Chapter 8 | Fear Not, Witch — A Player Is Here to Rescue You

Ayden shook his head. They were constantly rotating posts, and he simply followed Marcus around. How was he supposed to know what their mission was?

The woman, however, sat down as if they were old friends and asked, “Why is that?”

“Some mage apprentice reported sighting a sorceress. How could those noble, arrogant lords of the Mage Association be willing to make the trip themselves?”

Marcus paused, took another swig of ale, and pulled his mouth into a bitter, wrinkled grimace.

“The Demon Hunting Association... Hmph.” He slammed his flask heavily onto the ground. “These days, it's nothing more than a good dog kept by the Mage Association!”

The campfire popped, sending up sparks with a sharp crack that sounded exceptionally clear in the silent forest.

“But if there really is a sorceress, shouldn't the Mage Association handle it?” Ayden was taken aback.

Ever since he was a child, he had heard stories of mages protecting humanity from sorceresses. Weren't mages supposed to do exactly that?

“Hahahahaha!” Marcus glanced at him and slapped his back hard, making his leather armor clack. “Foolish boy! You actually believed that? Nine out of ten reports about a sorceress are fake!”

Marcus had a powerful grip. Rubbing his shoulder blade, Ayden pressed on, unwilling to give up, “And what about the tenth time?”

“That's just some crazy old hag playing tricks!”

Marcus finally rested his hand on Ayden's shoulder. His five thick fingers gripped the young man's thin shoulder so hard that Ayden grimaced in pain.

“We're just a couple of unlucky bastards. We'll wander around the village a few times, write a report saying there are no clues when we don't find any sorceress, and head back to turn it in.”

“But what if we actually find one?”

“What if?” Marcus's voice dropped. His gaze suddenly grew distant, as if piercing through the firelight to look at some faraway night.

“If we actually find one, we pretend we didn't see a thing. Got it?”

“Why?” The young man still had hot blood running through his veins. His eyes widened, filled with disapproval.

“I said, we. Pretend. We. Didn't. See. Anything.” Marcus emphasized each word. A glint of something Ayden couldn't comprehend flashed in his cloudy eyes. “Do you honestly think we, with our scrap-metal gear, can deal with a sorceress? Well, the War of the Long Night... That really was a long time ago...”

The night wind swept through the trees, rustling a few dry leaves. Ayden felt a chill run through his body.

It wasn't because of the wind, but because of something far colder—a bitter truth he had yet to fully grasp, but which his seniors had already chewed on until it lost all flavor.

“So we're just... going through the motions?” he asked in a low voice.

“Yes, going through the motions.” Marcus wore that tired smile again. “We're just scraping by. In times like these, you survive day by day. Once all of us are dead, demon hunters will be completely relegated to the history books. Who knows, maybe we'll end up alongside sorceresses, turned into ghost stories used to scare children!”

Just then, the woman burst out laughing.

It wasn't a mocking laugh, but a cheerful chuckle, as if she had just unearthed a hidden treasure. Drawing out her words, her eyes crinkled into crescent moons. “And here I thought it was some hidden questline. What a waste of my—”

Her voice abruptly cut off.

Following her gaze, Ayden realized she was staring right above his head with terrifying intensity.

Then, she muttered something under her breath.

He couldn't hear the exact words, but he could feel the sheer excitement in her voice, like someone finally opening a long-awaited present.

She stood up, her palm facing upward.

Marcus's cloudy eyes suddenly went wide.

He knew this posture. In the stories his grandfather had obsessively recounted on his deathbed, this stance represented...

“Wait—” Marcus tried to stop her, but his legs felt like jelly, making it impossible to stand.

The air grew searing hot.

A fist-sized ball of fire materialized out of thin air.

Sorceress.

The word struck Ayden's mind like a bolt of lightning. He had imagined his first encounter with a sorceress countless times. He had thought he would heroically draw his sword, shoot calmly, and follow the steps in the manual—first using a magic-disrupting arrow to weaken her shield, then engaging in close combat to hold his sword to her throat, declaring his long-practiced slogan in his most steady voice...

But he couldn't do a single thing.

Fear drenched him like ice water, leaving his limbs completely unresponsive. He could only watch helplessly as the roaring flame left the woman's palm, trailing an orange-red wake as it flew straight toward him.

He knew he should dodge, but fear had turned him to stone.

“Get out of the way!” Marcus finally scrambled to his feet, forcefully shoving the stunned Ayden aside. However, he took the Fireball right to his chest. He could even smell the singe of his own beard.

The woman gave them no room to breathe. The successive Fireballs seemed to have eyes of their own, hitting them with unerring accuracy no matter how they tried to dodge.

Marcus collapsed backward into the pile of dry leaves. He should have been in agony, but the charred wounds seemed to have severed his nerves, leaving behind only a hollow, numb itch.

He recalled the battle his grandfather had described over and over again—the witch who controlled the dead, leading her undead legion to attack the headquarters of the Witch Hunting Association.

Back then, his grandfather had been as young as Ayden, holding a witch hunter longsword etched with brand-new runes.

His grandfather had always spoken of the details of that night, over and over again. Everyone else in the family was sick of hearing it, but he had listened intently every single time, eventually following in his grandfather's footsteps to become a demon hunter.

He had thought he would become a hero like his grandfather...

But for fifty years, all he had received were menial tasks assigned by higher-ups and a dwindling budget. He hadn't seen even a shadow of a sorceress.

Tonight... his grandfather had been right. Sorceresses were simply not beings that humans could defeat.

The edges of his vision began to darken, as if someone were slowly drawing curtains from both sides. Strangely, he felt no anger, only a long-overdue sense of relief.