White-robed priestess, Myra, and the paladin, Julius, clad in matching white armor, entered the city of Delofin after feeling an ominous magical energy in the atmosphere—something similar to the presence of a dungeon appearing nearby.

The density of the magical energy was high, almost certainly indicating that a dungeon would soon emerge within the next few days.

Though adventurers typically handled dungeon exploration, the two holy figures were prepared to intervene if necessary. They would remain in Delofin until the situation stabilized. In the meantime, they had stopped at a tavern to eat.

A waitress approached their table to take their order.

“Back again today?” she asked with a cheerful smile.

“Well, yes,” Myra replied.

“Shall I bring you the same as yesterday?”

“Yes, that’ll be perfect.”

Indeed, the two had visited the tavern the day before, and Myra had taken a liking to the salad with potatoes and the cold ale they served.

Myra swung her legs back and forth, clearly more relaxed than one would expect from a member of the clergy. She was enjoying the small pleasures that she couldn’t indulge in under the strict order of the church. The lighthearted atmosphere of the tavern had her in a noticeably cheerful mood.

She enjoyed even the waiting, finding amusement in the little things, like how everything outside of study felt more exciting during exam periods.

As Myra looked around, something caught her attention.

She noticed a man and a maid sitting at the table next to them. The maid, a young girl, was hunched over like an armadillo, clutching her staff tightly and trembling as if freezing.

It was strange, given the weather was perfectly comfortable, and the degree of her trembling suggested it wasn’t from illness.

‘Why is she like that?’ Myra wondered.

Her initial assumption was that the girl had been scolded by the man, whom she presumed to be her master. The girl was shaking so badly, and yet the man showed no concern. If Myra had to guess, perhaps the girl had made a mistake and was now trembling in fear of the punishment awaiting her once they returned home.

Driven by her sense of compassion, Myra stood up. Julius looked up at her, confused.

"Myra, what are you doing?"

Without answering, Myra made her way to the next table.

“Hey, is everything alright?” she asked.

Karamir, who had been smiling slyly, responded with equal nonchalance.

“Well, I wouldn’t really know,” he said.

“How could you not? She’s shaking like a leaf,” Myra pressed, glancing at Mirabel.

Karamir looked between Myra and Mirabel, knowing full well why the girl was trembling.

‘It’s because of you people.’

The enemies of witches.

The ones who killed her mother.

While these particular clergy members might not have been directly involved in Mirabel’s mother’s death, it didn’t matter to her. Traumas didn’t always make sense.

Just like how people who are bitten by a dog develop a fear of dogs, or those who almost drown become terrified of swimming, Mirabel was reacting instinctively. She hadn’t fully awakened as a witch yet, but her fear of holy figures was deeply ingrained.

Realizing that they needed to get away from these people as quickly as possible, Karamir made his move.

“Let’s go, Miss Mirabel. It seems you’re not feeling well.”

“And where do you think you’re going? To punish her with a whip once you’re home?” Myra accused, grabbing Karamir’s wrist just as he reached for Mirabel.

Her grip was shockingly strong—strong enough that Karamir, despite being a grown man, couldn’t resist. He barely stopped himself from yelping like a child, maintaining his composure as he spoke.

“Haha, how could I ever do something so vile? I care deeply for this girl,” he said, his tone calm but his eyes narrowing.

“And even if I did, she is my slave—my property. You have no right to interfere, do you?”

“As someone who serves the gods, I can’t stand by and watch someone being mistreated. I think a bit of ‘education’ is in order.”

Karamir mentally sighed. ‘You think she’s trembling because of me? It’s you guys who are the problem.’

These self-righteous types always acted like heroes, never realizing how much of a menace they were to people like Mirabel.

At least a slave trader didn’t discriminate based on race. If something was valuable, they treated it well. Isn’t that a form of equality? Sometimes, Karamir wondered if slave traders were the real social reformers of this era.

The tension in the air grew thick. Julius, who had been quietly observing, stood and approached, ready to intervene. The tavern-goers, always eager for some drama, watched with bated breath.

It was a powder keg waiting to explode. But the one who broke the silence wasn’t any of them—it was Mirabel.

“I-I’m... fine,” she stammered, still keeping her head down.

She forced the words out, her voice barely audible.

Myra crouched down to make eye contact with her.

“If he’s hurting you, you can tell me. I’ll make sure he never does it again—”

Slap!

Mirabel slapped away Myra’s hand, then clung to Karamir, trembling in his arms.

Myra blinked in shock, while a satisfied smile crept across Karamir’s face.

“Well, it seems she got startled by some unfamiliar person touching her. But don’t worry, everything’s fine now,” Karamir said, lifting Mirabel into his arms as he stood.

He placed a gold coin on the table.

“I apologize for the commotion. This should cover our meal and the trouble.”

“Oh, don’t worry! You can cause a ruckus anytime!” The tavern owner, suddenly chipper, snatched up the gold coin and tucked it away. His formerly grumpy face now wore a bright smile.

As Karamir passed by Myra, he leaned in close and whispered, his voice laced with amusement.

“Who’s really the one causing harm here, I wonder? Maybe everyone else knows, except for you.”

“...”

“One more thing. My girl here eats better and lives better than you could ever imagine,” he added, gesturing toward the lavish food on the table.

Then, with a final smirk, Karamir left the tavern, Mirabel still in his arms.

Myra, speechless, could only watch as they departed. When her gaze fell upon the food left on the table—half-eaten bread, soup, and even meat—it was hard to believe it had been served to a mere maid. And she had eaten alongside her master at the same table.

No one who abused a slave would treat them like that.

"Ha... fuck," Myra muttered, letting out a heavy sigh and an uncharacteristically rough curse.

She had completely misunderstood the situation. The girl had seemed so pitiful, trembling like that. But if the man wasn’t the cause, then what was?

Myra spent several moments pondering the mystery, but no clear answers came to her.

“Um, here’s your order,” the waitress timidly said as she served their food—potato salad and ale, exactly what Myra had ordered.

But today, the meal Myra usually enjoyed so much didn’t seem appetizing at all.

I carried Mirabel to our room at the inn, where she clung to me like a baby koala. Even when we sat down on the edge of the bed, she didn’t seem to want to let go.

Her small body continued to tremble, the fear and emotions she had felt earlier still raw. The encounter with the clergy had clearly shaken her.

As her master, it was my job to help her calm down.

“Haha, Miss Mirabel, do you like me that much?”

Why the hell did that come out of my mouth? How did ‘Are you okay?’ turn into that?

Normally, a comment like that would’ve earned me a sharp glare from Mirabel, but this time, she didn’t react at all. This was worse than I thought.

If I could see her status screen right now, it would probably be full of emotional debuffs:

[Fear], [Anxiety], [Panic], [Mental Breakdown].

How was I supposed to calm her down? Talking might make it worse. Maybe I should buy an item with points?

After some thought, I made my decision.

Pat, pat.

I gently patted her back.

In a steady rhythm.

I kept it up until her trembling finally stopped.

The sun had set, and the room was bathed in the soft light of dusk. Our shadows stretched long across the floor.

My arm had long since gone numb, but Mirabel had finally stopped shaking. Now, she was just loosely holding on to my waist.

‘It looks like she’s missed her chance to pull away.’

She must’ve realized how embarrassing it was to cling to me like this but didn’t know how to extricate herself.

Honestly, I didn’t mind. In fact, I kind of liked it.

She was light, her small body fitting perfectly into my arms. She was soft, too, and there was a faint, pleasant scent coming from her neck.

The perfect cuddle pillow.

‘Damn it, Mirabel, even the way you’re clinging is top-tier.’

But I couldn’t let this go on forever. If I did, she might die of embarrassment.

“If you’re feeling better now, could you get down? You’re kind of heavy.”

As if she had been preparing for this exact moment, Mirabel slid gracefully out of my arms, moving far enough away to maintain some distance.

Her pale face was tinged pink from the sunset—or maybe from embarrassment. She shot me a half-lidded glare.

“I’m not… heavy,” she mumbled.

“You’ve been eating well recently, haven’t you?”

Uh-oh.

Her pupils wobbled slightly, as if I’d just hit on something she hadn’t considered.

Relax. It was just a joke. If you were heavy, the world would’ve sunk into the ocean by now.

I smirked, and Mirabel, realizing I was teasing her, puffed out her cheeks in frustration. After a moment, she let out a light sigh, the tension leaving her.

She hesitated before inching closer to me again, this time sitting at my side. The mood around her had shifted—more serious now.

Then, she began to speak.

“You probably don’t understand why I acted like that earlier, do you?”

“Yeah.”

No.

“I’ve been hiding something from you.”

I know.

“If I tell you… you might abandon me. I’m sure you will.”

Of course I wouldn’t.

Those were my thoughts, but no words left my lips.

Even without my response, Mirabel continued, her voice quiet and steady.

“Huu…”

She let out a long breath, releasing some of the tension, and then spoke in a determined voice.

“The truth is… I’m a witch.”

Yes, I know.