Translator: CinderTL
"Ah, esteemed spellcaster..."
The crooked wooden door of the cabin slid inward silently, revealing a narrow opening.
A figure leaned languidly against the doorframe, as if just awakened from a long slumber.
It was a woman.
Her skin glowed with the warm amber hue of sun-kissed honey, tinged with a healthy wheat-toned tan.
Most striking was her thick, cascading hair, which appeared deep purple in the dim light, like flowing amethyst. A few strands draped casually over her bare shoulder.
She wore an ancient, dark robe of unknown material, its edges frayed yet strangely enhancing her aura of indolent power.
Her eyes, also an otherworldly shade of purple, resembled night skies filled with stardust. Now half-closed, her languid gaze swept over the chaotic scene outside the door.
A faint, playful smile flickered across her lips.
Her bewitching voice, still husky from sleep, cut clearly through the swamp's silence.
"Please, temper your fiery rage for now."
Her gaze landed precisely on the restless flame flickering at Roland's fingertips, her voice carrying an ancient, melodic rhythm.
"These thorns are merely loyal but foolish guardians, simply... overly zealous in their duty."
As she spoke, the vines that had been writhing violently, poised to strike again, stilled instantly as if stroked by an invisible calming hand.
The severed ends ceased their twitching, and newly sprouted tendrils drooped submissively to the ground.
The tense atmosphere that had permeated the air dissipated like a pricked bubble, leaving only the swamp's dampness and the faint, indescribable fragrance emanating from the witch.
She yawned softly, as if the preceding conflict had been nothing more than a trivial matter, her purple hair swaying gently with the movement.
"I am Vanessa," she finally revealed her name, her gaze shifting from Roland's flame to his eyes, a hint of inquiry in her expression.
"A witch."
"Mind control? No..."
Sensing a subtle disturbance in his spirit, Roland suppressed the instinctive tremor deep within him. He exhaled slowly, and the flame dancing at his fingertips extinguished.
Though he remained vigilant, Roland gave a slight bow, his voice steady and clear.
"Good day, Ms. Vanessa. I am Roland, an adventurer unfortunately stranded here. I mean no offense..."
He introduced himself, his gaze shifting from the vines that had completely burrowed into the earth and vanished without a trace. He raised his eyes to meet the witch's gaze and continued, "I came here seeking only assistance."
"Assistance? Hah..."
Vanessa remained lazily leaning against the doorframe, yawning. Her peculiar violet eyes slowly turned to Mason, who was still in shock, her tone carrying a hint of playful reproach.
"Mason... is this how you repay my protection? By inviting wolves into my home?"
"I-I'm so sorry, Ms. Vanessa!"
Mason banished the memory of Roland's fierce sword light and scorching flames from his mind, snapping back to his senses and bowing hastily.
"Please believe me, Mr. Roland means no harm! The attack earlier... your guards initiated it first..."
"Oh?"
The witch's voice rose slightly at the end.
"So, it's my fault for being too lenient? The responsibility lies with me, then?"
"No! That's not what I meant, Ms. Vanessa..."
Seeing Mason's trembling demeanor, Roland shook his head slightly, abandoning his evasive approach. He clearly and concisely explained his predicament and request.
However, after hearing Roland's plea, Vanessa barely hesitated before gently shaking her head.
She extended a slender index finger and elegantly tapped her chin, a faint, ambiguous smile curving her lips.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Roland," she said, her voice tinged with mockery. "Do I look like the kind of charitable benefactor who enjoys helping others?"
Though not a direct refusal, the implication was clear. Yet Roland felt little disappointment.
Before coming here, Mason had already warned him about the witch's temperament.
He had approached this meeting with a tentative mindset. If the blessing proved unattainable, he would simply consider other ways to escape. The risks would be higher, but with his current strength, careful planning, and avoiding unforeseen horrors, fighting his way out wasn't impossible.
"In that case..."
Roland tensed his muscles, preparing to subtly retreat and take his leave, when Vanessa spoke again.
The purple-haired witch's gaze had settled with keen interest on the satchel at Roland's waist.
"Mr. Roland," her voice carried a hint of cloying danger. "You've injured my guards. Do you think you can simply walk away?"
"Ms. Vanessa, your guards were..." Mason desperately tried to explain, but Roland raised a hand to silence him.
Roland narrowed his eyes slightly, like a hawk locking onto its prey, and replied in a low voice, "Then, Ms. Vanessa... what compensation do you require?"
"It's quite simple..."
Before she could finish, the witch had already stepped away from the doorframe and glided toward Roland.
With each step she took, her figure, previously blurred by the dense fog, became remarkably clear, as if an invisible barrier surrounding her was dissolving.
When she stopped just a few steps away from Roland, her face was fully revealed, no longer obscured.
A face that could only be described as bewitching.
Beneath her high, straight nose, her full lips curved into a smile that added a touch of languid danger to her exquisite features.
She stopped before Roland, tilting her head slightly, her gaze still locked on the satchel at his waist, as if she could see through the rough fabric.
The unique, bloody psionic aura emanating from within the satchel was as clear to her as a firefly in the night.
But just as she extended her slender fingers, almost pointing at the satchel to demand her so-called "compensation," her movement froze.
Her eyes, which seemed to burn with violet flames, narrowed sharply, a flicker of disbelief and astonishment crossing their depths.
Her slightly forward-leaning posture stiffened instantly, even the playful curve of her lips froze in place.
A profound, tranquil aura, imbued with endless shadows and hidden strength—a familiar presence like ripples rising from a slumbering ancient well—silently washed over her senses.
This aura didn't originate from the satchel, but from the man before her, the self-proclaimed adventurer himself.
It was faint yet utterly pure, bearing the unmistakable mark of the source she had prayed to day and night, the source she revered and worshipped.
It was Shar's aura—the Lady of the Night, Weaver of Shadows, Queen of the Lost and Secrets.
Vanessa's gaze, as if drawn by invisible threads, slowly peeled itself away from the otherworldly allure of the pouch, inch by inch.
Her eyes, filled with an almost reverent curiosity, gradually ascended, skimming past Roland's mud-stained leather armor before settling on his face—tense with alertness yet unable to conceal its resolute features.
The languid amusement in Vanessa's eyes vanished completely, replaced by an unprecedented focus and profound astonishment.
Her full lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to speak, but only a faint, incredulous gasp escaped her.
"You..."
A title representing the utmost reverence, one she had rehearsed countless times in her mind, nearly slipped from her tongue, but she forcibly suppressed it.
She scrutinized Roland with an intensely complex gaze, as if truly "seeing" him for the first time.
(End of the Chapter)
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