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Chapter 7: Who Can Blame Me for Enjoying Playing with Little Boys?
🕑 Added 2025-03-10 03:51:27 +0000 UTCIan felt an unavoidable tension as he faced the elegant and noblewoman before him.
Although he possessed the ability to enter the Ethereal Realm, he had only encountered two other individuals in this strange world.
This woman was the third.
This was the world of the dead.
Who knew what kind of identity or past she carried?
"Who are you?"
Ian subtly positioned himself, preparing to bolt at a moment's notice.
The woman arched an elegant brow at his question.
"That poor girl… Following that drifter friend of yours on a fool's errand to find a so-called golden apple. As if such nonsense could exist in a place like this."
Her tone carried a distinct note of mockery.
Drifter friend?
Ian thought for a moment before realizing she was likely referring to his other acquaintance—one who, like Ariana, was a wandering soul.
Pandero Nathag.
A rather ordinary name for a boy who had an insatiable passion for adventure. Perhaps that was why the noblewoman before him called him a "drifter."
Even within the Enigmatic Realm, Pandero had ceaselessly explored for what seemed like an eternity. By his own account, he had long lost track of time.
Despite having existed for what was likely over a thousand years, Pandero's face had miraculously remained that of a fifteen-year-old. The wonders of the Ethereal Realm, perhaps. According to Ariana, Pandero had already looked like this when she first met him.
Had Pandero somehow offended this woman?
What sort of relationship did they have?
Ian's curiosity flared.
His understanding of Pandero was limited—his impression of him was that of a boy who carried both the wisdom of an elder and the recklessness of youth.
And sometimes, he could be outright foolish.
From everything Ian knew, Pandero didn't seem to be a character from any history or original story he was familiar with.
So what kind of obsession had kept Pandero in the Ethereal Realm for so many years?
Searching for a "golden apple" certainly sounded like something Pandero would do. Dragging Ariana along for the ride? That was exactly his style.
Ian recalled how, years ago, a much younger version of himself had been dragged along by Pandero—who had excitedly declared their mission to find and defeat the infamous Haierbo, one of the most notorious dark wizards in history.
Wait.
He had been five.
And they had set out to fight Haierbo?
Even now, Ian found the memory utterly absurd.
"The golden apple… Do you mean the one from the fairy tale?"
Glancing at the regal woman dressed in an exquisite black gown, Ian tried to adopt an innocent, naive expression, playing up his youthful appearance.
"A hollow legend. Do you actually believe a golden apple tree could bloom in this world?" she sneered, looking at Ian as if he were a fool.
"The last of those trees was cut down in my lifetime," she added, her tone unwavering. "And the Ethereal Realm has never held a golden apple to begin with."
"There were golden apples in the living world?"
Ian was momentarily stunned.
The noblewoman turned her head towards him then, stepping closer until her breathtaking face was mere inches from his. A delicate scent of roses filled the air.
Ian instinctively stepped back.
Everything about this woman—her presence, her gaze, her very existence—was overwhelming.
"What do you think a fairy tale is?" she asked softly. "Do wizards count?"
Ian found himself at a loss for words.
She studied him, then suddenly smiled.
"Even though you're a fool—slow-witted like a little pig—you're still different from the others." She lifted a pale, elegant hand and pointed toward a distant, shadowed castle nestled within the forested hills.
"If you wish to learn magic, come find me there."
Ian followed her gaze, spotting the towering, ancient structure. Time had weathered its stone walls, leaving them marked with age, and the sharp spires speared into the stormy sky like jagged fangs.
So this was her.
The witch of the castle—Ariana had spoken of her often.
His instincts had been right.
Wanting to run wasn't cowardice. No, this was merely a wizard's natural sense of danger! Yes, that was it… His innate ability to detect powerful magic!
"What do I have to give in return?"
Ian quickly justified his earlier reaction to himself, then cautiously addressed the witch's invitation. After all, nothing in this world came without a price.
The woman stopped circling him, her black gown trailing across the ground without collecting a speck of dust.
She gave him a curious look.
"You truly don't know how special you are, do you?"
She let out a soft, amused huff.
Then, she suddenly shifted her expression.
"But at least you understand the rules of the wizarding world, even at your age. That means your foolishness is only temporary. In the living world, that's not a bad thing."
She studied him for a moment longer before finally saying:
"If you insist on an exchange, bring me my magic mirror."
Her eyes flickered with a distant memory, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by cold indifference.
"Find my mirror, return it to me… and you will learn the most powerful magic I have to offer."
Ian frowned slightly. "A mirror?"
She did not answer, only smiled knowingly.
"Of course, even if you fail to retrieve it, you are welcome to seek me out."
There was something almost mischievous in her smirk.
"After all…" She leaned in, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper.
"Who can blame me for enjoying playing with little boys?"
A chill ran down Ian's spine.
Before he could respond, the world around him shifted. He felt himself fading, his form becoming translucent.
The last thing he saw was the witch, standing motionless, watching him disappear.
Then, silence returned to the abandoned town.
The woman's expression slowly grew distant. Without another word, she turned and strode away, her high heels clicking against the cobblestone path. She disappeared into the darkened woods, returning to her castle.
The fortress stood solemnly in the clearing, its stone walls wrapped in tangled vines. Time had worn it down, yet it remained an imposing presence. Jagged spires pierced the heavy clouds above.
The atmosphere here was a stark contrast to the town Ian had just left—cold, oppressive, steeped in an ancient gloom.
Inside, however, the castle was a realm of elegance.
A grand hall stretched before her, illuminated by the warm flicker of candlelight. A long marble dining table sat at the center, draped in crimson silk and set with golden-rimmed china. The fireplace crackled, casting flickering shadows over murals of long-forgotten tales—of knights and princesses caught in an eternal dance.
As the witch walked in, the castle awakened.
Candles ignited one by one. Tablecloths unfurled in midair, settling into place. Plates and cutlery arranged themselves, and trays of food drifted from the kitchens.
A golden-brown roasted pig floated onto the table.
The witch barely glanced at it before murmuring in a low voice, "I've already seen one foolish pig today. I don't need another."
With a flick of unseen magic, the pig vanished, replaced by a roasted lamb.
Ignoring the meal, she moved deeper into the castle, finally reaching her private chamber.
She settled before a grand yet empty vanity.
"Mirror, mirror…"
Her voice was soft, almost wistful.
"Who is the fairest of them all…?"
Alone in the silent chamber, she whispered to the emptiness, her tone carrying a trace of bitterness—perhaps even regret.
