It seems that people are always looking for a place to belong.

As I stood in front of my shabby old lodging, the very place I’d once dreamed of leaving behind, I felt oddly at home. It wasn’t even my home.

Suddenly, I found myself thinking about the house in the forest where my mother and father lived—a house that was not just small, but enormous. My mother had built it for my father, not out of any attempt to create something grand, but simply to make sure there was enough space for him to live comfortably, with plenty of room for all his belongings.

For over twenty years, we had lived there, never lacking salt or basic supplies. The house’s massive storage rooms could hold more than anyone could imagine. Although I had recently noticed that some parts of the storage were starting to look empty, I knew that what was left would last for years. I planned to buy and bring back all the necessary things before that ran out… but I wondered if I’d even be able to find my way back home.

Sigh.

If I got lost wandering through the forest, I might just end up using everything I’d brought with me before ever reaching the house. And though I could always hope to stumble out to the east or west, there was also a real possibility I’d remain lost forever. My mother and father had sent me out without much preparation, hadn’t they?

Perhaps they trusted me that much.

Or maybe… they hadn’t thought it through at all.

My mother was so strong that she probably never noticed how vulnerable most people are, wandering alone through the wilderness. But my father? He was a nobleman; maybe he just assumed someone would be there to help me. Nobles live like that, after all, as though someone will always handle things for them. And father wasn’t just any noble—he was the heir to a powerful family, even a duke.

Either way, here I was, standing in front of my humble lodging.

Except… it wasn’t even mine anymore. I’d canceled my lease before leaving, so there was no reason for me to stay here at all. I hadn’t yet collected my earnings, but it seemed I would be receiving a decent amount.

Maybe I should find a better place to stay, I thought. Somewhere with private rooms, where they washed the sheets at least once a week.

I was about to turn and leave when the innkeeper bolted out of the building, practically on fire with excitement.

“Ohhh! Rafa! The dragon slayer! We’ve been waiting for you!” He wrapped me in a bone-crushing hug, patting my back so hard I thought he’d crack a rib. With a face full of admiration, he looked up at me, eyes shining.

“The Dragon Slayer is staying at our inn! What an honor!”

Dragon Slayer? Really?

I could guess how the rumors had spread, but I couldn’t help but ask, feeling slightly uneasy.

“Um… what’s this about ‘Dragon Slayer’?”

The innkeeper’s face lit up. He seemed thrilled for the chance to explain.

“The lord made a public announcement about the dragon hunt. Normally, you wouldn’t hear about something like this, but no one’s ever hunted a dragon this quickly! It’s truly incredible!”

The innkeeper’s eyes sparkled with admiration, like a child gazing at a hero.

I recalled hearing that he’d once been an adventurer himself. Maybe he’d once dreamed of slaying a dragon, too.

“The lord wanted everyone to know we had an adventurer of your caliber here. Being so close to the Devil’s Forest, having strong adventurers nearby is literally a matter of life and death. Every few years, some monstrous creature terrorizes us. This time, it was a dragon. Knowing there’s someone as strong as you here will ease a lot of people’s fears.”

It was a nice thought, though it made me wonder if it would ever be possible for me to leave this city for another. The guild was good to me, and it was close to the forest where my parents lived. This place was beginning to feel like home, too.

“Once word spreads, merchants will take notice,” he continued, practically salivating. “This city will thrive! People will flock here, bringing prosperity with them.”

I could almost see gold coins stacking up in the innkeeper’s eyes.

But… Dragon Slayer? Was that the best title they could come up with?

The innkeeper laughed sheepishly, finally noticing my expression. “It’s a title people came up with after seeing the announcement. Dragon Slayer! It’s magnificent, isn’t it?”

Magnificent? Not at all. It sounded more like a serial killer’s nickname.

If people started associating a “Dragon Slayer Barbarian” with someone who looked like Helga, I’d have enemies showing up at my doorstep in no time.

Sigh.

I brushed past the innkeeper, who was still babbling, and went inside. Then, an idea crossed my mind.

“Do you happen to have any single rooms available here?” I asked.

The innkeeper gave me a big thumbs-up. “Nope!”

“…”

Then why the thumbs-up?

“But we do have double rooms,” he said, “and if you pay one and a half times the rate, you can have one all to yourself.”

Since there weren’t many guests, paying for half the rate of a double room was basically like renting a single room anyway. I asked if the room had a key, and after confirming that it did, I decided to take it. At least then I wouldn’t have to carry all my belongings with me everywhere.

The innkeeper followed behind me, chattering away.

“It’s a good idea to keep your money and valuables with you, though,” he advised. “I’m usually around, so it’s not a big deal, but I sometimes leave to make purchases. If that happens, people have been known to break down doors and take things, and we can’t be responsible for that here.”

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“Understood,” I replied.

The key he handed me was massive, heavy like the kind you’d see on a large chest from centuries past. I’d been expecting something small and elegant, and the sight of it surprised me.

Seeing my expression, the innkeeper added, “There have been a few who stole even the lock itself.”

Thieves in this world would steal anything if it was worth even a bit of money.

That evening, a new banner was hung above the inn’s entrance. It had a crude drawing of a barbarian swinging an axe at a dragon.

Apparently, that’s how they advertised here.

If there were a hole to hide in, I would’ve gladly crawled in from the embarrassment.

In this world, once darkness fell, everything became pitch black, leaving little to do at night. The oil lamp had markings on the side, and for each notch of oil used, an extra charge was added to the bill. After checking how much oil was left, I lay down, staring at the ceiling in silence, when I heard a knock at the door.

She’s here.

By now, I’d gotten used to the witch visiting my room at night. I opened the door, and she strolled in, as casually as if she were visiting an old friend’s house, glancing around like she owned the place.

“So this is a double room? It’s smaller than I expected. Still, there are two beds and even a little shelf. Paying extra does get you a better room.”

I could only imagine what sorts of places she’d been staying in before if she thought this place was “nice.” The room had a musty smell, and the only furniture was a tiny shelf beside the bed. “Nice” was the last word I would use to describe it.

But seeing her enthusiasm, I felt a twinge of sympathy.

As I stood by the door, she waved her hand at me to close it. She really did act like she owned the place.

Still, this isn’t right. Maybe it’s because she’s a witch, but she seemed far too casual about entering a man’s room.

Although I knew she was older than she looked, her face resembled that of a young girl. A charming girl at that, often dressed in dancer’s outfits, which gave her a somewhat… provocative appearance.

I, at least, was behaving like a gentleman. If she were dealing with an average man, it might’ve been dangerous for her.

I must have frowned without realizing it because she pointed to my forehead.

“You’re getting wrinkles. If you keep scowling like that, they’ll set in. When you’re young, it becomes your face when you’re older, you know.”

It sounded like advice from someone who’d never aged a day in her life. Given how young she looked, her words seemed odd, though maybe it was just her way of speaking.

But before I could say anything, she shifted slightly and cleared her throat.

“So… how was it?”

“…”

What was?

I had no idea what she was talking about, so I just stared at her. She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, and when our eyes met, she quickly looked away.

As she wandered around the room, she finally spoke again. “The herbs… did they work well?

“…”

“Did they help?”

Not at all.

I hadn’t needed them—I killed the dragon so quickly that there was no time to even approach it from behind.

But looking at her expression…

Hmm.

Her face was full of expectation, almost like a child waiting for praise.

Her eyes sparkled, filled with anticipation for my answer. Her enthusiasm was almost heartwarming.

How could she look so innocent?

Though I knew her to be well over forty, her expression was as pure as a young girl’s. I felt as though I’d ruin her childlike excitement if I told her the truth.

When I didn’t respond, her face didn’t change, but her shoulders drooped a bit.

“Ah, so… I guess they didn’t help much?”

She tried to sound cheerful, but her voice lacked strength. Overhead, Rella chirped at me accusingly.

“Thanks to the herbs you gave me, I survived. They worked really well,” I said finally.

At my words, her shoulders perked up as if they’d been lifted by some invisible force.

“Thank you.”

Still facing away from me, she gave a small, satisfied smile.

“Glad to be of help,” she murmured softly, sounding genuinely pleased.

Seeing her like that was a relief.

But there was still something I needed to address: her carelessness. I folded my arms, giving her a serious look.

“By the way, it’s really not safe for a woman to just walk into a man’s room like this, especially so late at night.”

“…Hmm, I’m a witch, remember? I’d be careful if you only thought I was a dancer, but you know what I am.”

Dorthe tilted her head slightly.

What… kind of answer was that?

She blinked at me, looking slightly surprised.

“Wait, you mean… you know absolutely nothing about witches?”

“…”

Maybe this was common knowledge in this world. I scratched my head, feeling a bit lost.

“Oh, right, you’re from Enortoes,” she muttered, her voice tinged with a faint sadness.

As she headed toward the door, she glanced back with a forced smile.

“Of course, you wouldn’t know. That was my mistake. People avoid witches because they fear being cursed.”

If someone harms a witch, they might be struck by lightning, suffer a fatal accident, drown in a river, or simply waste away from illness.

No matter the method, the end result was the same—death.

“So, don’t worry. Just being nearby won’t curse you,” she said with a sad smile, then quickly left.

Her small, frail shoulders looked as if they were trembling, and without thinking, I reached out and caught her by the shoulder.

She flinched.

“Aren’t you afraid of being cursed?” she asked, her voice wavering.

But her tone sounded tearful.

“Being from Enortoes, I’m fine. I don’t believe in curses, nor do I attract them. And anyway, I’ve got the strength to take down a dragon, so I’m not dying that easily.”

“…”

Dorthe didn’t turn to look at me, but she lowered her head slightly.

“…Thank you.”

After whispering those words, she slipped down the dimly lit corridor, almost running.

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

So that’s it.

He hadn’t known.

That’s why he could accept me as I was, knowing I was a witch, without fear.

Dorthe brushed away her tears with the back of her hand.

Muel had been like that once. At first, he’d wanted nothing but to die. So he didn’t back down even when he met a witch, and his defiance intrigued her master, who eventually began to tolerate him, treating him like an irksome neighbor.

But Muel had always been haunted by fear, and he continued to wish for death, even after he grew close to the witch. For him, there were things scarier than witches.

He had been, perhaps, the only person who wasn’t afraid of her.

Of course.

Only someone with nothing to lose would treat a witch like any other person.

Dorthe returned to her room and stared up at the dark ceiling.

Staring into that emptiness, she felt loneliness settle in, inch by inch.

I’m alone. Completely alone.

For just a moment, she’d allowed herself to dream.

To imagine what it might feel like to talk and laugh with someone, to live like everyone else.

She should be grateful. She hadn’t even dreamed of such things before.

If only the witch could laugh… if the witch laughs, everything’s fine.

She didn’t know why, but the witch’s tears held power. When she cried or cursed others, even just muttering to herself that she wished someone would disappear, it became reality.

So the first thing her master taught her was to laugh.

“Always smile, a witch never cries. We bring harm to those who cross us.”

Dorthe forced a smile in the dark. She didn’t want to hurt him.

He was the first to treat her like any other person, whether she was a dancer or a witch. And even if it was just his ignorance, she was grateful.

She tucked that feeling away, like a treasure, saving it for a day when she might be tempted to hate the world.

Her master had said she’d felt the same once. And because of that, she found herself unable to truly hate humans.

Dorthe sighed.

Starting tomorrow, he’ll probably avoid me too.

Or maybe not.

He never did seem to pay much attention to her in the first place. It was only she who kept seeking him out.

If she stopped, they’d have no reason to cross paths again.

No, we never had any real connection to begin with.

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she remained that way, lost in thought, until she finally drifted to sleep.

The next morning, while preparing to go out to the square, she spotted him through her window.

Maybe he was on his way to the guild.

She watched him from the window, and as he strode along, he suddenly stopped, turned around, and looked right at her.

Their eyes met.

She moved to look away but froze.

Rafa raised his hand in a shy wave.

A greeting?

Instinctively, she raised both hands and waved, almost desperately. He smiled at her, amused, before turning and continuing down the street.

Dorthe stood at the window, watching him walk away, her hands still raised in a wave.

He waved at me. He knows what I am, and he waved anyway.

There must be… something… she thought, her mind racing.

Something that could be of use to him.

She’d already given him herbs. But maybe, just maybe, there was something even better.

As she watched him grow smaller in the distance, Dorthe’s thoughts whirled in search of something she could give.