Chapter 20
Chapter 20
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: Border Town (5)
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One problem lingered.
The villa that Amelia's friend had supposedly lent them.
No one could pinpoint its location.
Amelia, born into nobility, couldn't possibly know Border Town's layout like the back of her hand. Even when Siwoo stopped passersby to ask, they all just tilted their heads—no one could give a straight answer.
They'd been wandering for over an hour now, and Amelia's expression was darkening by the minute. It gnawed at him.
"Excuse me, where the hell is Cloud Mushroom Village 1-12?"
"Oh, newcomers never find it. Listen up, kid."
After wandering aimlessly for ages, Siwoo went back to the kind lady selling chicken skewers.
She didn't just give detailed directions—she even shared gossip he hadn't asked for.
"Thank you so much."
"No trouble at all~ Folks from the East stick together."
It made sense they'd gotten so lost.
The villa's address used to be a village where witches gathered.
That was until ten years ago.
Now, Cloud Mushroom Village was a massive forest on the north side of Border Town.
One witch botched an experiment, causing thousands of oak trees to sprout wildly and demolish every house.
That witch, by the way, racked up massive debts after the incident—dubbed the "Sprout Rebellion"—and got chased out of Gehenna.
Siwoo relayed all this to Amelia.
"...So, Associate Professor, could your friend have gotten it wrong?"
"Unlikely. She said it was only built three years ago."
"I see."
Of course meticulous Amelia would've double-checked.
With their destination clear, they crossed the docks.
The wharf buzzed day and night, supplying Gehenna from the modern world. Ships came and went relentlessly.
Harsh floodlights meant for construction sites lit the dim harbor. Slaves, whipped mercilessly, loaded and unloaded without end.
A massive shark, hauled from a fishing boat, was up for auction below.
Smugglers hurriedly counted dollar bills to trade for gold bars.
The air reeked worse than the sea's brine: acrid sweat, opium wafting from corners, cigarette smoke.
If Siwoo hadn't landed the city hall gig, he'd be here too—hauling cargo, no time to nurse bruises.
The thought sent a chill down his spine.
Amelia, though, didn't spare it a glance.
This whole warped system was the witches' doing, yet she rode it without a shred of guilt.
He'd known that.
But before disgust or contempt came a twinge of disappointment.
"I-I can't... I can't do it...!"
Then, from one corner of the docks, a slave lost it.
The middle-aged man—clad in pants flimsier than Siwoo's underwear—ditched his load and collapsed.
In this biting cold, half-naked, his waistband crusted with dried salt from sweat.
"You lost your mind? Get up!"
The burly slave overseer, who'd been cracking whips, charged over.
The commotion blocked Amelia's path, so they halted.
"Kill me! Fuck, just kill me! How am I supposed to work sixteen hours a day!"
Bloodshot eyes blazing white, the man screamed even as the whip lashed him. He wouldn't yield.
The overseer paused mid-swing, spotting Amelia. His face flushed crimson.
Humiliating—a highborn witch watching his slave throw a fit.
Gehenna's mindset clung to feudal ways.
Shing.
The overseer drew the curved sword from his belt.
"I put up with your lazy pig ass long enough!"
He spat phlegm and swung for the man's neck.
That's when Amelia stepped in.
"Stop."
"Witch! This scum needs an example made!"
The man huffed, rage unspent. The middle-aged slave, spotting her, wailed too.
"That almighty witch bitch? Argh!"
"You bastard!"
The overseer kicked his head for the blasphemy—insulting a witch could backfire on him too.
As he stomped the half-conscious man, Amelia intervened again.
"I said stop."
"Yes, ma'am!"
The overseer, versed in Gehenna's ways, backed off. No arguing with a witch.
The man recovered, unleashing pent-up fury.
"Why drag healthy folks here and torment us!"
Writhing on the ground, he glared at Amelia with pure hate.
"You witches so great? So superior? Then kill me, damn it! Do it now!"
Amelia's brow twitched. Siwoo jumped in fast.
He knew she was a nasty witch, but he didn't want to see her kill anyone.
"Hey, mister, calm down."
"And who the hell are you!"
With the docks frozen, eyes poured onto Siwoo.
He shoved past the overseer, tore his shirt, and wiped mud from the man's face.
"Mister, you'll die like this. Let's think rationally."
The overseer gaped at Siwoo's antics but stayed silent—Amelia just stood there, mute.
The man bolted up and shoved Siwoo's chest.
"You a male concubine? Stuck to that witch like glue—figures. You lot make me sick. Know who built this hell? Those bitches! You're no better than collaborators!"
Spit splattered Siwoo's face as he staggered back.
Amelia's brow furrowed. She advanced, lilac scent wafting.
In this port—no flower trees, just withered seaweed clinging to the wharf—the air filled with garden blooms.
Fish rot, slaves' muggy sweat, briny mud—all vanished, overpowered.
This intoxicating lilac, dreamlike, wasn't natural.
Her Self-Generating Magic.
The magic that earned Amelia Merrygold the title Perfume Witch.
People turned and fled the freakish phenomenon.
Even the overseer ditched his sword and bolted.
"If that's your wish, I'll grant it."
As Amelia languidly pointed at the man—
Siwoo grabbed her wrist.
"...Huh?"
Her sky-blue eyes flared with azure mana glow. She jolted like she'd hiccuped.
A slave touching a witch without leave? Capital crime.
But the shock faded quick.
Back to blank-faced, she asked,
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Do you think this is right, Witch?"
"I was insulted by a slave in public. He wants death anyway—fitting punishment."
Wrong approach.
Amelia was pureblood witch to the bone.
No point preaching the system's ills to her.
"Right, yeah. But Associate Professor Amelia."
Siwoo gripped her wrist tighter.
To keep her from extending her arm.
He never wanted to see her kill.
"If you kill that slave, I could never forgive you."
Ridiculous line, staking his life on it.
What slave lectures a witch on forgiveness?
He knew the contradiction.
"......"
Amelia stared straight into Siwoo's eyes for ages. He met her gaze unflinching.
After the staring contest, the glow faded from her jewel-like eyes.
She withdrew her mana.
The thick lilac gave way to Border Town's usual stench.
Only then did Siwoo look around.
The screaming crowd had frozen mid-flight—like some group art piece.
Now they stirred, bit by bit.
"Wh-what?"
"What happened?"
"Wasn't there a nice flower smell?"
Muttering like they'd blacked out briefly.
Amelia walked past Siwoo to the overseer, who was scrambling for his dropped sword.
"Who's in charge here?"
"Jack, cargo handler for Berth 3!"
"Check that slave's background and reassign him properly. He won't last days here."
"Yes, ma'am!"
The overseer snapped to like a green recruit.
For a slave's open insults and curses, it was downright lenient.
Moments later, the dazed middle-aged man bellowed at Amelia's retreating back.
"What? Kill me, you coward!"
She didn't turn.
The overseer muffled him, and the yells died. Siwoo sidled up to her.
"Thank you, Associate Professor."
Siwoo was glad.
Couldn't say why.
Just proud she wasn't some irredeemable rotten-core witch.
"Don't misunderstand. The overseer didn't sway me."
Amelia's tone still cut like winter wind.
Fine.
This prickly coldness suited her—hands clean.
Just before stepping onto the oak forest path,
Amelia recited like poetry,
"Live like a witch. And like a noble."
"Pardon?"
"My master's dying words. She said it constantly."
Siwoo nearly fainted in shock.
First time in five years hearing Amelia open up.
"I know what 'live like a witch' means. Just keep on as I am."
Siwoo eyed her profile—the witchiest witch he knew.
For once, a shadow of doubt crossed her haughty chill face.
"But 'live like a noble'? Still don't get it."
She'd always seemed a pretty doll (cursed terrifyingly so). Now, human.
Siwoo said,
"What you did back there? Nobler than anyone."
Her briefly vulnerable face hardened stubbornly, as if compelled.
"What does some overseer know?"
She snapped.
Siwoo just smiled faintly.