Chapter 15
Rumors about the “Beauty’s Elixir” spread far and wide. Merchants, quick to catch wind of both gossip and profit, offered to buy the potion at high prices, but Gremory refused, saying she would only give it to patients.
“If you’re so jealous, come as a patient.”
Along with those words.
Iris, who had been watching, sat on the windowsill of the convent’s kitchen and let out a deep sigh.
– Hey, pretty lady. Wasn’t your goal to live here quietly like dust? What’s the point of making a potion that looks like it was brewed by a witch?
“It was a mistake in the mixture that made it glow. Anyway, that’s why I’m only giving it to the convent. I’m not even showing it to people outside the Grand Duchy.”
– But what if rumors spread to other territories? You’re supposed to be hiding, but you’re practically announcing that there’s a witch here…
“If anyone foolishly starts calling me a witch, I’ll just curse them with a mental affliction and drive them insane.”
– T-that’s too much! Wouldn’t it be better to just prevent it from the start…?!
“Geez, you talk too much. Should I just eat you?”
– Go ahead and try! I know you can’t harm your contractor during the contract!
“Oh? How’d you know that?”
– I just knew instinctively when you put this collar on me.
Iris touched the restraint around her neck.
“It’s not that I can’t harm you at all.”
– …!
“Relax, I won’t eat you.”
Gremory turned her attention away from Iris and focused on stirring the potion. This time, she didn’t fail the mixture, so the potion didn’t emit any suspicious glow. Though it was still a terrifying shade of green.
– Hey, Gremory.
“What now?”
– Stay with my brother tonight.
“Why?”
– Don’t ask. It’s related to the contract… Just stay with him.
“If it’s related to the contract, I should ask more. What’s going on?”
– …You’ll know when you see.
Iris pressed her lips shut and refused to say more. Gremory felt the urge to yank on Iris’s restraint but restrained herself, settling for a glare instead.
That night, Gremory went to Cheshion’s bedroom as requested by her contractor.
Knock knock.
At the sound, frantic shuffling came from inside.
“Wh-what? Mori? Just wait a second, please!”
Cheshion recognized Gremory by her unique knock.
A witch’s patience lasts no longer than five seconds. Five seconds later, Gremory flung the door open to find Cheshion hastily hiding crumpled papers everywhere.
“…Oh.”
Cheshion’s face stiffened as his eyes met Gremory’s.
“What’s with the papers?”
Gremory picked up one that had fallen to the floor. Cheshion tried to stop her but soon gave up, sighing deeply.
What Cheshion had been hiding was none other than a suicide note. A note filled with guilt over failing to protect Iris.
How much pain had Iris been in?
How much must she have resented me?
It was a note filled with such despair and misery.
“…You were going to kill yourself?”
“…Just thought about it.”
“Why?”
“Do I really have to explain myself to you? The disrespect you’ve shown me is already more than enough, so just leave, Mori.”
For the first time, Cheshion’s tone turned sharp. Gremory watched him curiously.
‘People who suffer enough to write suicide notes always show darkness in their hearts, but I see nothing in him. Why?’
Was it because of his imperial bloodline? Back in the demon realm, she’d heard that witches’ powers sometimes had no effect on those with imperial blood.
But upon closer inspection, instead of darkness, Cheshion was emitting a black energy—the same energy she had seen when she first arrived at this mansion. The same energy she had devoured like snacks.
…So this energy was all coming from you.
“Sorry, but I can’t leave.”
“Why not?”
“I made a promise with your ghost of a little sister.”
“…Ha. First, you make mysterious potions, and now you’re seeing ghosts?”
“You don’t have to believe me.”
Gremory planted herself on Cheshion’s bed as if it were her own.
Cheshion sat on a distant sofa and watched her. The darkness between them was barely held at bay by a single small lamp.
“If you really can see Iris, tell me a few things only she and I would know.”
“The year you came of age, when no one celebrated your coming-of-age ceremony, Iris was the only one who gave you a flower crown.”
“…Go on.”
“When you caught the flu and were sick, Iris secretly went outside the palace to gather herbs, brewed them, and made you drink the medicine.”
“…And?”
“When you played with Iris, she always used to say something. That if reincarnation existed and she could be reborn—”
– She’d dye her hair and be reborn as your family again.
“She’d dye her hair and be reborn as your family again.”
A brief silence followed.
“…And she says her feelings haven’t changed, so you shouldn’t feel guilty.”
Cheshion’s eyes grew red. He avoided Gremory’s gaze for a long moment, hiding in the shadows to wipe his eyes with his sleeve. Now, no more black energy flowed from him.
His voice was lighter as he spoke.
“Mori, you’re really… strange and unusual.”
“How so?”
“Sometimes, you seem like a terrifying witch, but other times, you feel almost like a saint.”
“Why would I seem like a saint?”
She had merely repeated Iris’s words like a parrot, yet Cheshion’s demeanor had changed completely. Gremory couldn’t understand it.
“Mori.”
Cheshion rose from the sofa and approached her.
His warmth reached her suddenly. Cheshion hugged Gremory, gently patting her back.
“Thank you.”
Ever since Iris’s death, he had often felt the urge to hang himself. But now, after just a few words from Mori, that urge had vanished as if washed away.
‘If I hadn’t brought Mori back from the mountains that day, what would have become of me? Would I have finished my note and hanged myself by now?’
To think he had mistaken a saintly woman like this for a witch.
Finally, Cheshion reached a conclusion. Gremory was not a witch. She had simply been accused of being one for so long that the trauma had left her unable to think like a normal person. That was all. Her behavior was just a little… unique.
Her many talents were likely just things she had learned before her mind had been affected. In the northern snowfields, perhaps.
“And… I’m sorry.”
To suspect and test a woman as kind-hearted and talented as this… Cheshion apologized to Gremory sincerely.
Unaware of Cheshion’s thoughts, Gremory remained stiff as a statue, frozen in place. She wondered about the strange fluttering near her heart.
Cheshion looked at her and laughed softly, like a breeze through pine trees. Even after saving a life, that clueless expression of hers was both absurd and endearing.
Gremory’s potions were in high demand. As a result, she spent all day stirring cauldrons.
It would have been manageable alone, but with an annoying pest hovering nearby, it was unbearable.
– Can you make other potions besides healing ones?
“I can make most things. It’s just a matter of ingredients.”
– What about love potions? Aren’t those one of the classic witch brews?
“Love? That thing where people press lips and tangle bodies at night?”
– Good grief. That’s not love. I thought witches knew human emotions inside out. Isn’t that how you toy with souls to make them tastier?
“I don’t play with them, I just eat them. But you know a lot about witches for someone who’s not one.”
– I may look like this, but I was a victim of the imperial witch hunts. So of course I know a thing or two.
“Hey, you’re kinda noisy. Mind shutting up?”
Just as she was about to scare the ghost into silence, the newly promoted convent matron rushed into the kitchen.
“Miss Mori! How long until the next batch of potions is ready?”
“An hour. Why? Ran out already?”
“Yes! Actually, monsters have appeared in the southern coal mines…! It’s terrible. There are too many injured, and many are still trapped inside! Rumor has it there’s a psychic mole monster in there!”
“Here, stir this for a bit.”
“Eh? O-okay.”
Gremory handed the long stirring rod to the matron and left the kitchen. Iris followed, asking:
– Why? Are you going to save the trapped miners?
“No, I’m going to eat the pain and fear they’re feeling.”
– …Right. Of course.
Iris sighed. Our great witch wasn’t setting out to be a hero—just to grab a snack.
