"We don't know him!" Someone even blurted out, trying to distance themselves.
"Oh?" Serie paused, her eyebrows raised: "Is that so?"
"Yes, yes… It has nothing to do with us…" The group of youths nodded like chickens pecking at rice. Although they were all gangsters, they weren't very old, and few were truly ruthless. Most were just social degenerates who bullied the weak, no better than petty thugs.
Serie stared at the tallest youth, who seemed to be their leader, and suddenly smiled: "However…"
"Your jacket is quite nice."
"Ah?" The tall youth had just let out a sigh of relief when he heard this and was momentarily stunned. He looked up and suddenly saw Serie charging towards them again.
In his fear-filled pupils, Serie's fist grew larger and larger.
He only managed to let out a short, distorted gasp.
Then...
"Ah—!!!"
Screams of agony echoed through the midnight bar once more.
Not long after, the heavy wooden door was pushed open.
Serie walked out.
The door slammed shut behind her with a "bang," cutting off the remaining wails from inside the bar.
The crisp, cold midnight air filled her lungs. She squinted slightly, adjusting to the dim light outside the door.
Outside the bar, a mess was strewn across the ground.
Several figures huddled on the cold flagstones, their faint, intermittent moans like the whimpers of dying small animals.
A little further away, two or three figures were frantically swatting at the flames that had erupted on their bodies.
The flames seemed alive, hissing as they clung to their leather jackets, making them shriek in terror.
Serie's gaze indifferently swept over the chaos, as if she were looking at a pile of insignificant trash.
She bent down and gently placed the shopping bag, filled with daily necessities, at her feet.
As she moved, her fingertip casually wiped across her cheek, removing a streak of semi-congealed blood, as naturally as brushing away a speck of dust.
Then, she pulled out a crumpled pack of cheap cigarettes from her pocket, skillfully shook one out, and placed it between her slightly pale lips.
Serie didn't take out a lighter; she simply brought her hand to the cigarette and snapped her fingers. A burst of fierce flame ignited between her fingers, illuminating her sharply defined jawline.
She tilted her head slightly, leaned in, lit the cigarette, and took a deep drag.
Grayish-white smoke spiraled upwards, blurring the lingering embers of violence that hadn't completely faded from her amber eyes.
The night wind blew, lifting the hem of the black leather jacket she was wearing.
It wasn't a very good fit…
[Witch Task: I'm So Thirsty!!!] has been completed.
It's time to leave.
Not just leave the bar.
Serie raised her hand, somewhat tiredly pushing her messy bangs back down over her forehead, concealing the amber eyes that were now filled with desolation and depravity.
The Control Bureau's hounds have keener noses than anyone else. The bloodstains, the traces of struggle, even the lingering smell of burning in the air here…
All were signposts pointing to her.
Elena's warm yet fragile home…
She couldn't stay any longer.
She couldn't bring this bloodshed and pursuit to that kind grandmother and granddaughter.
Serie flicked her finger, and the burnt-out cigarette butt arced a faint red line, landing on the cold ground.
Her shoe sole casually ground it, extinguishing the last spark completely.
But before she left, Serie could perhaps help them one last time.
She bent down, picked up the shopping bag at her feet, and her determined figure merged into the deep night of the town, without looking back.
When she pushed open the slightly flimsy wooden cabin door, her movements were so light they were almost silent.
Dim yellow light illuminated the dining table.
Several carefully prepared dishes had long since grown cold, and congealed grease formed waxy rings around the edges of the plates.
On the sofa, Elena's small body was curled up in a ball, her red hair somewhat disheveled and clinging to her temples.
She had clearly exhausted herself waiting and fallen into a deep sleep, not even noticing the door opening.
Serie's heart warmed, then a pang of bitterness arose.
She silently placed the shopping bag beside the sofa, where the old, lame dog lay.
The old dog's cloudy eyes lifted warily.
Upon seeing Serie, its wet nose twitched slightly, but soon, the old dog's tensed muscles relaxed.
It let out a soft breathy sound in its throat and lay back down.
Serie gently patted its head, then carefully slipped her arms under Elena's neck and knees.
With almost no effort, she lifted the frail little body from the sofa.
The girl unconsciously let out a muffled whimper in her sleep, her small head instinctively burrowing into the warm spot in Serie's embrace, then sinking into deeper sleep, with only her eyelashes casting faint shadows beneath her eyelids.
Serie carried Elena, her steps extremely light, into the room where she had briefly stayed, but which originally belonged to Elena.
She carefully placed Elena on the bed with the floral sheets and pulled the quilt over her.
After all this, Serie stood quietly by the bed, gazing at the girl's defenseless sleeping face in the moonlight streaming through the window.
This moment of peace and warmth, like stolen time, made her linger, and made her realize even more clearly—
She really couldn't stay here any longer.
If she weren't a witch, or… if the Control Bureau could never find this corner.
Perhaps this wooden house, filled with the scent of food and echoing with maidenly folk songs, could truly become a harbor where she could rest.
Serie had a premonition that she would get along very well with them, and… they needed each other.
Unfortunately, there was no 'if.'
They were destined to be mere passersby in each other's lives.
Perhaps one day, when Serie was free, their paths would cross again.
But definitely not now.
In the moonlight, Serie's shadow on the girl's body peeled away inch by inch, like a receding tide.
Elena seemed to sense something, her eyelashes trembling like startled butterfly wings.
She suddenly opened her eyes, but…
The sun had already risen outside the window.
Elena got up in a panic and looked around; the room was empty, and she was sleeping in the small bed that Serie was supposed to be temporarily occupying.
This filled Elena with an ominous premonition.
She practically rolled out of bed, rushed barefoot to the living room, but the sight before her made her cover her mouth in shock.
On the dining table, the cold dishes from last night had been eaten clean, and beside them was a pile of things—
Bulging sacks of rice, bundles of long-lasting vegetables, smoked meat carefully wrapped in oil paper, heavy salt shakers and sugar cubes, several bolts of thick, plain cotton cloth, a brand new pair of leather boots…
There was even a thick wad of crumpled banknotes, with suspicious scorch marks on the edges.
Other than that, there was nothing else.
No note was left, not even a goodbye.
Elena frantically rushed to the front door and pulled it open forcefully.
On the muddy snow outside the door, several clear, solitary footprints stubbornly pointed deep into the forest.
However, after only a few steps, the tracks were gradually erased by the freshly fallen, vast snow.
In the end, only a boundless expanse of white remained.
So clean, as if everything had just been a dream.
Elena stood frozen on the doorstep, lost in thought, gazing at the pure white landscape.
She didn't even… know that person's name.
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