Chapter 4: First meeting (2)

“Just in case, I didn’t want to wake them.”

Having deposited the hunted bear in a suitable spot, I carefully pushed open the cabin door.

Yet, it seemed my caution had been entirely unnecessary.

The small child was already wide awake, their eyes rounded with an apprehensive gaze fixed upon me.

“You’re awake.”

“Who… who are you?”

Only then did I fully register the striking crimson of the child’s eyes, a shade reminiscent of fresh blood.

Black hair paired with such vibrant red irises.

The captivating contrast in their coloring suggested my hypothesis might be correct: this child could indeed be a protagonist from the novel.

Regardless.

“Did you just ask who I am?”

‘Who am I?’ Of all the things to say, was that really appropriate for a child who had been sleeping so comfortably right outside my cabin?

“I am the owner of this house.”

At my declaration, the child finally seemed to grasp the situation, bowing their head in a gesture of profound gratitude.

“Th-thank you for saving me….”

“Indeed.”

The moment I replied, an uncomfortable silence settled between us.

‘How does one even converse with another person anymore?’

Truthfully, I couldn’t help but feel this way; having lived for years completely isolated from the outside world, the very act of facing another human being felt profoundly unnatural.

Yet, as if fate had intervened, the universe seemed to offer a lifeline.

–Grrr

A timely rumble from the child’s stomach fractured the strained quiet.

A small smile touched my lips as I inquired.

“Are you hungry?”

“…Yes.”

Despite my significantly greater age, this child spoke to me without a hint of deference.

Though young in appearance, their manners were decidedly lacking.

However, no matter how irritated I felt, it was incredibly difficult to bring myself to instruct the child on proper etiquette, so I simply remained silent.

Moreover, it would be problematic to earn the animosity of this child, who might very well be a main character in the novel.

‘Ugh, how did my life come to this…?’

Forcing my expression into a mask of neutrality, I gestured towards the outside of the cabin, where the child remained with their head bowed, eyes fixed on the floor.

“Then, go eat your meal.”

My words might have sounded a touch cold, but at that moment, the mere act of maintaining a conversation felt like a monumental achievement worthy of commendation.

Or so I told myself, finding a strange satisfaction in my own efforts.

The child, who had been cautiously observing me, then voiced a question in a small, hesitant tone.

“…Aren’t you going to ask me anything?”

Ah, should I have begun by inquiring about their identity?

It was true, for a solitary woman living deep in the mountains to simply offer food without question did seem a little… suspicious.

I wasn’t sure if witches truly existed in this place, but my current demeanor felt disturbingly similar to the wicked enchantresses depicted in novels.

‘Damn it, I really should have socialized more.’

I swiftly wiped away the cold sweat, hoping the child wouldn’t notice, as I desperately considered how to salvage the situation.

“You may tell me when you wish.”

My chosen course of action was to utter something that sounded profound and reassuring.

“For you do not appear to be in the best of spirits.”

I spoke, striving to convey an atmosphere of utmost consideration, devoid of any hint of a misstep or ulterior motive.

‘Surely, that went over well?’

I cast a quick, assessing glance at the child.

“Oh….”

However, contrary to my hopeful expectation of their relief, the child began to weep softly.

“Hic… sob…”

They were quietly wiping away tears.

‘…What am I supposed to do?’

Just as a woman’s tears can be a potent weapon, so too can a child’s cries.

Their small frame, emphasizing their youth, was further highlighted by scrawny arms and legs.

The sight of them weeping, their eyes utterly devoid of vitality, was nothing short of devastating.

A wave of guilt surged through my chest, despite having done nothing to warrant it.

‘No, why?!’

If that child’s intention had been to make me profoundly uncomfortable, they had certainly succeeded.

I flailed my hands in helpless confusion, utterly at a loss as the child continued to shed tears.

…What exactly had I done wrong?

Did they genuinely believe I was a witch?

Feeling unjustly accused, my own face instinctively crumpled into a distressed frown.

‘…No, this won’t do.’

I was not alone; I was in the presence of another.

If I appeared too yielding, I would surely be exploited.

With that thought, I struggled to maintain a facade of calm, pondering my next move.

Suddenly, a memory surfaced: what my mother used to do when I cried as a child.

“It’s alright.”

As that thought flashed through my mind, my body moved instinctively, drawing the child into my embrace.

I slowly began to stroke their head.

“It’s alright.”

Briefly, I lowered my hand from their hair to gently wipe away the tears streaming down their face.

“It’s alright.”

A neutral expression, I reasoned, would likely do little to console the child, so I made a conscious effort to form a reassuring smile.

The outcome, it seemed, was rather successful.

“…Yes.”

The child had ceased their crying.

For some inexplicable reason, the child’s face flushed crimson, but given that he was a boy, it was likely embarrassment at having shown such vulnerability.

Thus, silence once again stretched between us.

The situation felt excruciatingly awkward, yet my resolve had softened.

As I continued to stroke the child’s head, I added,

“Now, go and eat.”

“Yes…”

Unseen by the child, I released a quiet sigh of relief.

Stepping outside, I gestured towards the bear I had hunted.

The boy’s expression upon seeing the massive bear I had procured was one of utter bewilderment, a look that clearly conveyed, ‘What on earth is this?’

“…Food?”

He then alternated his gaze between me and the bear, his expression deepening into one of profound seriousness.

“Pfft.”

Somehow, I knew precisely what thoughts were swirling in that child’s mind, and a chuckle escaped me.

He was undoubtedly wondering, ‘How could such a small woman possibly hunt such an enormous bear?’

I would have thought the exact same thing myself.

A surge of pride swelled within me, and I shrugged my shoulders, addressing the boy who still gazed up at me with wide eyes.

“This is game I ‘personally’ caught, so please, do not hesitate and eat to your heart’s content.”

The boy’s brow furrowed for a moment, and then, with a trembling voice, he pointed at the bear.

“This…?”

“Indeed.”

Observing the constant tremor in his pupils, it seemed he was utterly awestruck by the sheer size of the game I had procured.

“Raw…?”

“Hmm?”

Curiously, the rude child’s final word had been appended with a polite ‘yo,’ though I chose not to dwell on it.

Instead, wondering what the issue could possibly be, I turned my head to follow the direction of his pointing finger.

“Ah, right.”

Only then did I comprehend the reason for the child’s distress.

‘He can’t eat it raw, can he?’

It had been a minor oversight on my part.

****

Deep in the mountains, spices like salt or sugar were non-existent, and since I possessed no culinary skills, I simply built a fire and roasted the meat for him.

Despite these humble preparations, the boy devoured the food I offered with ravenous abandon, uttering not a single complaint.

Even accounting for several days of starvation, it seemed impossible for him to consume the entire massive bear on his own.

I fully expected him to set the meat aside shortly.

Yet, the boy, who had been covertly glancing at me, suddenly contorted his face into a mournful frown, then picked up the meat once more.

It appeared he genuinely intended to finish the entire, immense portion.

‘Why is he acting like this?’

I tilted my head, pondering the situation.

Could it be that in the place this child came from, there was a custom forbidding the refusal of food offered by others?

‘…No, that’s absurd.’

Surely, no such tradition existed.

I subtly gestured to the boy, who was once again attempting to eat while nervously observing me, and spoke.

“If you are full, there is no need to force yourself to eat.”

The moment my words concluded, the boy immediately set the meat down and nodded.

‘…He must have truly hated eating it.’

In any case, with the boy’s meal now concluded, it seemed an opportune moment to inquire about his identity.

I had no ulterior motives; I simply needed to know his name and place of origin to facilitate his return.

As I sought the perfect timing to ask, the boy himself broke the silence.

“Excuse me…”

The unexpected query made me simply tilt my head.

“Hmm? Why do you call me?”

“…Are you, Miss Witch, going to eat me?”

“What?!”

Eat him? Me? And whom?

No, more pressingly, do witches truly exist?

“Eat you? Me?”

Stunned by the sheer absurdity, I leaned my face closer to the boy’s, my brow furrowed in disbelief.

…He seemed to be utterly serious.

“Uh, yes…”

“Hmph, why on earth would I eat you?”

“Furthermore, I am no witch.”

Despite my vigorous denial, the boy seemed to struggle to believe my words, persistently pressing the issue.

“But… you said you caught the Muscle Bear yourself… and if you’re not a witch…”

‘And you live alone in a cabin in these mountains, which are said to be dense with demonic energy.’ The boy mumbled, adding this final point before falling silent.

From my perspective, the boy’s words were utterly preposterous.

I couldn’t even use magic, so why would I be a witch?

“…Hic.”

The sight of the boy, hunched and tense, was quite amusing.

A mischievous impulse suddenly bubbled within me.

It would be far more effective to demonstrate through action rather than mere words, to etch the truth directly into the eyes of that suspicious child.

It would also serve as a good check of my own skills.

With a silent smile, I rose from my seat and picked up the wooden sword resting beside the uneaten meat.

Though its shape was somewhat crude, a result of my own carving, it was perfectly functional for wielding.

“Did you call me a witch?”

I clasped the wooden sword with both hands, as if embracing it, closed my eyes, and added,

“Rather than paltry things like magic, I shall show you something far more magnificent.”

Oddly, I felt as though I could now understand the sentiment of an uncle entertaining his young nephew.

“Witness this clearly with your own two eyes.”

Putting more force into my movements than during my usual training, I began to slash the wooden sword through the empty air.

My gaze remained fixed upon the sky.

****

‘Beautiful.’

The boy watched her swordsmanship, which shimmered with an almost otherworldly beauty, as if utterly spellbound.

Her body, holding the fluttering sword, moved with a feather-light grace.

Yet, the fierce gusts of wind that erupted from the tip of her blade, tearing through the air with violent pressure, served as undeniable proof that her sword was anything but light.

The boy, utterly mesmerized by her exquisite form, could not tear his eyes away for even a moment until she had completed her entire sword art—no, her sword dance.

“Ah…”

Did time truly accelerate when one witnessed such beauty?

‘I wanted to see more.’

Just as a faint pang of regret settled within him, she, having concluded her sword dance, slowly opened her eyes, retracting her blade.

Immediately afterward, leaves began to gather slowly at her feet.

Soon, an indecipherable symbol materialized before them.

‘What could ‘天’ mean…? Is it some ancient script?’

As the boy’s mind was utterly consumed by this enigma, she had approached him so closely without his notice.

She crouched before him and inquired,

“Well? Do I still appear as a witch to you?”

“No…”

His face flushed crimson at her softly smiling expression, and the boy shook his head.

Her, a witch?

The witches he knew were certainly not this beautiful.

‘Then what, precisely, is her true identity?’

Numerous thoughts churned in the boy’s mind, yet he found himself utterly incapable of discerning her true nature.

She was a woman who, despite appearing deceptively young, lived alone in a suspiciously dilapidated cabin.

Furthermore, she was a rare beauty, possessing an astonishing and suspiciously exceptional martial prowess.

As far as the boy knew, the only beings who fit all these descriptions were witches.

Yet, she wielded a sword of such dazzling beauty that it outshone any black magic witches might employ.

As someone utterly ignorant of such matters, he found himself entirely unable to grasp her true identity.

“Then, what kind of person are you…?”

And so, as was his nature, without a trace of fear, he followed his heart’s impulse and posed the question to her.

The boy simply could not contain his curiosity.

“Hmm… who am I, you ask?”

She hummed thoughtfully for a moment, then suddenly stretched a hand towards the heavens and declared,

“My name is Cheon Harang.”

“I am the one destined to cleave the very sky itself.”

The boy gazed at her, captivated, for Cheon Harang’s smile was as breathtakingly beautiful as her sword dance.