Yihan’s mood only lifted when the shop closed in the afternoon.

As he put it, he was easygoing by nature. As long as life went on—even if it was rough—he’d be fine. Besides, the Crimson Flame Witch hadn’t arrived yet. There was still room for change. So why spend all day frowning and blaming fate?

Having transmigrated, he should cherish this hard-won chance and become a master of life.

Today’s unsold bread was plentiful. The plump shopkeeper generously gave it all to him. Yihan happily stuffed a bulging sack, thinking his dinner and tomorrow’s breakfast were settled.

After locking the shop, he turned to find Carola waiting at the street corner. A breeze lifted her skirt, the fitted dress accentuating her graceful figure. For a moment, she looked like a vibrant oil painting: beneath a sky ablaze with crimson and gold, red-brick and yellow-walled houses resembled a storybook castle. Windmills turned slowly in the fields, whispering with the wind. Beneath tangled vines, a breathtakingly beautiful woman stood quietly against the wall, gazing at him with tender focus.

His heart quickened. Dormant hormones stirred.

“What are you doing here? Looking for me?” He walked toward her.

“Mm. Waiting to go home with you.” Her voice was soft, gentle.

Yihan almost laughed. Was this a slip of the tongue? Or just how people here saw shared lodgings? She was merely a tenant; he was just a landlord. Could a shared roof truly be called “home”?

Yet the word still tugged at him. An orphan in his past life, he craved belonging.

“You could’ve gone back alone.”

“I don’t have keys. Must I squat outside your door again like last time? People passing by would laugh, saying I’d been thrown out.” Carola’s eyes widened in disbelief, brimming with the same wounded complaint he’d seen when they first met.

*So this is her true self*, Yihan thought, amused. *Where did I get the idea she was gentle and quiet?* He pulled a cream-filled bun from his bag and handed it to her.

Carola blinked. “What’s this? Don’t tell me this is my dinner! One bun to send me off? I’m not that easy to please!”

“What nonsense are you thinking?” Yihan chuckled helplessly. “I closed late. Dinner’ll be delayed. This is just to tide you over so you don’t starve later.”

“Do you think I’m a child begging for snacks?” The Witch Hunter grumbled but took the bun, then tried to grab another. Yihan firmly blocked her.

Her loud, lively personality made it hard to picture her as a Witch Hunter. Yihan had never met one before, but her attitude made him see her as just a regular girl.

In his old world, many girls were like Carola—young, well-mannered, brimming with confidence. They loved shopping, gossiping, debating their favorite CPs, laughing at funny videos, complaining about diets while sneaking midnight snacks, staying up reading, or sleeping in on weekends.

Yihan knew plenty like her. Yet none became the sweet romance he’d hoped for.

He shook his head with a wry smile and quickened his pace.

After buying fresh produce at the market, they returned to the villa. Yihan headed to the kitchen while Carola lingered, watching idly.

Many fruits and vegetables were unfamiliar. Unsure of their flavors, he turned to the Witch Hunter.

She stared as if he were an alien. “How have you even survived?” she nearly blurted.

“I had someone cooking for me before. Now I’m learning alone.” Yihan made a quick excuse. “Could you advise which veggies are edible?”

Carola studied him oddly. “You’re not from Windmill Town, are you?”

“…Nonsense.” His heart lurched, but his face stayed calm.

“These are local crops. Your ignorance is strange. You must be from elsewhere.”

Though her guess missed the mark, it wasn’t entirely wrong. Yihan met her gaze evenly. “So what?”

Carola exhaled, her tone softening. “I am too. There’s a saying: those who lose their homeland become wanderers wherever they go.”

*What does she mean?* Yihan’s mind raced. He knew nothing of her past—why she hunted witches, where she came from, if she had family.

Perhaps his curiosity showed. Or perhaps she wanted to bridge the gap. Carola silently moved to the cutting board and began washing vegetables.

“If you travel, you might’ve heard of Spa Capital. It’s gone now—vanished from maps. But ten years ago, it thrived on its hot springs.”

“How… did it vanish?”

Carola turned to him. Her sea-blue eyes held the quiet sorrow of a dying sunset, darkness swelling behind them. She forced a smile, but her bloodless lips trembled. “The Witch… destroyed it.”

Yihan stiffened, every hair standing on end.

He’d heard tales of the Crimson Flame Witch’s power—how she crushed armies. But erasing an entire city? That defied imagination.

“Which Witch?”

“The Cataclysm Witch.” Carola steadied her voice. “That’s all we call her. Few survive seeing her. They say she’s lived a thousand years—one of the continent’s deadliest. We never knew why she targeted us. She simply appeared… and erased Spa Capital.”

“I was the only one who escaped.” Her smile held, but tears glistened at the corners of her eyes.

Yihan had no words. “My condolences,” he murmured weakly.

Then he remembered the approaching Crimson Flame Witch. If every Witch wielded such power, should he really gamble on staying? Or flee while he could?

Frustration surged. *Why can’t I just live peacefully after transmigrating?* He only wanted a stable home, steady work, a gentle wife someday. Was that too much to ask? Compared to other transmigrators who conquered kingdoms and collected beauties, his dreams were humble.

A heavy silence draped over them like black velvet. Sunset bled away behind the horizon. Night swallowed the world.

Yihan lit a coal oil lamp. Its dim glow filled the kitchen.

Beside him, Carola spoke softly: “Yihan, I told you to run because I won’t gamble with your life. Witches are dangerous precisely because they can’t control their power. They’re a breed of extreme beauty and extreme violence. History is littered with disasters from their rampages—that’s why Witch Hunters exist.”

“From the moment I learned of you, I knew you weren’t from this town. No family. No friends. You’re a wanderer, like me.”

Yihan met her gaze. Carola looked back, serene, a gentle smile on her lips.

“We’re both outsiders. Against the Crimson Flame Witch, we have no certainty. I only want to keep you safe. I want you to live.”

“Why care so much?” Yihan whispered. “We’ve known each other two days. Barely strangers. You don’t owe me this.”

The Witch Hunter held his eyes. Her smile deepened, yet sorrow bled through.

On this continent, souls cycled through rebirth. The dead returned in new bodies, memories erased, souls remade—yet some indelible mark remained. Those who loved them could still feel it.

For five years, she’d wandered, met countless faces. None stirred in her the fierce, familiar pull Yihan did. It nearly made her cling to him desperately.

*Once, I failed to protect him.*

*Now, I want you to live. To have peace.*

*Even if you’re only like him… not him.*