Translator: CinderTL
"Miss Vanessa?"
Roland, who had been gripping his sword hilt tightly as the purple-haired witch advanced, frowned deeply at her sudden silence and dazed expression. He called out softly.
"Ah, Mr. Roland..."
Vanessa seemed to snap out of a trance at the sound of his voice. Her outstretched fingers abruptly changed direction, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in an attempt to conceal her earlier lapse in composure.
"You were saying... what did you need me to do?"
Her voice had softened considerably, a stark contrast to her previous playful tone.
"Hmm?"
Roland grunted softly, his gaze shifting skeptically between the downcast woman and Mason, who looked equally puzzled. After a moment's hesitation, he took a half-step back, ensuring his longsword could swing freely across her neck before cautiously repeating his request.
"I wish for you to grant me a blessing similar to Mason's, to help us safely escape this dangerous region."
"A blessing? Of course, no problem. Hmm. I mean, yes. Yes, I will."
Vanessa took a deep breath, suppressing her inner turmoil, and turned away briskly.
A slender arm emerged from her sleeve, beckoning them forward.
"Come in, Mason, and Mr. Roland."
"This..." Mason blinked in confusion, utterly bewildered.
Roland, too, couldn't fathom Vanessa's intentions.
After whispering instructions to Pixie Tracy on his shoulder and Mason, he tensed his muscles, ready for combat, and slowly followed the witch's retreating figure.
Just a few steps in, a peculiar sensation washed over Roland.
It felt as if he were enveloped in an invisible, slightly viscous membrane of oil.
The sensation vanished almost instantly.
His keen senses detected a faint trace of flowing magical elements within it.
"A magical barrier..."
Recalling how Vanessa's blurred form had suddenly sharpened into clarity, he immediately deduced its purpose.
Yet this realization only deepened his confusion.
According to ancient texts, witches didn't belong to the conventional ranks of spellcasters.
This group, who worshipped deities and delved into secret arts, weren't even classified as standard transcendent professionals.
Thinking this, Roland glanced sideways at Pixie Tracy perched on his shoulder.
The surprise in her eyes confirmed his intuition.
He shook his head slightly, took a deep breath, and, maintaining high vigilance, continued forward cautiously.
Fortunately, the anticipated incident did not occur.
The trio successfully navigated the tangled vines and reached the cottage door.
The witch, who had moments ago been lounging indolently and speaking with playful mockery, now stood respectfully by the door, offering a slight bow.
"Please come in, Mr. Roland."
"After you, Miss Vanessa."
Despite her sudden change in demeanor, Roland remained wary.
Noticing the undisguised caution on his face, Vanessa's lips curved into a faint smile. She chuckled softly but didn't insist, gracefully turning and stepping across the cottage threshold.
The moment her figure disappeared inside, Roland focused his spirit and silently activated his [Focus] trait.
His sharpened senses, like invisible tendrils, meticulously probed the doorframe, threshold, and the faint aura emanating from within the cottage.
Having confirmed the absence of any traps or unusual magical fluctuations—only the cottage's peculiar scent, a blend of herbs and aged wood, and the faint, invisible ripple Vanessa had stirred upon entering—Roland cautiously stepped into the dimly lit interior.
The sight before him made him pause in surprise.
In stark contrast to the dense fog-shrouded gloom outside, the cottage's interior was remarkably bright.
This light didn't come from flickering candles or a fireplace, but from the ceiling.
Dozens of peculiar, pigeon-egg-sized stones, emitting a soft, ghostly white glow, were embedded in the wooden ceiling like stars, evenly illuminating the entire space.
The room was small but filled with strange devices: glass vessels of various shapes, crystal bottles radiating faint elemental energy, and metal tools Roland couldn't even name.
Despite the abundance of items, everything was neatly arranged on shelves and workbenches, the floor spotless, radiating an almost deliberate tidiness—a stark contrast to Bronson's cluttered home.
Apart from these specialized tools, the furnishings were remarkably simple.
A wooden table covered with a clean cloth stood beside a sturdy, high-backed chair.
In the corner, a neatly made single bed was arranged with meticulous care. Even a thriving potted plant sat by the window, adding a touch of warmth and life to the mysterious space.
"Mr. Roland," Vanessa said.
As Roland surveyed the room, Vanessa had silently appeared at the table, several bottles of deep blue potion in her hand.
She placed the potions directly on the table, her voice carrying a hint of seductive magnetism.
"This is a specially crafted potion I've concocted. For now, let's call it... the Negative Energy Protection Potion."
Upon hearing this straightforward, almost plain name, the corner of Roland's mouth twitched imperceptibly.
But Vanessa's explanation continued.
"Take this, and for at least ten days, you'll be completely safe from the wraiths in the mist."
"Hmm?"
Before she could finish speaking, Mason, gazing at the potions on the table, wore a puzzled expression.
He clearly remembered that his ability to evade the wraiths hadn't relied on any potion, but rather...
Recalling the intricate rituals and procedures, he blurted out, "Ms. Vanessa, what about what happened to me before...?"
"It was merely a necessary experiment," Vanessa replied.
Though she was explaining to Mason, her gaze remained fixed on Roland.
"The purpose... was precisely to develop this potion."
"This... Ms. Vanessa..."
Upon learning he had been an experimental subject, Mason showed no anger. He knew that without the witch's help, he would likely have perished in the mist long ago. Yet a flicker of inevitable frustration still flashed in his eyes.
"Thank you for your generosity, Ms. Vanessa," Roland said, suppressing his inner complaints about the potion's name and offering a slight bow of gratitude.
Though he couldn't understand the sudden shift in the witch's demeanor, her current attitude made it unlikely she would tamper with the potions.
Still, Roland wouldn't risk consuming anything on her territory. He cautiously stowed the potion in his waist pouch.
Only after securing the potion did he lift his head, meeting the witch's gaze directly.
"As you said earlier, Miss Vanessa, you're not a benevolent philanthropist, so..."
Roland's fingers lightly tapped the glass bottle in his waist pouch, producing a crisp, tinkling sound.
"What price do you expect me to pay for this?"
"It's quite simple..."
Vanessa chuckled softly, her gaze lingering on the young man before her with keen interest.
He was tall and powerfully built, his face ruggedly handsome. The calluses on his palms and the flickering flames that had danced across his fingertips earlier both spoke of his formidable strength.
But beyond that...
Vanessa shook her head almost imperceptibly.
Ordinary.
Why would such an unremarkable man earn the favor of the Daughter of the Night?
The thought slipped from her mind and onto her tongue.
"Mr. Roland, I..."
The witch's gaze slowly swept across the room, a fleeting trace of longing and reluctance flickering in her violet eyes, yet her voice remained clear and steady.
"I've lingered here long enough. Sometimes... I find myself yearning to venture out into the world."
Before her words had fully faded, she took a half-step forward.
A faint, unique aroma—a blend of rare herbs and the ethereal fragrance of cold blossoms—drifted subtly to Roland's nostrils.
"Since your goal is to leave this region..."
Her voice lowered, carrying an almost imperceptible hint of seduction.
"Why not... allow me to accompany you? Of course, before that, I have a minor request..."
Her slender finger tapped precisely at the pouch on Roland's waist.
"I sense within it... the aura of a mind flayer."
"I believe... it might be blood? Such a rare material indeed."
Despite her devotion to Shar, Vanessa showed no excessive humility toward this divine-favored individual, her tone remarkably composed.
"If you trust me, consider entrusting it to me for research. Within days, I can refine it into a unique potion. Perhaps... it could unlock a new door for you, granting unexpected abilities."
Hearing these words and observing the witch's enigmatic smile—a curve that hinted at both amusement and anticipation—Roland fell into deep contemplation.
(End of the Chapter)
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