Chapter 241: The Witch at the Top of the Tower

It didn't take long for Jon to reach the top of the tower. The moment the guard pushed the door open, a wave of overwhelming rot and stench assaulted his senses.

Fortunately, Jon had grown used to foul smells over the past days. He could tolerate it with time, not that he intended to stay long. He was just curious about what secrets this Iron Tower held.

As soon as he stepped inside, sticky cobwebs clung to his face. Clearly, no one had cleaned this place in ages.

The floor and walls were crawling with both living and dead centipedes, spiders, and countless other crawling things Jon couldn't name but instinctively recognized as grotesque kin to the others.

This iron tower was built in a tapered, triangular shape, the higher the level, the smaller the space. Thus, the top floor contained only one prisoner, the infamous old witch, and only had a single room.

Though spacious by prison standards, the environment was hellish.

Jon scanned the room. Aside from the creepy crawlies and rat carcasses littering the place, he spotted walls crawling with insects, potion bottles spilled across the floor, and even on the only bed. Creepy concoctions and live bugs were everywhere.

In one corner lay a pile of skeletal remains, evidently previous tenants.

Wait... only one bed? Don't tell me I'm supposed to sleep with the old witch? Damn it! Why couldn't they have locked up a hot witch instead?

And where the hell is the old witch?

Clink!

The chains binding him were suddenly undone. The guard, clearly terrified, refused to even glance inside before hastily retreating.

What kind of creature terrifies him that badly? Jon wondered aloud.

As the heavy door slammed shut behind him, Jon looked around again. Still no sign of another person. So where was this old witch?

"Hehehehehe..."

A raspy, chilling voice echoed through the room.

"Has that brat Snow White brought me another specimen to play with?"

Jon looked up and froze.

"What the hell... is that thing?"

Clinging to the ceiling was a monstrosity so freakish it seemed ripped from a nightmare.

Her lower body resembled a giant centipede, over three meters long, armored in chitinous scales. A massive venomous stinger protruded from her rear. Her twelve legs were long and spindly, like spider limbs.

Her upper half, however, resembled a human woman wrapped in some black organic material. Her arms were mantis-like claws, and atop her shoulders sat a human head with wild, graying hair and a deeply wrinkled, ghastly face, an ugly old hag.

"You... you're the witch they locked up here?" Jon asked the creature crawling upside down on the ceiling.

The old witch's eyes flashed with surprise. She crawled down the wall and approached him.

"Most who end up here scream or soil themselves when they see me. You're the first to speak so calmly."

"I've seen plenty of bizarre stuff. You're just a little... eccentric-looking," Jon replied evenly.

"Hehehe... Is that so? Then have you wondered... what happened to them?"

She gestured toward the pile of bones in the corner, trying to intimidate him.

But Jon didn't flinch. Calmly, he said, "This top floor is laced with cursed magic, designed to harm any being with magical essence. Only the most powerful creatures can survive it. They weren't eaten by you. They were destroyed by the enchantments."

The old witch studied him a moment, then chuckled. "You're not wrong. But how do you know that they died from the curses... and not because I ate them?"

Her hideous grin stretched wide, her inhuman gaze fixed on him.

Jon smirked. "If you were going to eat me, you'd have ambushed me while I was clueless, not climbed down like some horror movie monster just to spook me."

The witch paused, then muttered, "Tch! No fun."

She seemed to lose interest and crawled over to a cluttered desk.

Now Jon understood why the bed was piled with junk and not used, this thing probably never slept on a bed.

But what caught his attention more was something unexpected: her aura.

Despite her monstrous form, her aura carried very little evil. In fact, all beings bear a measure of original sin, some lingering hint of corruption. Only newborns or beings made purely of good, were truly clean.

This witch had a trace of sin, yes, but nowhere near what her appearance would suggest.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Jon asked, stepping closer.

On the table, the witch was fiddling with bizarre materials using her mantis claws: revolting potions, live bugs, and... a pitch-black stone.

Jon froze, then lunged forward and snatched it.

"What are you doing?!" she screeched, startled.

Jon examined the stone closely, frowning. "Where did you get this?"

"You've seen it before?" the witch asked.

Jon pulled out another identical stone from his system storage—the one he'd taken from Antimora.

"Where did you get this stone?" she asked again.

"From a witch. Well... more accurately, from the Ninth Prince."

Jon then recounted his story, from meeting Antimora to everything involving the corrupted prince.

"Now," he said, "tell me what this stone is. Why does it corrupt witches so easily? Why are you studying it? Was it the king who sent you here to investigate it? What does he want from your research?"

One question after another poured from his lips, his eyes sharp with curiosity and intent.

He needed answers. And he was certain the freak old witch had them.

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