With his previous experiences, Yihan had gradually grasped how to control time within dreams.

It flowed much like reality. If he slept seven or eight hours in the real world, he’d spend roughly the same duration in the dream realm. With careful planning, it could still be put to good use.

After accompanying Lia for a while longer to sell some matches, he checked the time. Realizing it was nearly up, he quickly made an excuse, bid her farewell, and rushed to a secluded corner to await waking.

Under the power of mental suggestion, his consciousness dissolved and reformed swiftly. Moments later, Yihan opened his eyes with slight effort, gazing at the familiar ceiling.

Morning light bathed half the room in warmth, illuminating dust motes dancing in the sunbeams.

Habitually, he reached under the covers—still ice-cold. *What the hell?* he wondered. *How do people in this world survive winter nights?*

Dressed and stepping outside, Yihan suddenly remembered: this villa wasn’t his alone anymore. Last night, that eccentric Witch Hunter had shamelessly moved in. She was probably still asleep.

Before breakfast, he liked stretching his limbs in the courtyard for a few minutes—a ritual to greet the day’s work with vigor.

But the moment he stepped through the gate, he froze.

A wooden tub, easily half a person’s height, sat brazenly on the lawn. That alone wasn’t shocking—he’d seen such things. What chilled him was the head resting on its rim. The unusual dark-blue hair could only belong to Carola, the Witch Hunter who’d moved in last night.

Though he saw only the back of her head, Yihan could easily picture her state: neck crooked, body submerged in a bathing tub. His mind instantly screamed *murder scene*.

*No way. Is she already dead?*

*Who did this? Why like this? Trying to frame me?*

His hands and feet trembled as he rushed over, praying he might still save her.

Leaning over the tub’s edge, he choked on the unexpectedly alluring sight before him.

A woman with porcelain skin sat slumped in the water, legs raised and spread wide—an invitation in posture alone. Her slender arms rested limply at her sides, palms pressed against soft thighs. Her head tilted as if in deep slumber, glistening droplets rolling down the elegant curve of her neck.

Tense as he was, Yihan noticed her eyelashes trembling slightly—she truly was asleep.

"Hey—hey—" he growled lowly, then slammed the tub’s side.

Her eyes snapped open. Icy blue light flashed within them, and Yihan felt as if struck by a glacial current—his blood freezing solid in an instant.

The next second, Carola’s azure eyes clearly reflected the boy’s rigid form. Her thick lashes fluttered as she stretched out an arm, fingers splayed, and drawled a lazy greeting: "Mornin’—"

Water droplets pattered against the wood.

Yihan’s expression darkened. "What are you doing bathing in my garden at this hour?"

"Training. Witch Hunters have... unique methods." Carola answered matter-of-factly, then arched her back in a luxurious stretch. Her chest swelled beneath the thin fabric—full, round, like two ripe pomelos.

Only then did Yihan notice she wore a clinging undershirt. Its sheer, pale fabric had tricked him into thinking she was bare. Still, only silhouettes were visible—nothing more.

Catching his shifting gaze, Carola arched a delicate brow, her smile turning playful. "Were you excited just now?"

"I’d be *more* excited if you were naked."

"Dream on~"

She feigned a kick at him, forgetting she stood in the tub. Her snow-white toes struck the hard wood. Her pretty face contorted, features scrunching in pain.

Yihan turned away wordlessly. After just one night, she acted like a wife of three years—utterly unreserved, with zero boundaries. Bathing before him, casually trying to kick him... *Is this otherworld really this open?* he wondered.

Baffled, he cooked a decent breakfast, leaving a portion for Carola. After eating, he headed toward town.

Halfway there, the ever-cheerful Witch Hunter fell into step behind him, hands clasped behind her back, round hat bobbing like a shadow. No matter how fast Yihan walked, he couldn’t shake her.

"The Crimson Flame Witch is attacking. Shouldn’t you be off saving the world instead of strolling with me?"

"There are other Witch Hunters. Let them handle it. If they fail, I’ll go then."

"Oh? So you’re the ace up their sleeve?"

"No. I mean—if we’re all doomed anyway, dying together is cleaner."

"...Are you sure you hunt witches? Or are you just here for comedy?"

"For comedy? Our guild has a true master. I’ll introduce you sometime..."

With a chatterbox beside him, the road shortened. Yihan’s steps grew light. Spring sunshine dappled through layered leaves onto his face. A cool forest breeze lifted his coat hem and her skirt, revealing Carola’s slender calves, rosy knees, and a glimpse of plump, pale thighs—a half-hidden sight that stirred the imagination.

Throughout, Carola wore an enigmatic smile, glancing around as if searching for conversation. "By the way, Yihan—what did you do last night?"

"Sleep. What else?"

"Heh. Don’t get mad, but... I entered your room last night—"

Yihan whirled around, eyes blazing. "What did you *do*?"

"Nothing! I just wanted to drink with you. But you were already asleep, so I left!" She flinched at his intensity, waving her hands frantically.

Yihan looked away, jaw tight. A cold dread seeped in.

He’d never considered this: what if someone woke him *from the outside* while he slept?

Being forced out of the dream was tolerable. But what if it damaged his mind or body?

This dream-walking ability reminded him of anime he’d watched—players linking minds to machines, logging into games. Forced disconnection meant brain death.

He didn’t know if it was the same. But he’d never risk finding out.

*From now on, I lock my door. No one near me while I sleep.*

"Good thing you didn’t wake me," he said gravely. "The consequences would’ve been severe."

"How severe?"

"I’m mentally unstable. Sleep is my only peace. If disturbed... I become violent. I’d destroy everything I see."

"Good heavens! You’re dangerous. I’ll stay far away!"

She gasped and stepped back—truly keeping her word.

Yihan clicked his tongue and quickened his pace. Dallying any longer might make him late.

Beneath bright sunlight, the boy walked down the verdant forest path, his backlit figure gilded and hazy against the scenery.

Carola slowed, then stopped completely.

She narrowed her lovely eyes, delicate brows furrowing as she stared at his retreating form. Her thoughts churned.

He clearly knew nothing about his own condition. His warning held exaggeration, yet genuine fear of being disturbed while asleep bled through.

But that was the problem.

*No one could possibly disturb him.*

*So why this terror?*

Only one explanation remained: he had no idea what happened to his body when he slept. And no one had ever told him.

*How fascinating. I’ve never encountered this before.*

Carola stroked her smooth chin, lost in thought.

She remembered last night vividly. Bursting into his room, determined to drink with him even if scolded, she’d leaned over his bed in the moonlight—

The quilt lay undisturbed. The pillow was smooth.

Where a sleeping man should have been, the bed was completely empty.