Chapter 16 : Permission for the Journey

“The thirty-five generations of witches—though most have long remained on the Sky Isles—there have been a few who journeyed to the lower realms.

Mostly, it was due to the unique nature of their duties.

Of course, that’s not to say they weren’t also curious about the lower world like you are, Lanafit.”

Anthera spoke slowly, recounting tales of witches descending to the mortal world for Lanafit.

Leaving the others aside for now, Anthera herself had once gone down to the lower realm.

At the time, the world had been ravaged by the Demon King.

The pathway between the Underworld and the lower realm had become overwhelmed, causing numerous lost souls to wander the mortal realm, throwing it into chaos.

Anthera’s descent was primarily to open more channels to the Underworld and to soothe the roaming souls, guiding them toward reincarnation.

She went because of her responsibilities—her role demanded it.

Other witches, like the Fourth Witch Ander End, descended to teach early human and demi-human civilizations the art of farming and land cultivation.

Or the Thirtieth Witch, Seharei Bamaelte, who came down to choose a new Hero and deliver the divine edict of the gods.

In short, all such descents were duty-bound.

But Lanafit simply wanted to go to the lower realm out of personal curiosity.

She had no obligation that required her to do so.

What’s more, witches couldn’t go to the lower realm just because they wanted to.

They needed permission from the First Witch.

Though all witches shared equal titles, everyone understood—the First Witch held more authority than any other.

She might not be the “leader,” but she was undoubtedly the face of all witches—the most ancient among them, the one closest to the will of the Demon God.

Anthera explained all this to Lanafit.

Though she didn’t say it outright, her words were a subtle attempt to dissuade Lanafit from descending.

It was clear—just like Roseithe—Anthera didn’t want Lanafit to visit the lower realm.

But she also had another unspoken concern.

Lanafit was the Witch of Curses and Calamities.

Not only that, she retained her memories and personality from before reincarnation.

Both Anthera and Roseithe worried—if Lanafit were to see firsthand the devastation her powers had wrought, to witness the suffering of those in the lower world—could she truly endure the weight of that guilt?

It seemed unlikely.

The moment Lanafit began to feel troubled by her fear of the Demon God’s will, and by her guilt in using the Demon King… it became evident.

Unlike the other witches who lived timelessly in the skies, Lanafit was too human.

Just as Anthera was pondering how to gently persuade Lanafit to abandon the idea, an unexpected guest stepped into Roseithe’s garden.

“Anthera dear, Lanafit sweetheart, and… tsk, Roseithe.”

Golden wheat-colored wavy hair draped over her shoulders, and her gem-like green eyes sparkled with warmth and affection.

She appeared to be a stunning woman in her twenties, curvaceous and confident.

Well, that warmth quickly vanished when she mentioned Roseithe—replaced by a clear look of disdain.

Ander End, the Fourth Witch, ruler of Earth and Harvest, and the oldest of the witches.

She was also the one who had transformed a sapling of the World Tree into Lanafit’s staff.

“Ander sis? What brings you here?”

Anthera was visibly surprised at Ander’s sudden arrival.

She stood up to greet her—only to see a flash of red dart out ahead.

Who else could it be but the lust-starved succubus who had just been unconscious?

Roseithe, of course.

“Ander sis, welcome to our lovely little witch family—smack!”

Before she could finish her saccharine greeting, Roseithe had already gone flying—launched straight through the garden fog and off her little island.

“YAAAH—!!”

A loud crash echoed in the distance, followed by a woman’s startled cry.

If memory served correctly, the direction Roseithe flew toward was the island of the icy beauty—the Fourteenth Witch, Shudell Moximi.

Though she didn’t know exactly what had happened, Lanafit silently offered a prayer in her heart.

She hoped that this senior witch, who was already losing sleep because of her troublesome, lust-crazed neighbor, wouldn’t suffer any new psychological trauma from this latest mishap.

Back on their side, Ander End pulled out a handkerchief and furiously wiped the back of her right hand.

Her disgusted expression looked as if her punch had just hit something truly filthy.

“Hah… this handkerchief’s ruined. And it was my favorite one. Tch!”

Her displeasure was written all over her face—gone was the kind and saintly demeanor from a moment ago.

Anthera waited until Ander had incinerated the now-contaminated handkerchief with a palmful of flame magic before speaking again.

“Big Sis Ander, is there something you needed from us?”

At her question, Ander returned to her affectionate, composed manner and cleared her throat before speaking.

“Ahem. Forgive that little outburst.”

Once she had composed herself, Ander turned toward Lanafit with a serious expression—one that instantly made Lanafit nervous and uneasy.

Did… did she accidentally offend this powerful senior witch somehow?

If that were the case, not even Anthera could protect her…

“Lanafit, I heard that you wish to travel to the lower realm. Is that true?”

“Eh?”

Lanafit was caught off guard.

After all, she’d only told Anthera and Roseithe about that desire.

How did Ander know?

Could she have been eavesdropping?

While Lanafit was still reeling with suspicion, Anthera quickly stepped forward.

“I’m sorry, Big Sis Ander. I understand the sensitivity of this matter. Rest assured—I’ll try to persuade Lanafit to give up the idea.”

But to their surprise, Ander simply smiled and waved her hand, signaling that there was no need to worry.

“You’re too tense, Anthera. I’m not here to scold her—I’ve come to deliver the First Witch’s message.”

With those words, she looked at the two of them and calmly conveyed the decision.

“The First Witch has granted Lanafit permission to travel to the lower realm.

She will not be restricted in any way.

From now on, Lanafit, you may freely move between the Sky Isles and the lower realm—even taking up long-term residence there, if you so wish.”

Upon hearing that, Lanafit’s initial confusion gave way to overwhelming joy.

But Anthera’s eyes were full of worry.

“I don’t agree!”

A voice rang out from the entrance to the island—Roseithe stumbled in.

She looked absolutely miserable.

A clearly visible bruise in the shape of a fist was imprinted on her face.

Her wine-red hair was covered in frost, with even her eyelashes glazed in ice.

It wasn’t hard to imagine that the startled Shudell had thoroughly taught her a lesson.

“Lanafit-chan can’t leave! If you go, how am I supposed to get my daily dose of Lanafit essence?!”

Before Lanafit could react, Roseithe lunged forward.

Caught completely off guard, Lanafit was instantly tackled—Roseithe wrapping both arms and legs around her like an octopus.

Because of the momentum, they both toppled over onto the garden lawn.

It was, perhaps, the most perilous moment of Lanafit’s life.

“Roseithe! Get off me! And where the hell do you think you’re touching?!”

Lanafit struggled furiously, but it was pointless—Roseithe’s hands had already slipped under her clothes.

“Ehehehe… Lanafit-chan, just let big sis show you my special technique. I’ll make you forget all about wanting to leave the Sky Isles. Abandoning me is not allowed~!”

It was clearly going too far.

Anthera turned her head away—she couldn’t bear to watch.

As for Ander, she stared in shock at the entangled duo on the lawn.

“I heard rumors that Lanafit had already been trained by Roseithe, but I didn’t believe them. And now? It’s true!”

“Bullshit! Which eye of yours saw me getting trained?! I’m clearly resisting here! Roseithe, let go of me already! Or I swear I’ll bruise the other side of your face!”

Even while struggling, Lanafit couldn’t resist correcting Ander’s ridiculous misunderstanding.

After all, if this got spread around as something Ander “witnessed firsthand,” it would be far more credible than anything Roseithe said—and Lanafit’s reputation would be doomed.

But clearly, Ander didn’t buy her protests.

With the situation on the lawn escalating rapidly, the three-thousand-year-old pure witch decided to make a hasty retreat.

“I’ve delivered the First Witch’s message. I’ll take my leave now. You two… have fun. I won’t interrupt.”

She turned and departed—or rather, fled.

Though technically still walking, her pace was practically a run.

“Don’t go! Listen to me! No—wait—save me first, then we can talk!”

Lanafit shouted after her, but Ander didn’t even look back.

In the blink of an eye, she vanished into the surrounding mist.

Left with no other choice, Lanafit turned desperately to Anthera.

Surely her responsible and caring senior witch would step in to help…

Then—“I’ll go see Ander off.”

With a thoughtful expression, Anthera walked straight into the mist, pretending not to notice Lanafit’s current crisis.

…

Lanafit gave up all hope.

“Hehehehehe… Lanafit-chan, scream all you want. Even if your voice breaks, no one’s coming to save you.”

Roseithe’s wild, gleeful voice echoed by her ear.

Lanafit’s face darkened.

She clenched her right fist tightly, then—“WHAM—!!”