7: Who made me enjoy toying with little boys?

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Facing the elegant and noble stranger before him, Ian felt an unavoidable tension creeping in. Although he possessed the innate talent to enter the mysterious realm, he had encountered only two people in this world so far. This lady before him was the third.

This was the world of the dead.

Who could guess what identity or past this woman might possess?

“Who are you?”

Ian subtly prepared himself to flee at a moment’s notice.

At Ian’s question, the young woman slightly raised an eyebrow.

“That poor girl went off with your wanderer friend, chasing after a ridiculous golden apple. How could such a ghostly place possibly have golden apples?” Her tone was laced with clear mockery.

Wanderer friend?

Ian’s mind quickly connected the dots. The person this mysterious lady referred to must be another of his acquaintances—like Ariana, a wandering soul.

Pendro Natge.

An ordinary name for a boy passionate about adventure; perhaps that was why this mysterious lady called him a “wanderer.”

Even within the mystic illusion, Pendro tirelessly explored this world for many years—so many years that, in his own words, he had lost count of time.

A soul that had lived for at least a millennium, yet his appearance remained miraculously youthful, around fifteen years old. Perhaps that was the marvel of the mystic illusion. According to Ariana, who also dwelled in this world, Pendro had always looked that young when she first met him.

It was unclear whether Pendro had offended this mysterious lady.

Were they acquaintances?

What kind of relationship did they share?

Ian’s curiosity got the better of him.

He knew little about Pendro Natge, except that he combined the wisdom of an elder with the impetuosity of youth, occasionally tinged with some naïveté.

He was probably not a character from any original tale—after all, Ian had never heard that name in history or literature.

What obsession had kept Pendro Natge trapped in this mystic illusion for so long?

And quests like “searching for the golden apple” seemed exactly the kind of adventure Pendro would embark on, often dragging Ariana along as his companion.

Ian recalled how Pendro once enthusiastically took the five-year-old Ian along on a quest to find the vile Helpo—the most notorious dark wizard in their world of sorcery.

Me?

Five years old?

Hunting vile Helpo?

Ian still found that memory utterly absurd.

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“Is this golden apple... the one from the fairy tales I know?” Ian addressed the elegantly dressed woman before him, trying to adopt a humble tone and even attempting an innocent, childlike expression to leverage his youth.

“Frivolous nonsense. Do you really expect golden apple trees to bloom in this world?” The noblewoman sneered, her gaze patronizing, as if looking at a fool.

“The last golden apple tree was felled long ago, back when I was alive. Not to mention, there’s no way such a thing exists in this mystic illusion.” Her tone was resolute.

“There are golden apples in the living world?” Ian was taken aback.

At that moment, the mysterious lady turned her head, her stunning face suddenly drawing close to Ian’s. She stepped forward twice, and a wave of rose fragrance enveloped him.

Ian immediately took a step back.

The woman’s presence—her aura and everything else—was overwhelmingly oppressive.

“What do you think fairy tales are? Does a wizard count?” The question silenced Ian utterly.

Looking at him, the mysterious lady suddenly smiled.

“Though you truly are a fool, dull as a pig, it’s just that you’re different.” She raised her pale finger, pointing toward a faintly visible castle nestled within the distant forest.

“If you want to learn magic, come find me there.”

Following her finger’s direction, Ian glimpsed the castle—weathered by time, ancient and eerie. Suddenly, he understood.

This was the sorceress from the castle Ariana often mentioned!

Sure enough.

His urge to run away was not mere cowardice—it was a primal instinct to sense a powerful wizard! Yes! That must be it... an innate sensitivity to magic!

“What must I give in return?” Ian immediately rationalized, cautious in response to the mysterious sorceress’s invitation. After all, there is no such thing as a free lunch.

“Hm?”

The sorceress looked at Ian with surprise, even circling him while her black robe swept silently over the dirt, remaining pristine without a speck of dirt.

“Seems you’re still unaware of just how special you are...” She sneered.

Then, her expression changed abruptly.

“Of course, for someone so young to grasp the rules of the wizarding world, it only means your dullness is temporary. That’s not a bad thing in the living world either.”

She stopped, locking eyes with Ian.

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“If you truly want to follow the principle of equivalent exchange, then bring me my magic mirror.”

Upon saying this, Ian caught a fleeting look of reminiscence in her beautiful eyes, but her tone quickly grew cold again.

That moment of nostalgia vanished without a trace.

“Find my mirror, bring it to me... and you will learn the most powerful magic from me.”

“Mirror?” Ian frowned, puzzled.

The sorceress offered no reply, only a mysterious smile.

“Actually, even if you don’t bring the mirror, you can still come to learn from me.” Her smile took on an enigmatic quality, perhaps meant to intimidate Ian.

“Who says I don’t enjoy toying with little boys?” she added with a slightly wicked tone.

No sooner had she spoken than Ian felt his time was up. His final vision was the noble sorceress, quietly watching him as he slowly became transparent and vanished.

With their voices gone, the entire town fell silent once more.

The sorceress’s expression grew somber. She turned and, her heels clicking on the cobblestone path, walked into the tranquil forest, making her way back to her castle.

The castle stood in a clearing surrounded by forest, its towering walls of weathered stone entwined with vines, bearing the marks of age. Sharp spires pierced the cloud-covered sky.

The weather here was the complete opposite of the town—gloomy and oppressive.

Yet pushing open the heavy door and stepping inside revealed a magnificent scene: a spacious hall centered by a carved marble table draped with a crimson silk cloth, scattered with gold-rimmed cutlery. The roaring fireplace cast flickering shadows upon exquisite murals on the walls.

The tales of knights and princesses seemed to come alive in the firelight.

The sorceress moved gracefully, and from the moment she entered, everything around her began to operate automatically.

Candles lit one by one; the tablecloth floated down to cover the table perfectly; cutlery arranged itself neatly; various dishes began to drift out from the kitchen, each placed on plates that floated orderly to the table.

Among them was a golden roasted suckling pig.

The sorceress glanced at it silently before murmuring softly, “I’ve already seen one stupid pig today; I don’t want to see another...”

With that, the pig vanished back to the kitchen. Soon, a lamb took its place on the table in the same manner.

Her robes shimmered with unseen magical starlight, becoming impeccably clean and tidy.

She did not eat, instead walking slowly to the bedroom.

“Magic mirror, magic mirror, who is the fairest woman in the world...”

In the empty room, the sorceress seemed to mutter to herself, sitting before a dressing table devoid of a mirror, her voice tinged with self-mockery and complexity.