“……”
Unlike Alje, who didn’t understand what was being said, Hans’ face immediately hardened.
“What?”
“What do you mean, old man?”
Hans didn’t answer Alje’s question and instead stared at the old man with a rigid expression.
A smirk of satisfaction formed on the wrinkled face before him.
It wasn’t that the old man held any particular grudge against Hans.
It was just that there were people in this world who purely enjoyed messing with others.
And the labyrinth had more than its fair share of such people—including the old man in front of them.
“Kheheh. Of course, I understand. I don’t know where you picked up that kid, but I can see why you’d lose your mind over him…”
“You’d better keep that stinking mouth shut, old man.”
Hans had abandoned even the slightest pretense of friendliness or courtesy.
Of course, the old man didn’t so much as flinch at Hans’ growl.
“Oh dear, of course, of course. I do want to live a long life.”
“Cut the useless chatter and answer my question. Is that true?”
“Sure. For some reason, they’ve been searching desperately. So desperately, in fact, that…”
As the old man trailed off, Hans unconsciously focused on the movement of his lips.
That was a mistake.
By the time Hans sensed the ominous shift and turned around, it was already too late.
The figures that had been sprawled across the tavern had risen, blocking the exit.
“…To the point where they even put out a request.”
“You son of a bitch…”
“Let’s not bark too much at each other, mutt.”
Hans didn’t respond to Alje’s words, but he remained acutely aware of her.
As the atmosphere grew increasingly threatening, he moved to shield her behind his back.
The old man was still leaning against the counter.
If necessary, Hans could grab him by the collar, vent his anger, or even use him as a hostage to break through the situation.
But…”Oh dear, don’t make such a scary face. You know as well as I do—fighting is forbidden in the city.”
“…Then what the hell do you call this?”
“Just making sure you don’t run away.”
Whether it was sheer nerve or a complete lack of self-preservation, the old man remained relaxed as he waved a burning scrap of paper from behind the counter.
The flame was magical.
Unlike ordinary fire, which would have instantly reduced the paper to ashes or burned his wrinkled skin, it was consuming the parchment at an unnervingly slow pace.
“Hansel. Your master will be here soon.”
Hans said nothing more.
He simply stood still, silently watching the people in the tavern.
Regret was raging through his mind.
He had never even considered that something this absurd could happen, so he had acted as he always did.
And “as always” meant that anyone who knew Hans well could easily predict his actions.
His habit of checking what had happened in the city whenever he was away—an instinct that had saved his life multiple times—had become a trap this time.
“Why are you so restless? Like a dog that needs to take a shit. If you’ve got nothing to feel guilty about, there’s no need to be so worried.”
Hans resisted the urge to drive his fist into the old man’s mocking face and instead focused on figuring out how to get out of this situation.
In truth, the thugs in the tavern were only blocking the exit; they weren’t making any further moves.
At least for now, there was no immediate danger.
For now.
“Hey…? What the hell is going on here…?”
“Ah.”
A tug on his sleeve from behind made Hans finally turn around to face Alje.
Seeing the frightened girl, he tried to offer a reassuring smile.
Unfortunately, it lacked any real confidence, so it didn’t do much to comfort her.
“I told you, didn’t I? I know a witch.”
“A witch…?”
“Looks like you can feel it now, too.”
Hans was starting to sense it as well.
Of course, he didn’t have the kind of perception that saints used to detect witches.
But there was no way a hunter like him would fail to notice the rising temperature outside.
Bang.
The moment the door swung open, a wave of scorching air rushed in before the person even stepped through.
“Johannes!”
The sharp, ringing voice was unmistakably that of a witch—but the figure beneath it was far from what one might expect.
Dressed in a strikingly passionate red gown, she looked like she had just run out of a grand party.
Yet, no matter how one looked at it, the young girl wearing such a mature outfit didn’t match it in the slightest.
She was beautiful, like an aristocratic lady who had been spoiled beyond measure, her features both charming and wicked.
She didn’t belong in this labyrinth.
The freckles dotting her cheeks, which only deepened her mischievous expression, were perhaps the only thing about her that suited this place.
Heat shimmered around her, distorting the space itself.
The thugs in the tavern flinched back as if they had been burned.
“…I told you, that fancy name doesn’t suit me.”
“Then Johan, fine. Whatever. Do you have any idea how shocked I was? You said you were just going on a little trip, then disappeared for days, and even your doll went missing.”
The girl had been chattering away as she stepped inside, unconcerned by the fearful yet respectful attitudes of those around her.
But her voice abruptly cut off.
Beneath her fiery red hair, her deep auburn eyes burned like flames.
There was no need to guess what they were fixated on.
Someone more beautiful than her.
Someone taller than her.
Someone with a better personality than her.
“Ha?”
In the next instant, the entire tavern seemed to boil over from the sheer heat radiating from the literally fiery girl at its center.
No one moved out of bravery, trying to dodge an attack.
Instead, it was pure instinct—like how people reflexively crouch when an earthquake strikes.
Fortunately, the walking natural disaster of a girl managed to calm herself before she burned the entire tavern down.
Her voice, now cold and firm, carried an arrogant command.
“Get out.”
She spoke as if the tavern were her own.
Yet no one, not even the intoxicated patrons or the old man who was presumably the owner, dared to argue.
One by one, they quietly exited.
Their faces showed not defiance—but relief.
Of course, Hans knew that he alone was exempt from that command.
That was why he couldn’t move.
“…”
The girl bit down on her fingernail with a sharp snap, then began stepping toward him.
With each step, the heat grew more intense.
Hans felt the same suffocating pressure as the moment he had once leapt into the flames to strike down a witch.
The difference was that a witch—one that wasn’t just a mere fragment—was far from foolish.
“Do you have any idea how much I worried? How long I searched for you?”
Her voice was deliberately even, but Hans knew better.
This was merely the calm before the eruption.
He swallowed hard.
This was exactly why he had planned to check the city’s situation first, then scrape together some excuse to appease her…!
“But you didn’t even come looking for me right away.”
“Well, that’s—”
“Shut up.”
“…Okay.”
Hans obediently shut his mouth, and only then did Gretel stop walking.
Just enough distance so that the searing heat made cold sweat pour down his body like rain—but not enough to actually burn him or leave any permanent damage.
“And on top of that—you’ve been fooling around with some other girl?!”
But the moment she finally lost control and shouted, flames erupted from the girl’s mouth.
Fortunately, the fire wasn’t large enough to reduce Hans to ashes on the spot.
Still, the sudden burst of heat lashed against his cheek with searing intensity.
The girl’s eyes widened in surprise—more shocked by her own outburst than anything else.
She clamped both hands over her mouth, and from behind them, a small, oddly cute hic slipped out.
“…Will you give me a chance to explain myself, Gretel?”
Seizing the brief moment when her heat had died down, Hans spoke up.
Gretel pouted, her expression filled with dissatisfaction, but she gave a reluctant nod.
Hans took a second to gather his thoughts, watching the girl—who, though slightly calmer than before, was still huffing in frustration.
She was the witch he knew—Gretel.
“……”
And unlike the [miracles] of saints, the [magic] of witches carried a price just as immense as its destructive power.
The witch Gretel, who looked even younger than Alje, was in reality older than Hans.
She never revealed her exact age, but compared to other witches, she was still relatively youthful.
Of course, even so.
When someone has lived for a span longer than an ordinary human’s lifetime, receiving nothing but fear, reverence, and twisted emotions instead of genuine connections—”Go on, bark.”
Any soul is bound to break.
Hans and Gretel were something of a “recognized” pair within Heimvig.
The reputation Hans carried wasn’t just from his own skill; much of it came from standing in the glow of a witch’s power.
They were close.
They called each other by pet names.
They shared meals, hunted together, whispered secret words, got jealous, and sometimes even slept beside each other.
But they were not lovers.
To put it in terms that might help one understand a witch’s twisted perception of affection.
Perhaps master and dog would be the most fitting.
She hadn’t taken him in to raise like a pet, and the attention Gretel gave Hans was little more than tossing a scrap of meat to a stray she had grown familiar with.
“You’re a bastard, but at least you’re not some pathetic mutt who wags his tail at just anyone, right?”
In any case, if the mutt wanted to keep getting fed—and more importantly, if he didn’t want to end up as a charred corpse—he had no choice but to roll over and show his belly.
Being acquainted with a witch, whether in the outside world or within the labyrinth, was an unusual and significant position to hold.
After all, befriending someone capable of splitting boulders with a flick of a finger or melting steel with a glance required an extraordinary amount of courage.
Even among witches, it was no different.
Their bodies weren’t as unyielding as stone or metal.
And unlike the [miracles] of saints, the [magic] of witches came at a steep cost—one as immense as the destruction it could unleash.