Chapter 11 : The Witch’s New Home

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…

“Lanafit, don’t be in such a rush to leave!”

Roseithe’s voice rang out behind her. 

Lanafit turned back with a slightly exasperated look.

“I told you I can go by myself. You don’t need to come with me.”

“How could I not? Today is your big day! As your housemate, it’s my duty to witness it with you.”

Grinning, she scooted up beside her and, ignoring Lanafit’s resistance, pulled her into a hug.

To be fair, Roseithe appeared older and was a full head taller, making it hard for Lanafit to break free once caught.

Just as she was about to smack her with the staff in her hand, Roseithe dodged effortlessly and snatched it away.

“Same move won’t work on me twice~!”

“Y-You! Let go of me!”

A sense of crisis—one of virtue—hit Lanafit hard. 

She struggled with all her might, but it was useless.

“Waaah~! Lanafit, you’re so cold-hearted! You got a new home and now you’re just tossing me aside! After everything we’ve been through!”

“We haven’t been through anything! And every time, you’re the one trying to jump me! I’ve been exhausting myself just defending against you!”

Frustrated by Roseithe’s twisted narrative, Lanafit thrashed even harder.

Surprisingly, this burst of effort let her slip out of Roseithe’s arms, thanks to her flat figure on both front and back.

She quickly backed away, a frosty rose blooming in her hand, ready to defend.

This woman had gotten nothing out of her for the whole past month—probably thought she’d catch Lanafit off guard today since her island had finally formed and she’d be in a good mood. 

Clearly, she was trying to seize the opportunity and grope her again. 

She’d have to stay on high alert.

“I’m warning you! Don’t think I don’t know what you’re plotting! I’m watching you.”

Lanafit’s threat sounded serious—at least to her. 

But to Roseithe, it was no more threatening than a little hamster baring its teeth at a cat—only more adorable, which made her even more eager to pounce.

“Hehehe… Just give up, Lanafit. I’ve already decided—tonight’s the night we make it official! Forget your new home. You should be living on my island permanently. And obviously, sharing my bed.”

See? 

Now that she’d been called out, she wasn’t even pretending anymore.

Just as tension filled the air between them—

“What are you two doing?”

A familiar voice came from behind.

The moment Lanafit heard it, joy lit up her face as she turned around.

“Miss Anthera! You’re—”

“Opening!”

Roseithe’s voice cut in like a dagger.

Lanafit’s joy instantly vanished, replaced by sheer terror.

No!

She tried to turn back, but it was too late. 

Before she could even fully rotate, her face plunged into two towering, soft mountains. 

Then her entire body was once again tightly wrapped in Roseithe’s arms.

…

…

Ten minutes later.

Anthera looked at the scene before her with thinly veiled resignation: Roseithe grinning like a cat that just caught the canary, and Lanafit—covered in lipstick marks, clothes disheveled, and a completely dead expression in her eyes.

“Roseithe… What am I even supposed to say to you…”

Rolling her eyes, Anthera walked over to Lanafit, picked up the World Tree staff Roseithe had casually tossed aside, and gently handed it back to her. 

Then she quietly helped tidy Lanafit’s messy clothes.

The tenderness of her gesture deeply moved Lanafit. 

Without thinking, she threw her arms around Anthera, clinging to her for comfort, and then peeked out from behind her like a wary kitten glaring at Roseithe.

And then—

“Hehehehe… looks like tonight I might get to sample a two-witch combo platter. What a thrilling thought.”

Roseithe shamelessly voiced her twisted fantasy, even wiping away nonexistent drool from the corner of her mouth.

“Enough, Roseithe. Quit messing around. Today’s the day Lanafit’s home is finished. If you scare her into turning into another Golia—shut-in for a hundred years—I will have words with you.”

“Oh come on, I was just joking! I’m sure Lanafit’s big-hearted enough not to mind, right?”

Roseithe narrowed her beautiful eyes slightly and gave what she thought was a “gentle” smile to Lanafit.

But Lanafit, who had just endured her harassment, wasn’t falling for it. 

Not even a little. 

She didn’t trust a word this woman said, and retreated even further behind Anthera’s back.

For reference, the “Golia” that Anthera had mentioned earlier was Golia Syharper, the 33rd Witch who governed Wind and Clouds—Roseithe’s mentor back in the day.

To have been this pervert’s “guide” and forced to cohabit for a month… it wasn’t hard to imagine Golia’s fate. 

She had shut herself away in her home for nearly a century now. 

Her island was sealed up tight with magical wards both inside and out—clearly to keep a certain predator from getting her hands (or anything else) on her ever again.

No one knew exactly what Golia had gone through, but thankfully Lanafit had managed to put up a fierce resistance just now—at the very least, she had preserved her first kiss. 

The cost, however, was letting Roseithe’s hands freely grope everywhere under her clothes.

Still, the thought that she’d soon be free from this degenerate once and for all gave Lanafit the strength to rally her spirit.

Summoning her courage, she stepped out from behind Anthera, used water magic to wash away the lipstick smudges from her face, and repeated over and over in her mind:

Once I reach my new home, I’ll finally be free… Once I reach my new home, I’ll finally be free…

Then, avoiding Roseithe’s gaze, she said to Anthera:

“Miss Anthera, let’s go.”

Ignoring Roseithe completely, Lanafit followed Anthera toward her new home.

Of course, ignoring Roseithe didn’t stop her from trying to make another move. 

Nor did it end her inappropriate muttering along the way.

In the end, Lanafit cast a defensive barrier on herself just to finally cut off Roseithe’s repeated “ambushes.”

…

Whether it was fate or some divine act of mercy, Lanafit’s island turned out to be the furthest one from Roseithe’s. 

Even better—she had become Anthera’s neighbor. 

This made her genuinely happy.

Over the past month, Anthera had often come to visit her. 

Though Lanafit suspected it was more out of curiosity over her rare divine role than anything else, she still appreciated Anthera’s kindness, especially the help and support she gave on the very first day.

Of course, what pleased her most… was finally being far away from Roseithe.

Roseithe had grumbled the whole way about how “unfair” the Demon God was, but in her heart, Lanafit was already offering up sincere prayers of gratitude to that very deity.

When the three of them finally reached the destination, what they saw was an island covered in lush green grass, with a single winding path stretching toward the center.

There, Lanafit’s house stood.

“Huh? This is the home Lanafit’s been dreaming about?”

Roseithe stared at the building in surprise. 

Even Anthera was caught off guard.

“I’ve never seen architecture like this before, but…”

“So shabby…”

That final remark came from both of them, in perfect sync.

Because the structure before them truly was just that.

It was an old rural farmhouse, the kind commonly found in the northern countryside over a decade ago.

A low courtyard wall surrounded the building. 

A few brick-and-tile rooms sat scattered within the yard—plain, weathered, and clearly worn down by time.

“…I figured it’d look like this.”

Lanafit murmured, gently running her fingers along the rough cement wall of the courtyard.

Her pale green eyes shimmered with nostalgia—and something more complex.

Everything felt so familiar… yet time had made it all feel distant.

This was once her home.

Back when her father was still alive, and her mother had not remarried.

The place where she had lived… the family she once had.

Step by step, Lanafit walked into the yard, quietly taking in everything around her.

This modest little house, when contrasted with the person she was now, felt oddly out of place—almost jarringly so.

In the corner of the courtyard wall, there were old scribbles she couldn’t even decipher anymore. 

They were her childhood doodles—drawn when she was being mischievous. 

She remembered how angry her mother had been when she saw them. 

But her father? 

He just patted her on the shoulder and laughed heartily, saying his “son” had the makings of an artist.

To the right was an open structure—something like a garage. 

If she remembered correctly, there used to be an old, slightly rusted tractor parked there.

Beside the garage sat a small doghouse, no more than waist-high, with a makeshift roof of wooden boards and metal sheets. 

That was where the family’s yellow mutt had lived. 

She used to bring it along every time she ran out to play in the fields with her friends. 

Now, all that remained was the empty shell of its little den.

To the left stood the kitchen, furnished with a wooden table and a few stools. 

The walls were papered over—she remembered those were newspaper clippings. 

Perhaps because she could no longer recall what the articles were about, her memory had simply filled in the space with blank paper instead.

Once she stepped out of the kitchen, she finally turned toward the main room.

That was where the living room and bedroom were.

The main room still had barely any decorations, just like she remembered. 

On the right-hand wall of the living room hung a giant mirror that covered nearly the entire surface—leaving just over a meter at the bottom where an old yellow sofa sat against the wall.

On the wall directly across from the door stood an old wooden TV cabinet. 

But in the spot where the television should have been, there was nothing.

As for the other two walls—one had a black, old-fashioned leather couch in front of a glass coffee table. 

The other wall held a writing desk—her father had bought it just for her, for studying and doing homework.

Above the desk hung a framed picture—not a painting, really, just a cheap printed image. 

It depicted a landscape of waterfalls and mountains, predominantly green in tone.

Beside the mirror on the right side of the bedroom was a door. 

Step through it, and if you turned left, you’d see a massive bed—one that took up nearly half the room. 

It was made entirely of welded metal: a shock-resistant bed, incredibly wide. 

From each of the four corners, the bed’s legs rose up into thick posts that nearly reached the ceiling, connected at the top by metal bars.

Every side of the bed except the one facing outward was enclosed in metal rails. 

As a child, she had always thought the thing looked more like a cage than a bed—and climbing onto it had been a struggle.

In front of that massive frame sat a much smaller bed—the one she had slept in as a little kid. 

At the foot of the small bed, along the adjacent wall, stood a row of wooden wardrobes.

After stepping out of the master bedroom, Lanafit made her way to another room on the opposite side.

This room was supposed to be even larger than the master bedroom, but it had been divided into two sections. 

As she entered, she was immediately greeted by pitch blackness—there were no windows at all.

Originally, this area had served as a storage room and utility space. 

To the left was a smaller section—that was her childhood bedroom.

Honestly, being so close to a pitch-dark storage room had scared her a lot when she was young. 

She hadn’t wanted to sleep in that little room at all.

When her parents had first assigned her that space, she threw tantrums and kept sneaking back into their room at night for months. 

Eventually, her father had had enough and forced her to finally move into her own room for good.

Maybe, as their child got older, the couple simply wanted their intimacy back—without a third party in the same room. 

So they kicked her out.

Thinking back on it now, Lanafit couldn’t help but chuckle.

Such a pity her younger self hadn’t understood any of that—and stayed angry at her father over it for a long time.