must have blown freely through the gaps. On top of that, it was impossible to tell whether the structure itself was round or square. It was a crude and dreadful dwelling that looked as though someone had gathered up scraps and patched them together haphazardly.
Feeling the immediate urge to hammer down a crooked nail that had been left half-driven into the wall, Max stood squarely before the door of the log cabin.
It was at that moment.
“Eeeeeek…!”
He flinched just as he was about to knock.
A strange noise had burst from inside the ramshackle house. It was followed by muttering, frantic footsteps, and other sounds of someone rushing around in confusion. Max frowned. Did a madwoman live here instead of a witch? Was he wasting his time for nothing?
“I have something to ask. Is anyone inside?”
Knock, knock. However, he had no more time to waste on fruitless efforts. Max knocked on the door brusquely. Then again, by his narrow-minded standards, there was not much difference between a witch and a crazy person.
In any case, the person inside seemed to have noticed the visitor. The noisy commotion abruptly stopped. A long while later, the crooked door creaked halfway open, as though someone had been forced to wrench it aside. Max was caught off guard yet again.
Instead of the wrinkled face of a shriveled old woman, a tousled head of very unusual ash-gold hair popped out through the gap.
The head muttered.
“What is it? Did Madam Jocelyn send you? Her medicine is still nowhere near finished… I told her it needs time to mature… Tch, making a super-strength aphrodisiac isn’t that simple… It requires no fewer than twenty-six natural ingredients in exact proportions…”
He could not hear most of what she was saying. Only the word ‘aphrodisiac’ vaguely reached his ears.
“I’m not here on behalf of anyone like that.”
“What? Yees…?”
He was a new customer.
When Max firmly corrected the witch’s misunderstanding, the golden head finally lifted itself slowly. He now realized why she had been trying not to show her face. There were dark tear tracks around her hazel eyes, which were similarly flecked with gold.
“Uh… Uhh? U-Uh, uh, uhh…!”
The witch looked young.
Even being generous, she appeared to have only just reached adulthood.
Her round face was faintly scattered with freckles, and her skin was somewhat more tan for a northerner. The moment Max saw her face, he was reminded of an almond toasted beneath the sunlight. The youngster looked as though she ought to smell pleasantly nutty, but instead, she reeked of dust from some stale, long-abandoned storeroom.
It seemed she was just as startled as he was.
The woman had to crane her neck far back to look up at Max, and her face turned red all the way to the tips of her ears in an instant.
If someone smacked the back of her head, her enormous eyes looked liable to roll right out. However, she did not merely appear surprised. The witch’s condition steadily became stranger. When she had thought a customer had come to rush her order, she had grumbled perfectly well. Now, she suddenly acted as though she had lost her tongue, and she even began sweating profusely.
Then, out of nowhere, she gave him a crooked grin.
It looked as though she had attempted to greet a new customer politely and had failed completely. She was visibly tense. After panting like someone struggling to breathe, the ash-gold-haired witch finally managed to squeeze out a few words.
“W-Welcome. Y-You’ve come to give me a job, haven’t you? Come inside! N-Now, now!”
“Are you alright? I’m not going to go in there and end up hauling out a corpse, am I…?”
“M-Me? I’m fine! Really. My one and only s-source of pride is my health and stamina!”
Was this really a skilled witch? She’s not a fraud?
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