In a little wooden house in Truffle Town, in the Black Forest.
The Old Witch looked over the boy on the bed. He was burning all over, with abnormal beads of sweat covering his face and chest. His face was redder than an apple.
A Demon Hunter with a greatsword strapped to his back stood in the room and asked, "Can he still be saved?"
"This boy is the target I was hired to protect. If he dies, where am I supposed to collect my fee?"
"Sigh."
"This is the worst deal I've ever taken. I thought I only had to escort him into the kingdom to collect the reward. Who knew there'd be a rebellion in the kingdom, and that he'd come down with a serious illness?"
The Old Witch lowered her head and carefully examined the boy on the bed. Suddenly, she sneered. "This is a fever."
"As far as I know, one of my colleagues created it. Mortals think it's a naturally occurring plague, but they don't know it's a vicious curse."
The Demon Hunter scoffed. "More than half the plagues on this land were created by you witches."
The Old Witch said bluntly, "I can save him."
"But I want this estate you're staying in."
The Demon Hunter had no objections. The estate belonged to the boy, so it had nothing to do with him. "I agree. Once he wakes up, you can get him to sign the deed yourself."
"Have him transfer the estate to you."
"But transferring an estate requires a priest's approval. Are you sure you can get past that hurdle?"
The Old Witch nodded. "I have my ways."
"The people of the Church are the most corrupt of all. Just give them money, and they'll let demons do business right inside their churches. I'm just a mere witch. What does that matter?"
"Fine. I'll save the boy now. It'll be the last good deed I ever do."
"How ridiculous. Who would've thought that one day we witches would save someone?"
"This is an insult to my entire career."
Of course, that was all bullshit.
Because the person who had secretly cast the vicious curse on the boy in the bed was none other than the Old Witch herself.
When she saw a Fallen Prince with no one to turn to, she set her sights on his last possession—this estate.
She had secretly schemed to seize it through deception.
The Old Witch looked down at the boy on the bed with contempt.
He was already dead. His heart had stopped beating.
Even a witch couldn't bring someone back from the dead.
But that didn't matter. She could use a spirit-summoning spell to call a low-level spirit into the body and make it move.
As long as the corpse moved a little in front of the Demon Hunter, that was all she needed.
Once the Demon Hunter left, she could do whatever she wanted.
Witches never kept their promises!
If you could get something by lying, why keep your word?
The Old Witch reached out toward the window and rotated her wrist. A chicken in the coop outside flew toward her, smashed through the window glass, and landed in her hand.
'Crack~'
She snapped the chicken's neck with one hand, and blood spurted out.
The Old Witch lowered her head and sniffed the blood. "Mm, an old hen that's never laid an egg."
She dipped a finger in the blood, then had the Demon Hunter Black Wolf pull Yveta's collar open, exposing the boy's chest.
With her bloodied finger, she drew an Inverted Hexagram on Yveta's chest, then drew an eye in the middle of it.
This eye was the Eye of the Primordial Witch.
The Inverted Hexagram was a Fallen Magic Array.
Together, the array's words meant: [Hereby willingly renounce all divine protection of humankind, and invite all things into this body.]
"Cough, cough... There." The Old Witch grinned wickedly. All she had to do was recite an ordinary spirit-summoning spell, and she could call a low-level spirit into the corpse, making the gullible Demon Hunter beside her believe the little prince had come back to life.
Heh heh.
With brains like that, he called himself a Demon Hunter?
The Old Witch quickly pulled back her finger and was about to chant the spirit-summoning spell when, to her surprise, Yveta—the supposed corpse—suddenly opened his eyes.
'Yveta' clutched his head and sat up in bed. "Ugh, my head hurts."
"Where... am I?"
"Are they filming a movie here? Where's my phone?"
The Old Witch's withered smile froze on her face as she stared at the boy, who had suddenly sat up and come back from the dead.
She was completely stunned.
The Demon Hunter Black Wolf looked at the witch and clicked his tongue in amazement. "I never thought witches really could cure people. This is the first time I've met a witch as good as you."
The word 'good' nearly made the Old Witch throw up. She never did good deeds!
Doing good would ruin her reputation and make her fellow witches laugh at her.
But that wasn't the point. The Old Witch looked in disbelief at the dead chicken in her hand, then at her bloodied finger, suddenly feeling a little dazed.
Had she just chanted a spell?
No, right?
Then why was the corpse on the bed moving?
Had she actually chanted a spell and simply forgotten?
No.
She hadn't chanted a spell at all!
A terrible guess came to the Old Witch. Cold sweat trickled down her forehead.
The Fallen Magic Array and Witch's Eye she had just drawn were enough to call other beings into the corpse, but the odds were very low. Normally, she would need a specific spell to summon a particular spirit.
But all magic came with risks!
Could something in Subspace have noticed the trail of her magic and followed it into the corpse?
At the thought, the Old Witch felt an urge to pack up and run.
She didn't want the estate anymore!
Meanwhile, on the bed.
Yveta was completely bewildered. He should have been gravely ill, on the verge of death, with a fever of forty degrees that left him unable to get out of bed.
So why had he woken up in an unfamiliar place, with a burly man and an old woman in front of him?
At the same time, the original owner's memories flooded into his mind.
After accepting the original owner's memories, Yveta could more or less understand the situation.
This world was somewhat like the Middle Ages, but more like the world of Grimm's Fairy Tales. There were witches, werewolves, vampires, giants, goblins, elves, and all sorts of strange races.
Humans and monsters lived together.
As for the original owner, he had once been the sole prince and heir to a kingdom.
But a mob of rebels had driven him out of the kingdom.
The rioters considered his claim to the throne invalid, and the original owner had been driven from his homeland.
It was said that certain powerful ministers had incited the rebellion. Now the rioters were openly selling the vacant throne: whoever offered the most could have it.
According to the original owner's memories, the throne had eventually been bought by a wealthy cotton mill owner.
In the meantime, his guards had one by one deserted him, and the loyal old servant who had stayed by his side had died of illness.
The original owner had finally fled to this estate, far from the kingdom.
The estate had come from his mother, not the kingdom, so he had managed to keep this last possession and scrape by here.
But it seemed even this last possession had drawn someone's attention.
Yveta clenched his fists. He could feel the original owner's resentment before his death. The original owner's soul had wailed and screamed, lamenting that a capitalist had used money to buy the throne that should have belonged to him.
Perhaps that resentment had brought Yveta into this body.
Yveta was a very responsible person. Since he had taken someone else's body, he had to shoulder the original owner's responsibilities. He thought to himself, Since I've come into your body, from today onward, you are me.
I'll help you take back the throne that should have been ours!
At the thought, his body suddenly felt lighter, as if it were a cloud.
He had devoured the body's final remnant of obsession and taken complete control of it, making his soul and body fit together perfectly.
Yveta looked over the Demon Hunter and the witch in the room and fell into thought.
Sooner or later, he would reclaim his kingdom.
But if he wanted to do that, he couldn't manage alone. He needed an army and territory.
He needed to build a force to take back his kingdom!
The Demon Hunter and witch before him both seemed like capable people.
He had to find a way to make them stay—and, better yet, swear loyalty to him rather than serve him for money.
"You're so hot, young master! You've got a fever!" The Demon Hunter felt Yveta's forehead. "Your Highness, could you pay me the commission you owe before you die?"
"You really have me worried."
"I'll walk away with nothing."
The Old Witch, who had been standing off to the side, planning to secretly cast a spell to test 'Yveta,' went pale.
She immediately stopped the spell.
Because she had noticed something terrifying.
A dead person couldn't have a temperature.
The original Yveta had definitely died of Heat Sweat Disease. She knew that better than anyone, since she had been the one to curse him.
No one knew better than her whether Yveta was dead.
But a corpse couldn't have a temperature.
Ordinary spirits and evil beings couldn't give a corpse warmth, even if they possessed it.
And making it run a fever was even more difficult—a highly complex feat.
What would it take to make a corpse run a fever?
The Old Witch racked her brain, searching through the magic she knew for a way.
The answer was: impossible.
That meant there was a much bigger problem.
What level of evil spirit could enter a corpse and bring it back to life like this?
The Old Witch stared at Yveta in horror, her muscles rigid, standing motionless like a wooden doll.
Could he be an evil god from Subspace?
Or an Outer God of Old from the Outer Universe, drawn here by magic?
Either way, this wasn't the first time magic had summoned a terrifying being.
All magic came with an equal price and a matching risk!
'Bang!'
Suddenly, someone kicked at the door outside.
A gruff voice sounded from beyond it. "Evil Hearthstone Witch! I, the righteous Great Boar Knight, have found you, and I've come to bring you to justice!"
"By God's will, prepare to die!"
"And you, the owner of this estate who sheltered a witch—you won't escape either!"
Before you continue