The door shut behind Aaron with a muted thud. The sound was swallowed by the swirling mist inside the cramped cottage. Warmth pressed against his skin, thick and heavy, like the air in a boiling room. The dim interior slled of herbs and damp soil. Glass jars crowded the shelves, each filled with strange residue. So floated. So pulsed.
The witch leaned her worn wand against the wall and lowered her hood. Her hair, silvery and tangled, fell across her shoulders. Sharp eyes studied Aaron from the shadows.
"You ca with desperation on your breath," she said. "A rare fragrance. People lie about fear. They never lie about despair."
He remained silent. His claw stayed unredacted in his palm. The breath felt cold, a reminder that hesitating could an death.
"You do not frighten ," the witch murmured as she stirred a pot bubbling on the hearth. "Blight is useless here unless you wish to carve your own throat."
He concealed his claws and fangs but kept his guard raised.
"What do you want from ?" Aaron asked.
She chuckled softly. "Nothing. You ca because you want sothing."
He tensed. She hadn’t asked for his na. She spoke as if she already knew him.
And she did, she had already figured out that he used Blight as a weapon.
Heaving a sharp sigh, he looked around the hut. The bottles were filled with eyes and organs of unknown creatures so looked disturbingly human. They sent an eerie sensation twisting through his gut, and he felt a wave of disgust.
Yet a strange fragrance lingered beneath it all. The herbs were not sealed like the rest, and their scent drifted freely through the room. It felt weird, unsettling, but with a hint of pleasant warmth dancing around him.
"I need entry into the inner city," Aaron said averting his eyes away from the alluring herbs.
"Of brewing," she corrected. "A district hidden under nine layers of seal and guarded by n who have lost their souls long ago. No one simply enters. There is always a price."
"What kind of price?"
Her smile widened at his question, as if she had waited for those words.
"To pass through my mirror, you must take a life."
She giggled as she said it.
She continued, "Not any life. The Outer Sector Boss."
Her eyes grew a little sharper perhaps a resentnt behind them but she didn’t stopped, her voice growing stern, "He rules the abandoned quarter along the broken wall. A parasite wearing a crown made of stitched n. Kill him and bring the sign around his neck."
The pot on the fire crackled. A thick, violet vapor rose and filled the air with the stench of wet moss.
Aaron kept his gaze firm. "Why him?"
"He maintains the balance." she answered. "And I need a little shift...."
She burst into laughter, and for a brief mont her hidden wand slipped into view, a gnarled twig topped with a tiny rodent skull.
Then a snarl twisted her face for a mont. Aaron flinched, she looked terrifying like that.
She turned towards him, "You would do that for ...wouldn’t you? My little mouse....."
’There’s sothing... deep disgust in her expression,’ he thought, judging her silently.
Her tone carried a deep emotion. It was hatred and righteousness in her own way. It was necessity.
Aaron thought about the mirror. A mirror is a passageway... a reflection... aren’t the Mist Goblins ranked "Reflection"? Is that really just a coincidence?
He pushed the thought away before it lingered too long. The witch might find it unpleasant or disrespectful if he asked the wrong question.
"So I kill your enemy, and you help enter the inner city," Aaron said.
She nodded in return. "You are correct, Mr. Little Mouse."
She clapped her hands after saying it, almost playfully as if sending a hitman to kill her enemy was nothing more than a child’s ga to her.
’Why am I using my world’s morality system here?!’ Aaron said while almost slapped his head out of habit.
But he too, did not care for the semantics. If this was the path, then he would walk it.
"Tell where to find him."
She dipped two fingers into the cauldron and drew glowing symbols in the air. The symbols turned clockwise, forming a map in shimring threads of pale light. A ruined tower marked the center. Around it sward crude, stick like silhouettes with oversized heads.
"You will et many of his collectors before you reach him," she said her silver hair fluttering in the smoke. "They sll the fear of intruders."
She winked this ti as she finish the sentence, sending chills down Aaron’s spine.
But instead of backing away, Aaron stepped closer.
"What are they?" he asked.
She smiled without softness. "People... residents of the Mist."
His jaw tightened.
He never thought he would be fighting people. He did believe this world might have humans, Elizabeth and the knight were proof of that but he never imagined he would have to fight them. And so soon.
She noticed it. Her voice turned stern, edged with anger. "Your hesitation will kill you."
His pupils dilated, his legs trembled despite his attempt to hide it. "I am not hesitating."
Her eyes went duller as she added. "But you soon might."
She snapped her fingers. Light collapsed. The map sank into Aaron’s palm as a burning mark. He gritted his teeth at the sting.
"Consider this a guide," she said. "The mark will darken as you approach the tower. When it turns black, you will be standing before his throne."
The mark was a blackened mist symbol with creaking dolls faces that were hidden behind the dense darkness where so crying and so laughing.
He looked at his palm, now faintly glowing.
"Do you think I can do it?" His voice low and grim. A dark expression dawn upon it.
The witch answered, "Maybe for you are ignorant enough to enter and stubborn enough to survive."
The cauldron sent smoke toward the chimney as the potion reacted vigorously to the new ingredient she had just shoved inside the pot.
Her voice changed a little, they went low, as she added, "And because you have already been chosen by sothing far stronger than "
He frowned. "Chosen?"
"You have the rcy of the God of Nightmare on you," she answered with a steady voice.
She rembered sothing amusing as she scoffed and added, "The sa one responsible for the demise of the Dream God. Soone who can kill a god isn’t a normal being."
She giggled like a little girl, her wrinkles popping out even more because of it. "And I am very normal."
Aaron’s back shivered. He did not respond.
"You may rest here until dawn," she continued. "The Outer Sector is calr when the day breaks. His eyes are slower under morning light."
She created a little info note where the creature information was written:
Blemish King: Amaat
Description: A malignant monarch born of filth and delirium. Considered a blessed one of the Blight Sun. Commands the northern front of the Mist Lake and remains under the protection of the Blight Kingdom. His followers call him holy blight.
Behavior: Considers all other life as ignorant vermin. Expands territory by spreading blight spores over wetlands and abandoned settlents. His voice can trigger fever, madness, or devotion.
Weakness: Nightmare. It is said that nightmares bypass his blight, turning his own mind against him.
As she handed Aaron the slip he read it imdiately,
"How am I supposed to fight him?" Aaron looked toward the witch.
She remained silent, a signal that said Aaron had to figure it out himself.
Aaron said with a solemn nod. "I leave now."
His tailed whipped as he said it.
The witch shook her head in admiration. But as much as she admired his resolve, she knew more than he did about the demon ruling the outer sector and her expression showed concern.
"Then you walk into his arms willingly. At least take the salve."
She tossed him a small jar. Inside was a dark paste glimring faintly.
"For wounds?" he asked.
"For terror," she replied. "It can protect the mind for so ti, but it isn’t a solution, just a resistance."
He pocketed it.
The witch stepped closer until her breath touched his cheek. "Do not speak to him. His voice can changes a person. Slay first. Wonder later."
He nodded once.
She laid her palm flat against the wall. It rippled. Mist flooded from the cracks and wrapped around Aaron’s feet. The room vanished. He stood outside again, near a dead road that stretched toward a shattered district. A cold lantern burned weakly on a crooked pole. The path ahead looked deserted, but the faint rustling behind ruined buildings betrayed watchers.
Aaron adjusted his fur and whiskers, secured his fangs, and began walking.
The mark on his palm glimred faintly, guiding him....
He walked a mile inside the ruins, but he didn’t find anyone or spot anyone. Even if he did, he would have made sure not to engage. It was his plan to figure out the monster first.
Suddenly, he heard steel scraping behind him. A tall figure crawled from an alley, joints snapping like dry branches. Its body shook uncontrollably. The head was swollen, its eyes too large and too yellow. It convulsed forward, dragging a chain that scraped sparks across stone.
Aaron stepped back and raised his dagger.
The creature spoke with a broken tongue, its voice trembling.
"Back... back... must go back... he waits... he waits..."
Then it lunged.
Aaron opened his mouth, his fangs locking onto the creature’s throat.
He bit down hard. The blight bite activated, and his fangs turned a sickly yellow.
The creature jerked violently, then crumpled to the ground. It twitched once before going completely still. No blood poured out. Instead, smoke hissed from the punctured throat.
System monotonous voice resounded:
[Leveled Up!]
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