The labyrinth was created by the hands of witches.
Even now, it’s estimated that over a hundred witches are working inside and outside the labyrinth to maintain this fake world.
Outside, they abduct people and supply resources, while inside, they build cities, stabilize the space, and whip the unruly with violence and law.
Of course, all of that is grueling work.
And what do the witches gain from maintaining the labyrinth?
Not even familiars — since ordinary monsters don’t really distinguish between witches and others — meaning they just take on trouble without any real benefit.
At least as far as Hans knows.
And while Hans doesn’t know much about witches or the hidden workings of the world, there is one thing he does know: unless they’re saints, witches are absolutely not the kind of group to willingly sacrifice themselves for world peace.
“You’ve grown a lot, Johan.”
Hans watched Gretel’s expression anxiously, trying to gauge whether he had made a mistake or if this much was still acceptable.
When it came to the human Gretel, their years of interaction made it easy enough to predict her, but the witch Gretel remained a mystery to him.
“Ha… Haha. Maybe I got a little too ahead of myself?”
“No. Well, normally you’d have to be at least an explorer or an artisan to know this much.”
Fortunately, Gretel was in a good mood.
She knew that just as she was an unusual witch, Hans was an unusual human — and she knew just how easily men were often swayed by their desires.
And yet Hans had never laid a hand on Alje.
There had been some physical contact, as Gretel had pointed out, but he never crossed the line.
Even if Gretel hadn’t been watching every moment through her dolls, she could be sure of that much.
So…“Well, I suppose there’s no reason not to tell you. I think you’re at least worth that much.”
Hans swallowed hard.
He was more numb to it now, but when he had first fallen into the labyrinth, the despair and frustration had been overwhelming.
Even if it was far too late, if he could finally find some answers to all this injustice…But Gretel’s answer was disappointing.
“I can’t tell you the true purpose of this entire labyrinth. Because I don’t know it myself.”
“You… don’t know?”
“What’s with that look? You humans might think all witches are amazing, but there are pretty big differences even among us. You know what happens to a saint without a knight or an affiliation, right?”
Gretel’s tone was a little different than usual.
She had cast off the arrogance and sense of authority she always wore like a crown to keep from being pushed aside by other witches.
Speaking in a simple, casual tone, she looked like nothing more than an ordinary girl despite the countless years she had lived.
“Witches aren’t much different.”
A witch who doesn’t belong to one of the Five Houses… to be honest, isn’t so different from you humans.
“Sure, we’re treated better than you, but in the end, we’re still disposable — something that can be replaced at any time.”
“You know my name, right? Gretel.”
Yes, her name was Gretel.
Just like Hans, Gretel had no surname.
“That’s why accomplishments matter if you don’t want to be cast out. Do you understand what I’ve risked to protect you?”
“Uh… thanks?”
“Just words?”
On a normal day, Hans might’ve already tried to push Gretel down in response to her teasing — but she had mentioned being busy.
Gretel got up from her seat, walked off without hesitation, and soon came back holding a rolled-up scroll.
She thrust it toward Hans, and he took it, caught off guard.
“What’s this?”
“I was planning to leave this alone for a while, but I changed my mind. Johan, you’re going to have to do some work.”
Hans unrolled the scroll.
It was a document written by Gretel — similar in format to a commission request, but with the reward section left blank.
This was always how it went when Hans ran errands for the witch.
Gretel often handed him tasks like this.
When Hans ran errands for the witch, it was always like this.
Gretel often called him over and gave him work, but she rarely gave him anything in return.
Not that he minded.
After all, having a witch’s favor was the greatest reward of all.
If not for the doll Gretel had given him, Hans would’ve burned to death before Alje could even treat him.
And if he hadn’t been under a witch’s protection, the familiars would have torn him apart without even listening to his explanations — even if it had been self-defense.
Hunting stray dogs was one thing, but touching a dog with an owner was a whole different problem.
Of course, when a dog with an owner caused trouble, it was the owner’s responsibility to deal with it.
“I may not know the purpose of the entire labyrinth, but a witch’s purpose is simple.”
The workshop.
True to its name, it was a place where things were created.
The flames flowing through the space were tools, instruments, and materials.
But no matter how great a witch’s power was, you couldn’t create something from ashes alone.
And to maintain the workshop, it was fine to step away briefly — but leaving for too long wasn’t an option.
That’s where Hans came in.
A runner.
His job was to explore the labyrinth — a treasure trove of bizarre resources — and bring back whatever the witch needed.
“The Five Houses, as the pinnacle of witches, are ruthless — but unlike most witches, they’re also thorough. All our efforts and dedication may be forced, but they are rewarded.”
The casual, almost ordinary tone Gretel had been using faded, replaced by the arrogance she always carried.
Both suited her perfectly — because both were equally part of her nature.
“Well, honestly, even when it comes to purpose, it’s nothing that grand. In the end, witches are human too.”
“Johanes. Since you’ve been living here… what’s the thought that’s crossed your mind the most?”
In the labyrinth, there seemed to be no standard for the witches’ abductions — the place was filled with every kind of human imaginable.
But among them, only a few managed to survive without being killed by monsters or taking their own lives — only a handful adapted and endured.
And those who did survive and adjust to the labyrinth… they all eventually became the same kind of person.
Hans and Gretel looked at each other.
Their eyes, worn smooth like stones weathered by countless storms, no longer reflected each other’s light.
“I want to get out of the labyrinth.”
*
In Heimvig, rumors spread fast.
In this cursed labyrinth city, there was hardly anything worth doing.
You could share love cheaper than a piece of bread, drown yourself in booze and drugs — or…Or you could gossip.
It was less self-destructive and, more importantly, free — even if cleaning up the mess it caused was always someone else’s problem.
So it was inevitable that word spread about the light that had descended into the depths.
What started as a needle in a haystack…But there was one thing Hans hadn’t anticipated — the tavern owner, stripped of his stash of booze and saint’s herb, had taken it personally and let his tongue run wild.
What started as a needle in a haystack quickly grew into a raging wildfire of rumors.
A new arrival, angelic and pure, had entered this hellish place.
And that newcomer was being monopolized by the mad dog.
Jealousy toward Hans — who flaunted the protection of a witch — resentment from those who’d clashed with him, and the ever-present hunger and desire of those who lived in constant lack… the reasons didn’t matter.
In a crowd of so many desperate people, it wasn’t surprising that at least one lunatic wouldn’t bother thinking about tomorrow.
“Hmm-hmm~”
Alje, who had been raised as a saint, was used to a life of obedience.
Being confined to a small room was boring and suffocating, but if she thought of it like the prayer room or the punishment chamber and just endured it quietly, it wasn’t unbearable.
The floor was littered with monster fragments and daggers Hans had left behind for her amusement.
Sitting on the filthy, well-worn bed, the girl hummed a soft tune to herself.
Passing the time with a song wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
“La la la… hmm?”
Clink.
But the dry, grating sound of metal made Alje’s humming stop.
Hans had, of course, locked the door.
And as the obedient, well-behaved girl she was, Alje had never even touched the doorknob.
And yet… there was a sound.
Not from inside — but from outside.
At first, it was tentative, like someone testing their luck, a gentle rattle or two.
But when no response came, the intruder seemed to grow bolder, more certain.
The doorknob began shaking violently.
And for all the supposed security of this place… how strong could the lock really be?
Click!
Click!
Before long, the door gave in, creaking and screaming in protest as it was forced open.
A massive figure stepped into the room, eyes wide and gleaming.
The already dimly lit space darkened further as the mountain-like shadow fell across it.
“Heh… heh… hihih…”
But more terrifying than his sheer size — or the crude stone club in his hand — were his eyes.
There was no distinction between pupil and iris.
The inky blackness had melted and spread, mixing with the whites of his eyes until only an unpleasant, murky gray filled his gaze.
Alje knew, in theory, what this was.
But seeing it firsthand…This was what happened when someone abused witch’s herb far beyond safe limits.
Most people died of heart failure before ever reaching this state — only those with exceptionally strong bodies, like hunters or explorers, could endure long enough to fall into such ruin.
It was a cruel paradox — the higher you climbed, the further you had to fall.
“Hik… hihi… huff, kik…”
“Oh… my God…”
Though its nature was different, this creature was just as twisted as any monster.
It was the result of abusing the blessings of miracles — a wretch consumed by an endless hunger that even infinite mercy couldn’t satisfy.
It had likely been lying somewhere among the countless addicts and vagrants scattered on the streets.
But it had risen — because it sensed the presence of a saint.
Even witches struggled to resist the pull of Alje’s presence.
For a being like this — one whose senses were twisted and attuned to miracles — that pull was dozens of times stronger.
Its cloudy, unfocused eyes couldn’t even fully take her in.
Drool spilled from its gaping mouth.
The force moving this living corpse wasn’t desire for a beautiful girl, nor hatred for the wild dog who guarded her.
It was hunger.
The primal, all-consuming need to devour every drop of the miracle flowing through her flesh and blood.
“Gulp.”