Chapter 18: Time for a Reward
Funis pushed open the wood-grid glass door, the brass bell softly chiming behind her.
The ground floor of the “Blackwater River and Black Cat Inn” wasn’t very spacious. The maple floorboards were waxed, a leather sofa stood against one wall, and the firelight in the fireplace added a warm hue to the room.
Behind the wooden front desk sat a brown-haired woman wrapped in a blanket, wearing gold-rimmed glasses and absorbed in some kind of reading. She seemed deeply engrossed and didn’t notice Funis entering right away.
“Good evening, madam,” Funis greeted politely and reservedly.
The woman slowly raised her head, pushed her glasses up, and squinted toward the door.
Just then, Funis had removed her hood. Silken silver hair spilled down like a river of stars, and her transparent horns gleamed with dazzling brilliance. The little room instantly sparkled.
“Wow, at first glance I thought a little diamond had walked in,” the woman chuckled, snapping her book shut. “Now I see Chescia wasn’t exaggerating. You’re even prettier than she described.”
“Eh?” Funis wasn’t used to compliments from strangers. She instinctively tightened her cloak front. “You know the witch, madam?”
“‘The witch’... what a cute title. That old woman must be overjoyed hearing you call her that,” the brown-haired woman covered her mouth and laughed. She pulled off the blanket and stepped out from behind the counter. “Little diamond, what’s your name?”
Funis found it all a bit odd.
Chescia had told her to say she was from the Black Rose Society. Clearly, the woman before her knew Chescia well, and Chescia must have already told her that Funis would be arriving at the inn soon. But why hadn’t she told her Funis’s name?
Overthinking things was never a good habit. Funis also felt there was no need to dwell on such a trivial detail.
“My name is Funis, madam,” she said softly with a slight bow.
“Mm, Funis. A lovely name. Sounds like a gentle, intelligent lady.” The woman bent slightly, examining her. “Yet you carry thorns all over. Is Chescia trying to raise a rose that pricks bloody?”
The woman’s gaze looked soft and languid, but was in fact sharp and penetrating.
She saw through the ammo pouch and needle bag hidden under Funis’s sleeves, the revolver and stiletto under her skirt. The elegant exterior was always a facade—Funis had received assassin training.
“All right then, a little white rose, a little diamond... Funis, I’ll remember that name.” The woman took a key from her long dress pocket and handed it to Funis. “Second floor, end of the hallway. Don’t make too much of a mess in the room. Lock the windows and door before you sleep.”
“Understood, madam. Thank you very much.” Funis took the key and nodded.
Just as she was about to head upstairs, she suddenly remembered something.
“Madam, I haven’t asked your name yet.” She stepped back and peeked around the counter.
The brown-haired woman had just sat down again, opening a thick, heavy-looking hardback volume of parchment.
From her angle, Funis caught sight of the page—wild yet exquisite still-life sketches accompanied by extensive annotations. It was an alchemical material compendium.
The woman glanced at Funis, smiling faintly with subtle implication.
“Sandina,” she said.
...
Witch Sandina.
Funis remembered the name—from when she was still Sera Fred.
She once had a mentor at the Temperance Court named Conrad. He had taught Sera everything about being an enforcer, but one night, he was killed by a witch.
Funis remembered that name—Witch Sandina. She had been the one to kill Conrad.
Funis would never forget how her trembling hands had unlocked her former mentor’s house with a bloodstained key, only to find the young Charlotte standing dazed in the doorway, waiting in vain for her father to come home.
That night had been a nightmare—for both her and Charlotte.
It was the reason she later chose to adopt and raise Charlotte.
The floorboards creaked beneath her feet.
Pulling Funis’s wandering thoughts back to the present.
She was now holding a key again, standing at the end of a hallway, just a gentle push from the keyhole.
Her chest felt tight.
Funis only now realized how long she’d been holding her breath. After drawing a deep one, her tense body finally relaxed.
Now was not the time for these thoughts. Nor was it time for revenge. She didn’t even have the power for that yet. She had no idea what condition her adopted daughter Charlotte was in...
What mattered most now was gathering all the ingredients for the potion.
Funis needed to stay focused.
She opened the room door.
The bed linens were pristine white. The beige curtains were half-open. Birchwood furniture retained its natural hue. There was a coat rack and a full-length mirror. A very plain guest room—neither shabby nor luxurious.
Fitting for this neighborhood.
After all, there weren’t many rich folk in the Blackwater River District, but laborers could still afford three Correnzo silver coins a night for lodging.
Strangely, Funis found no sign of Chescia in the room, nor any sign that anyone else had been there. The floor was spotless, the furniture untouched, the bed undisturbed.
Funis had reason to believe she was the first person to enter this room in some time.
She had expected Chescia to reserve only one room, then force her to play the part of a cuddly pillow all night. In hindsight, this truly caught her by surprise.
“If she’s not here, does that mean…”
Suspiciously, she glanced around again. After confirming there was no one hiding in any corners or under the bed, Funis let out a long, satisfied breath.
She had been holding it in for so long. Now, alone in a private space, with a perfectly clean, full-length mirror... it couldn’t be more ideal.
Her mood lifted.
Humming a tune, Funis began undressing as she stepped into the room.
First went the cloak, tainted with smoke and ash.
Then all the cumbersome weapons and gear.
She lifted her skirt and slid off the leather holster holding her revolver and stiletto from the top of her lace stockings. She unbound the leather straps around her forearms under the puffed sleeves. Ammo pouches and needle kits clattered to the floor.
Then came the luxurious Gothic-style ceremonial dress.
With her teeth, she gently bit one corner of the satin ribbon, loosening the butterfly-shaped corset bow, then undid the laces at her back and waist. With skin like porcelain, Funis leapt from the snowy fabric like a sprite.
The corset that squeezed her waist without holding anything up came off easily.
Dropped to the floor.
A pale hair ribbon, undone casually.
Also fell to the floor.
As the silver bell jingled, Funis stripped as she walked. By the time she reached the mirror, only one final barrier remained on her tender, delicate body.
Still humming, she was just about to undo that last slender side-tie—
When she saw a familiar pitch-black figure reflected in the mirror. The figure was seated at the edge of the bed, smiling mischievously at her through the glass.
“Mm!?”
The window, which had been closed not long ago, was now half-open, letting in a soft breeze that sent a chill across her back.
Funis’s heart went just as cold.