The Witch of the Forest (2)
With every breath, a pure white cloud of vapor rose into the air.
Today had to be the coldest day of the winter so far.
Wrapped in thick fur coats, the baron and Roy left the manor in the early morning. Just the two of them—father and son—set out on a modest journey on horseback, with no carriage in sight.
Even if their territory clung to the southern edge of the continent and the winters here were never truly harsh, riding hard through the dead of winter was no easy task. A bone-deep chill slipped through every tiny gap in their clothing, freezing them to the marrow. Their cheeks, stung by the icy wind, first burned as if they might split open, then went numb altogether.
"Father. How long until we reach the forest?"
"At this pace, a full day of hard riding. We'll stop at a village along the way for a meal and fresh horses."
"Are we really going all the way like this, without a carriage? And where exactly are you keeping that thing?"
No matter how thoroughly they had dried it, Roy still could not understand how his father was carrying the enormous ogre's heart.
"You don't need to worry about that. Watch your tongue before it freezes and snaps off."
"Yes, sir."
As they rode, Roy cast his mind back over the past few days at the manor. Ana had clearly realized where the baron was headed long before they left. She had made no effort to hide her foul mood. The moment she learned Roy would be going along, she refused to exchange so much as a single word with her husband at the dinner table. Roy guessed they had probably had a full-blown argument in private.
Jealousy?
He did not know the full story, but the witch was said to have once been a member of the Soaring Wolves alongside Ana. Yet during the time Roy had hunted that seven-year-old ogre, the woman had never once shown her face. Piecing together Ana's reaction and the other scraps of circumstance, Roy concluded that this witch must be an extraordinary beauty. He had never once seen Ana respond this way to the baron—famous though he was as a devoted husband. Even when the man had taken a second wife, it had not been this bad.
Still, she has to be at least thirty by now.
Roy mulled over these thoughts while following his father deeper into the cold.
A full day after leaving the manor, the place known as the Witch's Forest finally came into view. But with night already fallen, the baron decided they could not risk entering the deep woods in the dark. They would spend one more night in a small nearby village.
The unexpected visit of the local lord caused a brief stir, though the baron asked the village head to keep the matter quiet and prevent any fuss. After resting overnight, father and son entered the forest the next morning.
"Aren't there any monsters in this forest? If a village sits this close to the trees, it wouldn't be easy to escape if something went wrong."
"You're more curious about how the witch manages to live here than about the monsters?"
"If she earns the title of witch, she must have some way of keeping them at bay."
"You sound as though you understand the witch better than the villagers do."
"A witch is still a mage at heart. And mages are right in the palm of my hand."
"Act like that in front of her and you'll regret it. Consider yourself warned."
"...?"
They left their horses in the village and pushed through the brittle, withered undergrowth into the winter forest. The weather was foul, and an eerie atmosphere settled over them. Contrary to Roy's expectations, no monsters barred their path. Animals were nowhere to be seen either. It almost seemed as though nothing living remained in these woods at all.
Deeper in, a dense, milky fog began to wrap around them, blotting out the world.
A barrier formula?
The moment he had heard the word "witch," he had half expected something like this. The suspicious fog confirmed his guess at once.
"From here on, stay close behind me if you don't want to get lost."
"Yes."
Get lost? Why would I? Barriers like this vanish the moment you find and break the formation.
The baron, who had visited this place before, grew extremely tense. Roy, who already understood the truth of it, felt nothing of the sort. Instead, anticipation began to build inside him.
So there really is a witch living here?
In the eleven years since his reincarnation, this was the first large-scale barrier formula he had ever seen. And the very person who had crafted the legendary elixir known as Dragon's Breath—something even he had never heard of—was supposedly the witch who lived here. At first he had been skeptical, but the moment they stepped into the forest, he found himself looking forward to the meeting.
I'll take every last scrap of magic she possesses and make it my own.
Lately he had been so absorbed in the sword that his magical research had suffered, yet his skill had not rusted in the slightest. Two days every week he still produced mana solution to keep his businesses running and manufactured all manner of magical equipment. Whenever his body grew, he crafted new defensive gear to match. Above all, every step of that process was part of the greater journey toward becoming a greater mage after drinking Dragon's Breath. Even if the path occasionally looped back on itself, he had never once strayed from the goal.
Right on the mark, just as I expected.
Once they passed through the thick fog, a building that could only be the witch's house appeared before them. The baron removed the face covering and hat he had worn against the cold and straightened his clothes. Roy did the same. Moments later they knocked on the wooden door of the witch's house. Only after a long wait did someone open it.
A girl stood there, roughly Roy's height, her age impossible to guess. Given how well-developed Roy was for his years, she was almost certainly older than she looked. Her face was clean and lovely, yet a strange cloth wrapped around her head, covering her hair, ears, and even part of her cheeks, giving her a rather comical appearance.
"Um... who are you?"
The baron stared at the girl with wide eyes. She was nothing like the person he had expected.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Lily. And who exactly are you? How did you even find this place?"
She seemed to be asking how they had made it through the fog, though she did not appear particularly wary of the baron.
"I am a contractor. I have come to see the witch. Is she inside?"
"Yes. But she told me not to let anyone in. She said wolves with tails don't taste good."
The baron glanced back at Roy standing behind him. Suddenly cast as the "wolf's tail," Roy wanted to demand an explanation then and there. He also wanted to march straight in and ask the witch herself how she dared treat the lord of these lands so rudely.
"The boy behind me is my son. Go tell Ilia that I have come according to the long-standing contract between our houses."
The baron, who had just called her "the witch," suddenly switched to her name. The girl named Lily craned her neck sideways, peering around the baron's large frame to steal a look at Roy.
"...?"
"...!"
Boy and girl locked eyes for a single instant. Lily startled violently, slammed the door shut with a bang, and vanished inside.
Left standing in the absurd situation, Roy had a dozen questions ready.
"Just who is this witch supposed to be? The lord of the territory arrives and she won't even show her face? Isn't that completely insolent? Even if she used to be your comrade—and what's this about a contract?"
"Close that mouth of yours."
"......"
The baron's sharp rebuke made Roy flinch. The man was acting as though Roy had just committed a grave offense before a high-ranking noble.
Does this witch have some grand noble bloodline or something?
Even a thousand years ago, during the days of the Empire, there had been plenty of people obsessed with strange things and given to eccentric behavior. Nobles, and even those who carried the emperor's blood, had been among them. Roy himself had been cut from similar cloth in his past life, though some had been far more extreme. The men of that sort had mostly become alchemists; the women called witches had usually devoted themselves to barrier magic or curses. Both types abandoned ordinary society, dug themselves into house basements or laboratories they called dungeons, and buried themselves in research like madmen.
And the worst of them were the black mages who experimented on corpses—or living people.
Roy frowned at the unpleasant memories he would rather have left buried. While he was lost in thought, the girl named Lily opened the door again.
"The witch says you may come in."
To Roy, Lily seemed like a child who had never learned even the basic courtesies expected when dealing with nobles. If she had lived her entire life inside the witch's house, that would explain it. He decided to accept the idea without further argument. The baron appeared to have reached the same conclusion.
Following the girl inside, they found a cozy, carefully arranged interior. A faint, sweet fragrance tickled the tip of Roy's nose, still frozen from the cold. He suddenly wanted a cup of warm tea more than anything.
When they reached the living room, they saw the back of someone seated in a chair beside the fireplace. Only after Roy moved around to face the figure did he realize it was a woman. Like Lily, she wore a strange covering over her head.
"It's been a long time, Cliv."
"Ilia..."
"I was truly surprised. I never imagined you would choose an eleven-year-old boy as your heir."
"I haven't named him heir yet. Only..."
"Is that so? Then you brought him here without even making it official... which means you must have seen something special in the boy, doesn't it?"
The witch called Ilia immediately swept her gaze over Roy from head to toe—feet, fingertips, facial features, the look in his eyes—examining every corner of him with open interest. The scrutiny sent an inexplicable chill down Roy's spine.
"What are you waiting for? Offer your greetings to the witch."
The witch?
Roy still had no idea what was going on, but if his father ordered it, he would obey.
"Ah—good day to you. My name is Roy Greenhilt. It is a pleasure to meet you."
In truth, none of it mattered to him in the slightest.
As long as he could learn the method for creating Dragon's Breath.