Pickling Bavangshi to Perfection

"Ahahahaha... so ticklish! Hahahahaha... no! No..."

As night fell, breathless laughter echoed through the entire treehouse, its trembling tone filled with inexplicable grief and indignation.

"Will she... be okay?"

Freya, passing the backyard along the corridor, could not help stopping. She tugged at Samael's sleeve and asked worriedly.

"Don't worry. Listen to how happily she's laughing. She'll definitely be fine."

Leaning against a courtyard pillar, Samael took small sips of the fae specialty mead and answered with a smile.

Was that laughter? Why did it sound like crying to me?

Freya was somewhat confused, but having received Samael's assurance, she obediently refrained from asking further and went back to packing her things.

Gloucester City was no longer worth staying in. Early tomorrow morning, they would set off for the Grand Cathedral.

Seemingly having heard the discussion outside, the laughter erupting from one of the low huts abruptly turned into intermittent curses.

"Samael! You... bastard! You... jerk! Pig... hahaha... swine! Just wait, I won't... let you off! With something... this mild... don't even think... of making me... making me surrender! Hahahahaha!"

The Ancient Serpent's upturned lips curved into a delighted smile as he sighed.

"Tsk, tsk. Fae constitutions really are different. She's been cursing for half an hour and still has so much energy. Then let's add another two hours. Hang in there, Bavangshi."

"..."

At once, the racket from the hut stopped short, like a duck whose throat had been seized.

"Ahahahahaha... wahahaha... despicable... shameless... Mother... Mother, save me!"

A moment later, amid wild laughter, the warped and trembling voice tearfully accused someone of bullying her and deployed every brat's ultimate weapon—calling for a parent!

"Calling your adoptive mother won't help. Calling your real mother won't help either. You're under my supervision now, so save your strength. That way, you