Chapter 33 : The Witch Sets Off on Her Journey Once Again

Early morning.

The old village chief and his wife were up early again today.

Maybe it was due to their age and needing less sleep, or perhaps because they were hosting a guest of exceedingly high status in their home—either way, the elderly couple began their day bustling around from the crack of dawn.

Various vegetables and meats were laid out on the kitchen counter.

Though it was just breakfast, the preparation was lavish.

Not that the village chief was extravagant.

Even though his household was considered one of the best-off in the village, meals like this were usually reserved for major festivals, eaten once every three or four months—if that.

And yet, this kind of extravagant meal had been prepared for three days straight.

Including this morning, it was now the fourth day.

Normally, someone as thrifty as the village chief would balk at this kind of spending.

He should be resentful toward the “picky” guest for such wastefulness.

But the deep wrinkles on his face were always lifted in a smile, as if everything was done willingly and gladly.

“Old man, why don’t you go check the village entrance to see if our son’s back yet? He’s been gone for a while. Shouldn’t he have come back by now?”

The village chief’s wife asked with some concern, but the chief’s expression remained calm.

He replied dismissively,

“Relax. He’ll be fine. That boy’s probably just slacking off somewhere. Don’t I know him?”

Just as he finished speaking, someone walked into the house.

Sure enough, it was the chief’s son, Nuohette.

He was carrying something in his hand—a rabbit and a fish that was still occasionally twitching its tail.

Seeing him return, the old chief narrowed his eyes, visibly displeased.

“Took you long enough. What were you doing all this time?”

Then, he glanced at the prey in Nuohette’s hands and frowned.

“That’s all you caught?”

Already exhausted, Nuohette grew irritated at the criticism and grumbled in frustration,

“Father, you dragged me out before sunrise to go hunting. I couldn’t even see the road—how was I supposed to catch anything? That rabbit took several traps to catch, and I spent ages just trying to fish up this one. I did my best.”

But the chief didn’t show the slightest bit of sympathy.

Instead, he scolded his son,

“You’re always fooling around, taking those village brats here and there. Can’t even hunt properly. What good are you?”

“Yes, yes, you’re right, Father. I’ll change, I promise.”

Realizing the nagging was about to go on forever, Nuohette gave a perfunctory response while tossing the prey into the kitchen, yawning as he did.

“Father, Mother, I’m going back to sleep. Don’t call me for breakfast—I’ve got no appetite.”

Ignoring the old chief, who was now fuming and ready to grab his cane,

Nuohette slipped back into his room.

Before closing the door, he even made a face at the guest room door.

Clearly, he’d been harboring no small amount of resentment over the past few days.

The old village chief was furious but didn’t dare make a scene—what if he woke the esteemed guest?

All he could do was sigh and return to the kitchen to finish preparing breakfast.

Once the dishes were finally done and placed neatly on the table, the chief walked respectfully to the guest room door and knocked gently.

“Lady Magician, are you awake?”

His tone was soft—soothing, even more tender than a lullaby.

“…”

There was no response from within.

After waiting a bit, the chief knocked again, slightly louder this time.

“Lady Magician, breakfast is ready. If you’re awake, would you like to join us?”

Still no answer.

The chief frowned.

The guest had risen early every day so far, always responding to his first call.

Why the silence today?

A sense of unease crept into his heart.

He gently pushed the door—only to find it cracked open.

It hadn’t been bolted shut from the inside.

His heart skipped a beat.

He knocked again, this time louder and more urgent.

“Lady Magician, are you inside? If you are, please say something.”

Still nothing.

No sounds of movement.

Not even the creak of the bed.

He wanted to go in but hesitated—what if Lanafit was still inside?

What if he offended her by intruding?

So he called over his wife.

“Dear, could you knock and go in to check?”

His wife was a quiet, obedient woman who always did as she was told and never questioned her husband’s decisions.

Though she’d always been curious why he treated this magician so reverently, she never asked.

She nodded and walked to the door, knocking softly.

“Lady Magician, I’m coming in.”

The old wooden door creaked open.

She stepped in slowly—but before the door could shut behind her, she cried out to her husband, “Old man! Come quickly! The magician’s gone!”

The chief rushed in.

The guest room was exactly as it had been: neatly arranged, untouched.

After all, aside from her wand, Lanafit had brought nothing that could be called luggage.

The bed she’d slept in for three days had been made flawlessly.

The room was spotless—so clean it was as if no one had ever stayed there.

The chief stood there in a daze—until his wife’s excited voice called him over.

“Old man, look over here!”

He followed her voice to the wooden table he had commissioned from the village carpenter just a few days ago.

Now, that table was filled with jars—thirty transparent glass bottles, to be exact.

He stepped forward and counted them—thirty in total, not one more or less.

These were the very same empty bottles he had sent his son to buy from the nearby town two days ago.

But unlike before, these bottles were no longer empty.

Now, each one was filled with a liquid of a different color.

Not a single one remained unfilled.

At that moment, the door creaked open again.

The elderly couple turned their heads—it was their son, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

The house didn’t have great soundproofing, so he had likely been awakened by the commotion.

“Father, Mother, why are you making such a ruckus?”

Still groggy, Nuohette looked around and realized that, without thinking, he’d wandered into the guest room.

Only now did it hit him: the guest was gone. Puzzled, he asked,

“Where’s the magician? And what’s with all this…”

He stared at the table full of potions, completely confused.

The village chief was holding a piece of paper—he had just found it under one of the bottles.

He read it carefully.

“…She’s already left. As for these potions… They’re a gift from Lady Magician.”

After a long pause, the chief finally let out a sigh and answered his son, his eyes tinged with sorrow.

Nuohette had long held a grudge toward Lanafit.

In his eyes, she had freeloaded off their family for days under the pretense of having been struck by divine punishment—the “miracle” the villagers had witnessed.

Sure, she was stunningly beautiful, so much so that he couldn’t look her in the eye, but he hadn’t exactly liked her.

But now, seeing the dozens of potions and the look on his father’s face, all that resentment was swallowed down.

He walked over and looked at the note himself.

It was a letter from Lanafit apologizing for leaving without saying goodbye, along with a message explaining the thirty potions she had left for the village.

Reading those words, Nuohette could no longer see her as some shameless fraud.

Thirty fully prepared potions—just one of those would fetch a fortune.

Let alone paying for her stay, even the generous compensation from that day, multiplied tenfold, wouldn’t have been enough to afford this much.

A deep guilt took root in his heart.

But now, it was too late.

There wasn’t even a chance to apologize.

He couldn’t help but wonder—was Lanafit really just leeching off them that day the divine lightning struck?

Would someone like her—someone willing to leave behind such valuable potions—really stoop to scamming villagers?

“…Father, do you think that lightning strike—the so-called ‘miracle’ sent down by the Goddess—could’ve been Lady Magician’s doing…?”

He asked the village chief hesitantly.

To his surprise, the chief placed the letter back on the table, smiled at him faintly, and said,

“Silly child… That was no ‘miracle’.”

With that, he let out a long sigh under Nuohette’s puzzled gaze, and looked out the window toward the blue sky.

Then, he said something Nuohette didn’t quite understand:

“…The real ‘miracle’ already set off on her journey not long ago.”

…

…

…

Southwest of Stat Village, on a cliffside at the edge of Geshk Forest, a figure stood alone, wearing a large black witch’s hat.

She gazed off into the distance—toward the village now only the size of a fist in her view.

“Lanafit! You must follow the will of the Demon God!”

That was what Anthera had told her before she left.

Her words still echoed in Lanafit’s ears, solemn and full of gravity.

Lanafit gripped her staff—Sapling of the World Tree—tightly.

Her knuckles turned white.

It was clear she was grappling with a decision.

“The Demon God’s will must not be defied. The witch’s duty is to carry out that will…”

She recited the words softly—words she had heard countless times from both Anthera and Roseithe.

But…

Lanafit closed her eyes and took several deep breaths.

After a long moment, she opened them again.

“…I’m sorry, Anthera-nee. It looks like I’m going to break my promise.”

Her pale green eyes, like gemstones, shimmered with sadness.

She took one last look at Stat Village, then finally turned away.

She had never wanted to take innocent lives.

And the villagers—they had done nothing wrong.

So why had the Demon God issued such a cruel command?

If that was the case, then she would rather leave—go far away.

Maybe then, the Demon God would forget about this insignificant little village.

Let it fade from sight, from memory, and be left to live on in peace, just like before.

He’ll definitely forget…

As she turned to leave, Lanafit prayed silently in her heart.