Chapter 2: Now That Things Have Come to This, Let's Eat First

Roland’s doubts did not last long.

Rain began to fall.

The brief winter dusk was easily erased by the cold drizzle. The burning campfire was soon reduced to smoldering embers, and the fish soup—lacking the protection of a lid—was inevitably diluted by countless raindrops. Roland tightened the ash-gray suede cloak around his shoulders, pulled up the hood to shield himself from the rain, and tugged Miss Kalia, who had already lifted the soup pot, away from the lakeside campsite.

Fortunate, perhaps, that in order to practice large-scale magic in peace, Roland had built a simple cabin by this secluded lake for rest—and for storing his tools.

It proved more than adequate as shelter from the rain.

“Thank you.”

Once inside, Kalia finally spoke the third sentence since they had met. The previous two had been, “Help me,” and, “I’m starving, do you have anything to eat?”

Don’t misunderstand; it wasn’t that the witch was naturally cold. She was simply, as she herself had said—starving.

She had no intention of using her mouth for anything but eating.

Roland hung up his cloak, lit the kerosene lamp, and was just about to turn to kindle the fireplace when he heard her gratitude. He merely glanced back and smiled gently. “It’s nothing.”

“In my homeland, if someone only asks for food, nearly everyone would choose to help.”

“It’s just an ordinary supper. Though you finished all my dry rations and the entire pot of fish soup I brought out, there’s no need for thanks.”

As he spoke, a spark flickered from his fingertips, which he tossed onto the firewood in the hearth, warming the damp cabin.

Roland pulled out the chair placed before the table in the cabin and sat down.

He pondered whether he ought to involve himself in this affair.

To be sure, Riskan was his home since arriving in this world. He was not, after all, the classic orphan protagonist; his mother had tragically succumbed to illness soon after childbirth, and his father, who had raised him, had died from overwork last winter.

For the first time, he had experienced rare familial affection. Though his father was a notorious drunkard, he had also been an adventurer—and a skilled mage.

Had it not been for the lingering wounds of his earlier adventures, the burdens of raising a child alone, and his determination not to let his son’s magical talent go to waste—thus taking up commissions again at the adventurer’s guild to earn money—he, as a fourth-circle mage, should have easily lived past fifty.

Most of Roland’s abilities came from his father’s teachings in childhood and, later, from the practical training as they hunted monsters together in the wild.

This allowed Roland’s talent to flourish. Even without a not-so-clever system, he could have made a name for himself in this foreign world.

He had passed the entrance exam to the Royal Capital’s Magic Academy; soon, he would begin his life there.

He could have walked away, left all trouble behind, and started anew.

But…

Even if this great port city always felt lacking in warmth, it was still his home.

His memories resided here.

He could not simply walk away.

Even now, though he knew nothing of the coming trouble and had no clue where to begin—

Wait, perhaps he wasn’t entirely ignorant!

Roland’s gaze swiftly settled on Kalia, who sat quietly before him, continuing her dinner.

She wasn’t yet full, cradling the nearly empty, rain-diluted pot of fish soup, sipping it spoonful by spoonful.

Noticing Roland’s look, she reluctantly pushed the now cold, almost finished soup to him.

“Here.”

“…”

Kalia seemed a little nervous, lowering her head and fiddling with the mud-stained hem of her clothes. “Sorry… I was just so hungry.”

“Never mind, you should finish it yourself. I always keep some durable dry rations in the cabin for emergencies; they’ll tide me over.”

Roland pushed the soup back, then opened the conversation with a question he’d long been curious about. “So, Miss Witch, can you tell me why you’ve ended up looking like a starving waif?”

Kalia scratched her head with embarrassment.

She did not find it odd that Roland recognized her as a witch; the essence of magic was vitality—a small source of power every living being possessed. By channeling one's own source and resonating with nature’s greater source, most spells were accomplished.

A witch, endowed with innate casting ability, differed fundamentally from ordinary folk in the nature of her life force.

Most notably, witches possessed far greater vitality than average, rivaling the famed longevity of the elves.

If a witch did not conceal herself, anyone with some magical training could easily sense the unique energy that set witches apart from ordinary mages.

Judging by Roland’s earlier act of lighting the fire, he was clearly a mage—and not, by his skill, a mere apprentice.

He was obviously professionally trained.

After a brief awkward pause, Kalia sighed and began her tale.

“It’s complicated, too much for a few words, so I’ll be brief.”

“I’m being hunted. The travel money my teacher left me is all gone. I met you after starving for days. That’s it.”

Roland was silent for a moment, then spoke: “You could be a bit more specific. Your name, who’s hunting you, and whether you might bring them here.”

Though he’d already learned her name from the system, its information was always suspect and needed confirmation.

“Oh, right, I’m Kalia…”

The witch had no time to elaborate. A massive, spear-length icicle crashed through, destroying the cozy cabin Roland had spent two days building.

Dark shadows spread across Roland’s vision.

Instinctively, he prepared to fight back, but saw Kalia raise a finger to her lips, signaling silence.

The Nightmare Witch’s power appeared before Roland for the first time.

In the next instant, he and Kalia were dragged into the shadows, vanishing amid the dust of the collapsed cabin.

“Hmph, she escaped again!”

“George, you’re too impatient.”

“It doesn’t matter. She has nowhere left to hide—our people are all around Riskan.”

“What if she enters the city?”

“That would be walking into our trap. And don’t let that bitch’s helper escape!”

…

Beneath the shadows, Roland carefully analyzed their words, glancing at the silent Kalia beside him.

Clearly, there was no way he could remain uninvolved now.

“What are these people?”

He looked to Kalia, hoping for an answer.