Witch

Glen immediately scanned the surroundings and soon spotted a small town in the distance. It wasn't as large as Dud or Baiyeck, more resembling a village than a proper town.

The old man folded the map and tucked it into his coat pocket before turning to Glen. "Let's go. We'll stay here for the night and continue tomorrow. I'll arrange for a more comfortable cart."

"Sounds perfect," Glen replied.

As they walked toward the town, Glen couldn't help but notice the rough terrain and the unmistakable stench of livestock manure in the air. Is there even an inn here? he wondered, but his doubts were quickly dispelled.

Not only did the town have an inn, but it was also a large one. Located in the town's center, the inn was surrounded by dense buildings, and the skull of some horned animal hung above the entrance, giving the place a wild and untamed feel. The sounds coming from inside—the strange, almost guttural shouts—piqued Glen's curiosity.

"Don't cause any trouble," the old man said without turning back, his voice low.

"What if someone causes trouble with me?" Glen shot back.

The old man smirked coldly. "Then handle it yourself."

"Got it."

The old man pushed open the door to the inn, and the sharp stench of alcohol hit Glen's nose immediately. It was strong, almost suffocating, but he only waved his hand slightly to fan it away.

Inside, the inn was filled with people—rough, intimidating types wearing all manner of gear. They were eyeing Glen and the old man with sharp, calculating glances. Alongside humans, there were a few dwarves, beast-headed individuals, and other strange creatures making unsettling sounds. The mix of races only added to the oppressive atmosphere.

"The witch sitting at the farthest table is a master of dark, terrifying magic. You'd do well to avoid her," the old man muttered, his eyes scanning the room as they walked.

"That big guy drinking heavily is a powerful wandering swordsman. Not someone to mess with either," the old man continued, pointing out a few other individuals as they moved through the inn.

If Glen hadn't been blessed with exceptional hearing, he would've assumed the old man was speaking to himself rather than addressing him.

Curiosity flickered in Glen's eyes as he glanced at the individuals the old man pointed out, but he said nothing, focusing instead on the task at hand.

The old man led him straight to the bar. As they approached, three beast-headed individuals, each as large and muscular as the old man, suddenly walked toward them. The leader, a bear-headed creature, boomed, "Old Bohr, long time no see. How've you been?"

"I've been fine, no need to worry about me," the old man replied coldly, his demeanor unchanged, as if it was his default response to everyone except for his "dog."

"You're still the same," the bear-headed creature said, unfazed by the cold greeting. When his gaze fell on Glen, he burst into laughter. "Look at that! This old man actually brought a little pup with him. Is that your son? Hahaha..."

The other beast-headed individuals joined in, laughing loudly, while the other patrons in the inn ignored them, continuing with their own business.

Then, the laughter abruptly stopped.

A loud crash rang out as the bear-headed creature was sent flying into the corner of the room, slamming against the wall with a painful grunt.

With a disdainful look, Glen casually retracted his foot. "Such a loud mouth, but you're soft as cotton. I really don't know what you're so proud of."

The remaining beast-headed individuals snarled and glared at Glen, their growls echoing in the room.

Glen cracked his neck, clearly ready for a fight.

"You take your time," the old man said, seemingly unfazed by the situation. He walked to the bar to handle the accommodations.

Seeing Glen's readiness to fight, the remaining beast-headed creatures looked at the fallen bear-headed one, then at Glen. They grunted before helping their companion up and retreating toward the inn's exit without exchanging a single threatening word.

Glen let out a sigh and relaxed his posture, allowing the matter to drop.

The patrons around them, watching the scene unfold, exchanged various glances—some were intrigued, others entertained.

The old man tossed a key to Glen. "This is your room. I need to rest for a while. Do as you like."

After noting the number on the key, Glen put it in his pocket. When he saw the old man heading upstairs, he immediately made his way to the witch's table, sitting down in front of her.

"Do you really know magic?" Glen asked, his curiosity piqued.

The witch, who had been silently watching since they entered the inn, didn't move at first. After a pause, she parted her lips and said in a cold tone, "If you don't want to die, stay away from me."

"I just want to learn a bit. If it's possible, I'd like to study with you. Don't worry, I can pay, or if you need something, I might be able to get it for you," Glen replied, unperturbed by her threat.

The witch slowly turned her face toward him. Her features were strikingly beautiful, but her eyes were just empty white—unnerving and eerie.

"You fool, ignorance will bring you to ruin," she warned.

"Have you brought yourself to ruin then?" Glen retorted.

A small, amused smile played on the witch's lips. She rested her chin in her hand, staring at Glen with a new, intrigued look. "All witches are doomed to ruin."

"Let me try. Maybe I'm different," Glen persisted, not backing down.

"Enough, ignorant child," the witch said suddenly, her tone turning icy and cold. "Black magic is not something for you to tamper with. Let go of that thought."

Before Glen could respond, the witch suddenly transformed into a cloud of black mist and vanished before his eyes.

Glen blinked in surprise, staring at the empty seat she had just occupied. He sighed, defeated.

Deciding to make the best of the situation, he ordered a variety of drinks from the bar, charging them to the old man's tab. After sampling the drinks, Glen could only shake his head. Aside from the juice, which was tolerable, everything else tasted terrible. He had no idea how people could drink them so enthusiastically.

With little else to occupy his time, Glen decided to retire for the night and head upstairs to rest.

The Next Morning

Glen was awakened by a servant delivering breakfast. He bit into a hard, dry piece of bread as he made his way downstairs, where he found the old man already up, sipping on a glass of wine.

"Let's go," the old man said, putting his glass down and standing up.

"Uh... okay," Glen replied, unsure why the old man seemed in such a rush. But then again, he was just a hired hand, so it didn't matter much to him. The sooner they finished, the better.

This time, the cart they had was more comfortable, with a proper cushioned seat.

On the road, Glen finally asked, "Old man, will we get there today?"

"Unless something goes wrong, we should arrive," the old man said, eyes closed as he leaned back, appearing to rest.

I wonder if Night Howl remembered to feed the pigs... Glen thought absently, also closing his eyes as they continued their journey.

Elsewhere, in a Small House

Three individuals in dark robes, their heads crowned with pointed, soft hats, stood over a lifeless body. Energy crackled from their hands as they channeled dark magic.

In the corner of the room, two young boys, no older than six or seven, huddled together, terror etched across their faces as they watched the events unfold.