“What’s wrong?”
Hans couldn’t say anything to Gretel, who spoke in a languid and melancholic voice—completely different from her usual self.
She had already been busy trying to fulfill her contributions, and on top of that, she had to endure the emotional strain of receiving such an absurd proposal from another witch.
Hans couldn’t bring himself to burden her any further.
‘…Really?’
Is that really all there is to it?
Hans knew well that he was a bastard, but at this moment, he felt it more acutely than ever.
Just moments ago, he had felt as if he could do anything for Gretel, but now his heart wavered once again.
It was a heavier issue than simply weighing one option against another.
The answer that could allow both of them to escape the labyrinth—something Gretel had claimed was impossible—had already been placed in his hands without him even realizing it.
If Alje revealed herself as a monster, then he would have to destroy the purity he had so long admired with his own hands.
“No. It’s just… I thought I’d been playing the role of a hunter for a long time, but… I still don’t understand anything.”
I don’t know.
I don’t know what to do.
“What, is your pride hurt?”
“A little.”
But Gretel didn’t notice the subtle shift in Hans’ demeanor.
Normally, she would have, but right now, she was too exhausted.
For Hans, it was sheer luck that he had learned of this situation at this moment.
Then again, if things had been different, Gretel might not have brought it up at all.
“It’s natural not to know. Honestly, it’s better that way.”
“What do you mean?”
“I told you. It’s dangerous. Why do you think they’re offering such a huge reward all at once?”
“Even for witches?”
“Even for witches.”
As Hans fell silent once more, Gretel pressed her forehead against his back, gently pushing against him as she spoke.
“So don’t get any crazy ideas just because you heard this, okay? Even if you somehow discover a legendary monster… don’t rush in and get yourself killed. Just tell me first.”
“Got it.”
“Heh. Well, not like something that convenient would ever actually happen…”
Perhaps she had spoken too much in her exhausted state—her voice trailed off into a faint murmur toward the end.
The arms that had been holding onto him loosened slightly.
“If I fall asleep, just… go…”
How could anyone believe that this girl, breathing softly with her eyes closed, had lived for decades as a witch?
Hans vaguely recalled hearing somewhere that one’s mental age was influenced by their physical body.
If that were true, then Gretel’s age was still that of a child.
She masked herself with arrogance and bravado, but once the flames and smoke were stripped away, her true self was exactly as she appeared.
Hans was certain—if Gretel had been an ordinary girl rather than a witch, she wouldn’t have lasted a single day in this labyrinth.
‘It was the mystery within her that had granted her the possibility of living for centuries more…’
But perhaps, from the very beginning, she would have been happier if she had lived and died as nothing more than an ordinary village girl, with no connection to magic, witches, or monsters.
The same went for him.
If he ever said such a thing out loud, she’d probably explode in anger, accusing him of forgetting his place.
So he kept it to himself.
But every time he saw Gretel asleep, vulnerable and unguarded, he felt a strange sense of kinship with her—not with the witch she was when awake, but with the girl who lay sleeping, exposing her weaknesses.
“Mm…”
As Hans shifted, Gretel let out a soft murmur in her sleep.
To avoid waking her, he pressed a light kiss to her forehead and cheek before quietly putting on his coat and leaving the room.
Though the workshop’s lights had dimmed since its mistress had fallen asleep, they were never fully extinguished.
Entering required permission, but leaving was always free, so Hans walked out without hesitation.
Just as he was about to step outside, something caught his eye.
“A gift!”
It was a small bundle, left behind with surprisingly cute handwriting—completely at odds with her usual sharp demeanor.
Hans couldn’t read, but the doodles of flowers covering the wrapping and the hefty pouch of payment beside it made it obvious that it was something prepared for him.
He tucked the pouch into his coat and unwrapped the bundle.
“This is…”
Inside were three glowing red stones—the very same ones he had once hurled at the One-Winged Angel.
However, this item was never originally intended for use against great monsters.
While it was certainly effective enough to work on large creatures, considering the effort a witch had put into making it, its cost-effectiveness was atrocious.
“I thought about dealing with the bastards who wrecked your home myself, but I figured that would make my little mutt feel left out. So instead, I’m giving you this.”
“I wrote down who they are at the bottom, so check it out.”
It was meant for humans.
More precisely, while it could be thrown at humans, its destructive power was excessive.
In the city, it served as a bribe for a witch’s familiar after breaking the code of non-violence.
Of course, now he knew that wasn’t the only thing Gretel had paid as compensation.
Still, these flame-condensed orbs were a token—her way of entrusting herself to his protection, given as a gift.
Normally, he’d receive just one.
On rare, good days, maybe two.
But now, she had given him three, all at once.
His previous orbs had all been spent on the One-Winged Angel, yet even considering that, he didn’t feel too bad about it.
But the real gift was what lay beneath.
A key, gleaming with a silver sheen—something nearly impossible to find in the labyrinth, or more specifically, in Kumo Strass.
“This is the key to my house.”
“I’ve been staying at the workshop almost all the time lately… I haven’t been there in quite a while. Either way, I need someone to take care of it, so if you want to live there, go ahead.”
Behind the deliberately curt handwriting, there was a faintly erased phrase: “Also, that kid is there, too.”
Hans was illiterate, so he couldn’t read a single word.
But even so, he understood the sentiment behind it.
Carefully, he tucked the orbs and the key into his coat, handling them with an unusual gentleness—perhaps because of their objective value, or perhaps for something more.
At the very least, in his final glance back, the warmth in Hans’ gaze mirrored the way Gretel looked at him.
*
“Mister…?”
Dark, damp, filthy, full of waste.
It smelled foul.
It was a wreck.
Broken, scattered, abandoned, silent.
“When are you coming?”
Outside was loud.
No one could come close.
The eyes were amber.
Corpses littered the floor.
The walls were rotting.
There was no place to step.
Alone.
Alone, alone, alone, alone, alone, alone.
“Did you abandon me?”
In the darkness, Alje creaked like a broken wooden puppet.
Inside her mind, two conflicting thoughts clashed relentlessly—her ingrained obedience telling her to stay where she was, like a good girl, and the overwhelming urge to run out and search for Hans.
At first, she had been fine.
The house, ravaged once by the mob, was in a miserable state, but Alje was used to enduring such things.
She had spent a long time huddled alone in the crevices of rocks before.
Logically, she understood—witches were dangerous.
Even as an apprentice, she had been a saint, and she had been taught endlessly about their greatest enemies.
She knew she should never be seen by them without a Guardian Knight at her side.
And because she was naturally obedient and not prone to tantrums, she had forced herself to accept Hans leaving, even if it pained her.
But now, an entire night had passed, and Hans had not returned.
“No, Hans would never abandon me. He’s my prince, after all.”
Alje tried to be patient a little longer.
In her heart, she and Hans had already confirmed their love and promised their future.
Within the grand dream that floated in her mind, all of Hans’ negative responses had been erased, leaving behind only the affirmations she wanted to hear.
At the very least, hadn’t he called her his princess?
But even self-soothing with such sweet fantasies had its limits.
Even after convincing herself that Hans would never abandon her, anxiety grew like a tumor, swelling and spreading rapidly.
What if it wasn’t that Hans didn’t want to come back, but that he couldn’t?
Because of those witches.
Alje wiped away all of Hans’ subtle emotions whenever he spoke of Gretel, erased every trace of the way he had looked at her when they met.
Those details were inconvenient, conflicting with the fantasy she had built.
Hans hated witches.
That was the only truth she held onto.
And she deliberately ignored the next part.
That Hans also hated monsters and had once said he would make an exception for her.
“Yes… yes… It’s because of those witches, those cursed witches…”
Hans had once mistaken her eyes for something else.
But now, there was no doubt.
The monster was smiling.
“So… there’s no going back, then.”
The girl rose from her seat.
The door that had tormented her for hours in the dark—now opened as if her struggles had been nothing but a lie.
The dim dawn was too faint to pierce the shadows veiling Alje’s face.
By all rights, this street should have been foreign to her.
Alje had never lived in Heimvig; her only experience of it was trailing behind Hans on a handful of visits.
Yet her footsteps now carried no hesitation, as if she’d walked these roads all her life.
Or as though something unmistakable—something beyond doubt—guided her onward.