Author: 冬瓜茶仙人 / Winter Melon Tea Immortal
Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/
Chapter 102
“Just got off the boat,” Louis said.
Brooks didn’t want him to keep staring at the empty plate in his hands, so he casually pushed the plate along with the cup behind the counter and stood up straight. “The usual? An apple cinnamon roll?”
“…No.” Louis looked around. The shop looked no different from the last time he came in, which could reveal the owner’s nostalgic—if not stubborn—character from the unchanged decor that had stayed the same for a decade.
He paused, his gaze landing on the bread shelf, and for some reason, he suddenly felt like changing his mood. “The cream buns look good.”
Brooks inwardly roared in anger, cursing the gods for their joke, but managed to keep a calm expression as he packed them up for Louis, and calmly saw him out the door—until the sound of the wind chimes at the door faded away and could no longer be heard. Then, Louis began walking toward the old house.
He always felt something was off but couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong. Maybe it was because Priscilla was also in Fortuna City now, which made him a bit overly sensitive.
The streetlights had all turned on, and carrying the paper bag from Brooks’, he slowly walked down the long street, occasionally glancing at the shop windows beside the road. Some shops that were open late still had their doors open, and whenever passersby lingered slightly, the shop assistants looked out hopefully.
He didn’t usually shop, but as he passed a boutique women’s clothing store, he paused for a moment.
The goods in this area were mostly fashionable and expensive. To justify the prices, a lot of effort had gone into the display windows: A pair of silver high heels was placed in the most conspicuous position, reflecting an almost liquid-like shine under the window lights. The delicate design of the shoe tips and heels was very rare, seemingly a new arrival, and probably for promotional purposes. Below these shoes, there was an unexpectedly small and cute pair of baby soft shoes in the same silver color, embroidered with a pair of delicate butterflies using colorful silk threads.
Those shoes were so exquisite and eye-catching that if held in the palm of a hand, they wouldn’t take up more space than an apple, which was irresistibly cute.
Louis looked for a while, and the shop assistant inside quietly sized him up. She had noticed this handsome young man the moment he stopped. Although it was disappointing that men who paused outside a women’s clothing store usually already had partners, his coat and cane were clearly high-end, indicating wealth. Her professional training made her brace herself, preparing to invite him in for a look, but regretfully watched as he withdrew his gaze and walked away.
“Not buying?” the shop assistant muttered to herself, hopelessly leaning to the side to watch as his figure disappeared outside the door in a moment when something black seemed to move.
What was that? A shadow from the streetlight?
But street lights aren’t candles. How could their shadows move?
The shop assistant stared out for a moment, then silently retreated back.
Louis didn’t notice the movement behind him. The streets were scarcely populated, and he walked along the perimeter wall leisurely until, without warning, he stopped.
If it was just nervous sensitivity due to his preoccupations earlier, now he truly felt something was amiss.
He lowered his eyes to his feet. The streetlight was neither bright nor dark, casting a deep black shadow from his feet onto the wall, where another shadow was approaching from above.
Louis turned, holding his cane, but there was no one behind him.
Yet, the shadow on the wall definitely existed and was still moving.
Louis took a few steps toward the streetlight, pulling his shadow away from the wall. A gust of night wind blew, rustling the vine leaves on the wall, which quivered like a bunch of restless mice. The slowly moving shadow on the wall seemed like a fish lurking underwater, surfacing through the vine leaves at the top of the wall to reveal itself as a large, glossy-feathered raven with two heads looking in different directions, both sets of eyes fixated on Louis, motionless.
“A witch?” Louis narrowed his eyes. He made sure it indeed had two heads and wasn’t just a trick of the dark.
Without warning, the streetlights along the road, both in front and behind him, went out, except for the one where Louis stood, its circular halo enveloping him like an island in an endless darkness.
This double-headed raven was one of the signs of Witch Elena. Louis lowered his gaze in thought, but couldn’t recall having offended such a renowned witch, especially since a family auction was imminent and it was unusual for family members to stir up conflicts at this time.
The large raven seemed to sense his confusion, fluttering its wings and crying out with a voice unlike a normal crow’s—hoarse and breathless, as if someone had once forced a pot of hot pepper water down its throat.
A flash of silver, accompanied by the sound of the wind, abruptly silenced the cry. The raven on the wall, like a balloon, suddenly deflated, collapsed into a black piece of skin, and slid down the wall, turning into another shadow under the vine leaves. A delicate little silver knife was pinned down where the raven had been perched, with a few black feathers gently floating in the air.
“You scared it,” a woman’s voice suddenly said, with a tone of complaint. “That’s a bit ungentlemanly.”
Louis turned his head and indeed saw a woman standing not far away.
It was his first encounter with this witch, and her appearance was quite different from the folklore: she was neither dressed in a tight, high-slit black robe nor did she wear bright red lipstick. Even her looks had nothing to do with the term “bewitching”.
She wasn’t beautiful, but not ugly either. If anything, she resembled an ordinary receptionist at an agency, earning a modest salary and occasionally worrying about colleagues gossiping if she chose a slightly unconventional lipstick color.
“Elena?” Louis didn’t let his guard down because of her harmless appearance—no normal person would think encountering a witch alone at night was just an accident.
“I’ve been looking for you.” Elena stepped forward, her gaze never leaving Louis’s face. “I’ve been looking for you for many years… Where have you been? If you don’t like rabbits, why didn’t you say? I wouldn’t be mad.”
Rabbits? What rabbits?
Louis furrowed his brow, thinking this woman was somewhat mentally unstable. “What do you want with me?”
“Are you mad at me? Because of Freya? Or Peggy? But she provoked me first, always talking about Charlie, Charlie, Charlie, and said you gave her an umbrella… so I burned her hair off.” Elena approached closer, her eyes filled with fervor. “That was punishment. Who told her to lie? Right?”
Louis didn’t understand a word she said, but it didn’t stop him from quickly realizing what was happening—the witch had mistaken him for someone else.
Usually, the best strategy when dealing with a mad person is to agree with them, not doing anything that might provoke them, especially since Elena wasn’t just any mad person but a well-known witch.
Yet, Louis responded with a sarcastic smile.
“I disagree,” he said. “You’d better stop following me, Elena.”
Elena stared at him intensely for a moment, then suddenly broke into a smile. “You’re trying to trick me again. I won’t be mad at you.”
She said sweetly, “Come with me. I’m not angry anymore, and I won’t hold your past mistakes against you. We can start over.”
Louis stood his ground, arms crossed, watching as Elena approached him—then suddenly stopped, the smile vanishing from her face.
“What have you done?” she said coldly. “That’s not your magic… What are you wearing?”
The previously blurry light at Louis’s feet now became distinctly clear, with the black shadows on its edge stirring uneasily, as if they were tangible.
Elena couldn’t take another step forward.
“A little security measure,” Louis said calmly. “After all, no one knows when an accident might happen, one must always be prepared.”
As he spoke, Elena dodged several streaks of silver light—like the silverware that injured her raven, Louis had an anti-magic artifact, preventing her puppets from approaching and forcing them to hastily dodge his moves.
“Armand!” Elena screamed as the raven swiftly dove at Louis, its sharp claws striking a crisp sound against the cane he raised to block.
The vines on the wall seemed to come to life, rising high, detaching from the wall, and swiftly crawling towards Louis. He quickly tossed aside the paper bag in his hand, flicked open a lighter, and almost a second before the vines reached him, a fireball dropped from his palm, spreading rapidly across the vine leaves.
Elena watched his actions—Louis’s series of movements had no pause, as if he had planned every step from the second she appeared. Unconcerned by the flames at his feet, he charged straight at her.
“A so-called witch,” Louis’s eyes, devoid of emotion, stared at her as he advanced, “relies on magic and contracts to transfer power, excelling in ambush from the shadows, or creating invincible domains to wait for an easy prey…”
This sentence came from “The Origins and Categories of Magic, Part II” (written by Hershey Grukenski), a text familiar to every student who studied or took elective courses in magic. Louis showed no sign of magical power, yet he recited the textbook content word for word.
As he spoke in a murmur, his icy cane stabbed towards her neck. “With proper defenses, a strong attack can break through.”
Elena’s eyes widened, clearly seeing an unfamiliar and undisguised intent to kill in him.
The sudden chill made her shudder, nearly failing to dodge the strike. Her chestnut hair was shaved off by the seemingly blunt cane, missing her face and neck by inches.
This man isn’t Charlie.
The thought flashed through Elena’s mind. Although the face had changed slightly from his younger days…
Could it be an illusion? Not only were her puppet and Armand confused, but she herself was misled?
The worst part was, as soon as this thought entered her mind, his gaze became even colder, as if he were the real witch, lurking in her mind, fully aware of her every thought.
Indeed, Elena wasn’t skilled in close combat. She turned and ran, with the burnt vines behind her, leaping at Louis like a loyal guardian beast, only to be penetrated by the firelight.
As the flames died down, the street lights lit up from near to far, the dense darkness receding, and the sounds of insects nearby and the distant noise of carriages and voices gradually became audible again.
Louis didn’t continue the pursuit but watched the direction the witch had fled with a complicated expression.
The author has something to say:
Elena is a stalker, so Charlie has always been avoiding her.
But Charlie has never killed anyone.
In a way, neither Elena nor Louis were prepared, so their first encounter ended without a clear winner.
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