"What happened?"

Muel asked, his voice low and restrained. The witch shook her head, a confused expression on her face.

"I don’t know. This is extremely rare."

"Is it because he’s a barbarian? Maybe that’s why your powers aren’t affecting him at all..."

"No, that’s not it."

The witch denied it firmly, a pensive look taking over her face.

"It's not because he’s a barbarian. There’s something about that man. Something different from ordinary people."

"What is it?"

"..."

The witch remained silent, lost in her thoughts.

Muel nudged her forward with his lute, causing her to stumble forward.

"Go! Go to his inn now and try again!"

"I can’t."

The witch shook her head.

"It's dangerous now. He’s already suspicious that something is off. If I try again, it will be impossible to ensnare him with my power."

"Then what are you going to do?!"

Why had he kept a witch with him all this time if not for this?

The frustration naturally seeped into Muel's voice, making it harsh. But the witch did not get angry. She just met his eyes.

"We need preparation. We need incense to loosen his mind, a dark and quiet place. That’s the kind of place where we need to meet him."

"..."

Suddenly, Muel found himself wondering why this woman never got angry with him.

He had saved her by sheer chance. He didn't know she was a witch and had merely stopped her from taking her own life.

Could she really be that grateful for something like that?

Muel was well aware that he treated her poorly. Yet the witch always danced when he sang, drawing the crowd's attention. She helped earn money, and, when in dangerous situations, she used her powers to get them out.

If the roles were reversed, Muel wouldn’t have been this grateful.

Then why did she follow him?

Not just for a year or two—over twenty years had passed.

Maybe it’s because she’s a witch.

Yes, that must be it.

Though something still didn’t feel quite right, Muel dismissed the thought. Now wasn’t the time to focus on such things.

He needed to deal with Helga's son, whatever it took.

"That man is leaving this inn tomorrow. We need to figure out something before then."

"..."

The witch silently looked into his eyes.

"It's fine. He registered with the guild, didn’t he? That means he’ll be staying in this city for a while. There will be other opportunities."

"But..."

As Muel began to protest, the witch spoke softly.

"It will be fine. It will work out. Don’t worry."

"There's no guarantee it will. It already failed once!"

"It will be fine. Next time, it will work. Trust me."

Her words seemed to calm Muel a little.

The witch stepped closer, gazing into his eyes.

"It will be alright. It will work."

"...We cannot fail again. The next time, he must die. Make sure you are ready."

The witch gave a faint smile at his words.

"Yes, I’ll make... absolutely... sure."

"..."

Though he was still uneasy, Muel had no choice but to trust her.

He couldn’t do anything by himself.

With that, Muel moved toward the innkeeper. He needed to stay here for a while longer—at least until he killed that man.

Muel bit his lip hard, and the witch looked at him, a worried expression crossing her face.

"You should stop. You’re making yourself bleed."

"Shut up."

Though Muel snapped at her, the witch's expression remained unchanged.

She simply smiled quietly and walked beside him.

Such a strange woman.

Yes, the witch was truly strange.

----------------------------------------

I sprawled onto the straw mattress, staring at the dark ceiling.

There was a lantern in the room, but the innkeeper had asked me to use it sparingly.

The lantern bowl was cracked in several places, and I would be charged extra if I used more than one notch of oil.

Since anyone using the room would have to pay for it, I turned the lantern off as soon as I returned.

Best to save money.

Sigh. I should sell the fox and wolf pelts tomorrow.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

When I first arrived in the city, I had too much going on to even think about it. The shock of learning about my parents had left me with no space to focus on anything else.

But now that I was here, everything—food, lodging, everything—cost money.

I needed money.

"..."

In my previous life, I struggled because I had no money, and now I was starting off as poor as dirt here, too.

No, considering that Helga's enemies might come for me one day, it was actually worse than dirt. I was starting in the negatives.

The only consolation was that self-defense was at least recognized here. But even so, the future seemed bleak.

I hope those pelts sell for a good price.

Initially, I had thought to search for a fur trader, but there was no need for that. The guild seemed to handle all work related to adventurers, so I could just ask Jenny.

The fox pelts should fetch a good price since they were highly sought after, and I also had some smaller hides. They might be worth a decent amount since they came from creatures in the Forest of Darkness.

After all, that forest seemed to carry significant weight as a brand name around here.

I should have been more careful when dealing with that wolf.

The wolf pelt was the largest, but it was torn down the middle because I had fought it with my axe.

If not for that, it would have been worth more than the fox pelts.

Still, it was a huge beast, so it might sell for a decent price.

Thinking about it now, I felt a wave of gratitude toward my mother.

When I left home, I had tried to sneakily leave behind the cloth bags she had packed for me. The fabric bags in this era weren’t like the thin, light ones from Earth. They were made of linen or wool, making them thick and heavy.

With all the things I had to carry—water, a pot, an iron ladle—I really didn’t want to lug those bags around, too.

But somehow, even though I had left the cloth bags at home, I found four of them neatly packed in my backpack later on.

No wonder my pack felt so heavy and bulky.

Since it couldn't have been my father, it must have been my mother who had put them in.

Without those bags, I would have had to leave almost all the pelts in the forest.

Thank you, Mother.

It was in moments like this that I felt my mother’s rough but thoughtful love.

Yes, the rumors I had heard about her were terrifying and grotesque, but to me, she was still just my mother.

The same mother who once brought me a phoenix feather, just because I asked for it.

I suddenly found myself wondering how she’d even managed to get a phoenix feather. Did she just find one that had fallen in its nest?

The thought vanished as I belched, pulling me back to reality.

Maybe I ate too much for dinner, but my stomach felt heavy and bloated.

Hoo...

The food at the inn was good.

Dinner consisted of stew and some rather hard bread. And I hate to admit it, but it was ten times better than my mother’s cooking.

The stew barely had any meat, but it was delicious—proof that my mother simply had no talent for cooking. In the forest, the ingredients were great. We had high-quality meat and all. But even so, her cooking had left much to be desired.

And just like Jenny said, the portions were generous.

To exaggerate a bit, the stew was served in a bowl about the size of a washbasin, and, seeing that I might still be hungry, the innkeeper had brought me another bowl.

So I ate until my belly was comfortably full.

Other inns charged separately for meals and lodging, but here, both were included for just one lira a day.

Meals were served twice daily.

I should make sure not to miss any meals, now that I’ve already paid for them.

They wouldn’t refund the meal charge even if I skipped, so I had heard that this place was considered extremely affordable—less than half the price of other places.

Apparently, the meals usually cost more than the lodging itself.

The innkeeper sat beside me throughout the entire meal on the first floor, chatting endlessly. He seemed to be the kind of person who liked to talk, and I learned he had once been an adventurer. He warned me about how, in this city, even your nose could be stolen if you stood idly by.

I should always stay alert, he said.

At first, he seemed intimidated by me, but I guessed he had just been bored due to a lack of customers.

Sigh.

Maybe it was because my stomach was so full, but I couldn't sleep. Or perhaps it was because the guy on the bed next to mine was snoring too loudly.

I just couldn't sleep.

Staring blankly at the dark ceiling, I thought of my father.

He must still be eating my mother’s tasteless food.

Being a former noble, he must have had a refined palate. My mother's cooking couldn't have been to his taste.

He must not have wanted to eat much of it.

I realized now that what I used to think of as my father's small appetite was actually him enduring the hardship of my mother’s cooking.

When I was younger, I thought he was picky, and my mother had a hard time because of him. But now I saw it the other way around.

I didn’t know the details, but it was clear to me that my father was enduring hardship in that forest because of my mother.

"..."

I wondered if my mother was alright.

If they had formed a search party, it meant it wasn’t just any regular situation.

No matter how vast the forest, if they systematically explored it, they might eventually reach our house.

Right now, the ducal family or my mother’s enemies might be crafting a map of the Forest of Darkness.

My lord, it’s almost complete. Soon, we will be able to kill Helga.

The thought suddenly crossed my mind, and it made me shudder.

Still staring at the dark ceiling, I abruptly sat up.

I could tolerate the loud snoring from the guy next to me, but the stench was just too much.

It felt like my brain was rotting.

Whether he had drunk too much, was the type to sleep for long periods, or just didn’t wake up until absolutely necessary, the guy had been asleep ever since I arrived, and he hadn’t woken up once.

But now I’d reached my limit.

I couldn't take it anymore.

I lit the lamp, grabbed the scruff of the man's neck, and started walking.

"... Uh... hmm... huh? Huh? What’s going on? What’s happening?!"

By the time we were out of the room, the man had woken up, flailing his arms.

"Who do you think you are?! Do you even know who I...?"

He began to yell, but his voice died down when he saw my face.

I stood him up and grabbed him by the back of his neck again.

His shirt collar tightened, and he made choking noises.

"P-p-please spare me! My money—it’s right here! Please, just take it and let me live!"

One of his hands clutched the front of his collar, trying to loosen it, while the other reached into his waistband. It seemed he had a hidden pocket there.

When he pulled up his shirt, the stench of rotten eggs wafted out.

"I'm not trying to rob you, and I’m not here to kill you. Just take your hand out of your clothes and keep your mouth shut."

Please, for the love of everything, keep your mouth closed.

Don’t move your arms or legs, either.

Every time you move, the smell makes me feel like I’m dying.

Even though I hadn’t said it out loud, the man seemed to get the idea.

He clamped his mouth shut and allowed himself to be dragged along.

Maybe he’d been told countless times that he stank. If he still hadn’t cleaned up after all that, that, too, was impressive in its own way.

If he had been born in a wuxia novel world, he would probably be the chief of the beggars—like the leader of the Beggars' Sect.

I dragged the man to the washing area behind the inn.

"Wash yourself."

"Yes."

"Don’t talk."

"..."

The man gave a slight nod.

He wet his hands and started wiping his hair, then his body.

The smell I’d been dealing with until now was nothing compared to what came after. It was like I’d barely scratched the surface.

I gestured for him to wash again, unable to breathe properly.

The man obediently washed himself again.

Not enough.

I gestured for him to go again.

How long had this guy gone without a wash?

It was like peeling an onion—each layer revealing a new, terrible smell.

The innkeeper must have heard the commotion. He came out holding a lantern.

When he saw the man washing himself, his eyes went as wide as the lantern in his hands.

The innkeeper gave me a thumbs-up, and later brought out a glass of wine.

"This is the best I’ve got. A token of my appreciation."

"..."

So it wasn’t just me. Apparently, everyone had smelled it.

The guy just hadn’t bothered to clean himself.

Despite his efforts, the stench didn’t disappear completely, but at least I could breathe now.

If I hadn't experienced the worst of it earlier, even this level of smell would have been unbearable.

But after tasting the worst of what life had to offer, everything else was comparatively sweeter.

I could handle it.

The innkeeper left first, and I made my way back to the room with the man.

That’s when I noticed the dancer standing in the hallway.

The man glanced at her, but the dancer only had eyes for me.

"..."

Is she planning another staring contest?

I'm not an artist; I don’t find these things amusing.

Better just avoid it.

If it were a physical fight, I wouldn’t have backed down. But there was no need to respond to something as pointless as a staring contest.

But the dancer seemed to have a different idea.

As I was about to walk past her, she spoke.

"Excuse me, could I have a moment of your time?"

"Whistle, whistle," the guy beside me whistled suggestively.

I could understand why he took it that way.

And honestly, it made me a bit uncomfortable.

I wanted to tell her that I wasn’t interested, but the dancer spoke again.

"Heh. It’s nothing inappropriate. We can even talk here in the hallway if it makes you uncomfortable. I just need a moment."

"..."

If she was going that far...

I pushed the guy into the room, even though he whistled suggestively. Then, I turned to face the dancer.

Honestly, my heart skipped a beat.

Could it be... a confession of love?