Chapter 35: The Luggage Carrier(1)

Day 1.

I head to the forest, collecting herbs while referencing an herbal compendium.

Day 2.

Using the gathered herbs, I attempt to craft potions.

Day 3.

Acting on impulse, I leave my house and head for the witch’s place.

I didn’t want to go.

But there’s no other option left.

For three days, I used the crescent moon vessel non-stop.

I exhausted all the herbs I had gathered, only to come to a realization:

It’s impossible. With my current skills, I can’t even create a basic potion.

I mixed the herbs listed as potion ingredients in the compendium.

A red-black liquid, a blue-green liquid—no matter how many times, dozens, or even hundreds of times I tried mixing them,

I couldn’t produce anything resembling a potion.

In other words, I haven’t even reached the starting line.

I was naïve. I thought crafting potions would be easy if I just followed the recipe.

But in three days, all I managed to produce was junk.

Not even a simple healing potion.

I tried drinking some, after lightly cutting my finger to test it.

It wasn’t so disgusting that I wanted to vomit, but it wasn’t tasty enough to finish, either.

It was just bad. Unpleasant. And worst of all, it didn’t heal my cut.

I tried over and over, experimenting with different methods. Nothing worked.

I just want to stand at the starting line—

to find a way to reach it.

The moment I realized how to do that, I was filled with despair.

It’s not here.

If such a book exists, it’s only at the witch’s place.

No one else has it—not even Ambrosius.

A book that details how to properly craft potions.

I wondered if the witch had foreseen this outcome.

Of course, she had. She’s a witch, after all.

The kind of woman who could hum a tune while effortlessly crafting the potions I failed to make.

I remembered that moment—

The witch’s demonstration of her crescent moon vessel.

At the time, I thought she was just throwing ingredients in at random.

I assumed even haphazard methods could produce a potion.

She treated it so casually, but now I understand.

Her skill was unparalleled. She’s a master.

I hurried through the path, brushing past monsters with little concern.

Even so, I didn’t arrive at her house until midday.

At the base of a massive, twisted tree stood her brick house.

A wooden door. I rang the doorbell mounted at an odd angle above me.

Ring-ring.

“Yes, yes, just a moment. I’m coming, hold on now,”

came her voice, as the door creaked open slightly.

The witch poked her face out through the gap, her large fox ears twitching.

Her eyes widened when she saw me.

“Oh my, my! Wof, the young boy, is it?”

“Ah, uh, hello.”

The witch wore a black-patterned robe over a black-patterned dress.

Her outfit was as witch-like as ever.

Her chest was boldly exposed, and her skirt was short.

Three fluffy tails stood out conspicuously.

I sighed. A slight bend, and I’d likely see up her skirt.

“Come in, come in. Don’t be shy now.” 

She said cheerfully.

“Ah, yes. Excuse me.” 

I replied hesitantly as I stepped inside.

She led me into the living room.

It was as cluttered as ever, filled with all sorts of objects.

Piles of books overflowed from the shelves. Strange, suspicious tools lay scattered everywhere.

Staffs jutted out of a cylindrical holder, some fallen and rolling onto the floor.

For some reason, there were paintings, pots, statues, necklaces, rings—all strewn about.

The only thing still intact was the sofa.

“Now, now, take a seat. I’ll bring you some herbal tea.” 

She said, heading off.

“Oh, no, really, you don’t have to—” 

I started to protest.

But she was already gone.

Resigned, I sat down on the sofa.

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