Under Medea's gaze—half hopeful, half nervous—Samael finally surrendered and accepted the overly girlish lucky charm.
The princess of Colchis, whose small face had nearly crumpled in disappointment just moments ago, brightened with a relieved, radiant smile.
"That should do, right? If there's nothing else, I'll be heading out, young lady."
After all, Medea—still far from the witch she would one day become—was just a fourteen-year-old girl, naive to the world, sensitive, curious, and prone to extremes. Samael treated her with the patience and gentleness suited for a child.
"Medea! My name is Medea!"
"All right. I'll remember it. My name is Theseus."
As the Ancient Serpent met the faint chessboard-like glimmer in the princess's eyes, he chuckled softly and simply gave her his current alias.
A name costs nothing, and leaving her with a good impression was far better than creating unnecessary conflict.
Besides, he had absolutely no intention of abducting a young girl. Their paths would hardly cross again. This princess was far better off staying safely in Colchis than getting mixed up with the Argo's band of lunatics.
"Mm! Lord Theseus, thank you for saving me! When I return to the temple, I'll pray to Lady Hecate for your safety!"
The young, untainted witch beamed sweetly, then hurried to her feet, insisting on personally escorting this "kind benefactor" out of the fortune-telling tent.
Samael could only let her do as she wished.
But just as he lifted the curtain, a wave of noise rolled in from down the street.
Several temple priests wearing white robes embroidered front and back with golden moon emblems were striding through the streets with stern expressions, clearly searching for someone.
In moments, their group turned directly toward the little divination tent.
Samael's hand tightened—but Medea shot forward and yanked him back inside in a panic.
"Oh no! The divine energy that leaked when the crystal exploded must have drawn them here! If they catch me, they'll scold me again—and punish me! W-what do we do? What do we do?!"
Medea paced frantically inside the tent. The more she muttered, the more panic and fear overtook her, her small face turning even paler.
Those outside were surely from Hecate's temple. This princess had clearly been disciplined more than a few times—and whatever "punishments" she'd endured had left deep, unpleasant memories.
When she calmed a little, she suddenly realized she'd dragged the kind customer into trouble as well.
Her embarrassment doubled. She bit her lip hard, her expression taking on a tragic resolve—like a martyr heading to execution.
"Lord Theseus, please go! I'll block the way!"
"Hush. Go hide somewhere. I'll handle this."
Seeing the girl's willingness to sacrifice herself, and knowing full well that the explosion was his fault, Samael raised a finger to his lips and gave her a calm, reassuring look.
The temple priests hadn't come straight to her stall—meaning she wasn't exposed yet. Covering for her was hardly any trouble.
Medea's eyes flickered with sudden realization. Then, brightening with determination, she gave a strong nod, immediately turned around, and crawled beneath the divination table, curling her small body tightly into a corner.
Samael couldn't help a brief, silent laugh at the sight—her head tucked away like an ostrich, her little backside sticking out.
He took a moment to look around, then snapped his fingers lightly. A faint, obscure wave of power rippled invisibly through the tent.
Just as he sat down, the curtain was lifted by a young priestess.
Leading the group was an elder temple matron with narrow eyes, thin lips, and a cold, severe expression. She bent slightly as she stepped inside, radiating authority.
After sweeping a sharp, critical gaze across the tent's interior, the matron priestess—whose wrinkles looked deep enough to trap a fly—lifted her head with open disdain, her brow creased like the bark of an ancient, withered tree.
"An outsider? Are you the one doing divination here?"
"Mhm. Just trying to make a living while traveling."
Samael smiled lightly as he nodded, his serpentine pupils narrowing and widening with a soft, hazy sheen.
Though neither his appearance nor his voice had changed, in the priestess's eyes he was simply the fortune-teller running this stall.
Demons excel not only at calculation but even more so at deception.
With his current strength, the only one capable of seeing through his disguise would be Hecate herself, the goddess of witchcraft.
As their gazes met, the matron priestess's eyes grew faintly unfocused. Her tone eased, her brows relaxing slightly as she hummed softly.
"Outsider, the will of fate belongs to the gods alone. Mortals who dare to probe it will be punished. Colchis is a land blessed by Ares, the God of War, and Hecate, the Dark Moon Goddess. This is no place for heretics! Do you understand?"
Samael couldn't help finding this both amusing and exasperating.
So after all that, you weren't here because of Medea—you just thought a rival temple's follower had wandered into your turf?
If that was the case, then the Colchis princess had hidden her tracks well. They still hadn't realized she'd snuck out.
All the better.
The Ancient Serpent nodded at once, wearing the expression of a humble student.
"Thank you for the warning. I meant no disrespect to the honored gods. I'll pack up shortly and leave."
Seeing how cooperative he was, the matron nodded in satisfaction. Her mood lifted enough that the corner of her mouth even softened into something like a smile.
In her eyes, this "fortune-teller" grew much more pleasant to look at, and her voice eased even further.
"Very well. As long as you show proper reverence."
The young priestesses behind her exchanged shocked whispers. When had this old witch ever been so easy to talk to?
While glancing leisurely around the tent, the matron priestess's gaze fell on the jars and bottles on the shelf, and her expression shifted.
"You practice witchcraft rituals as well?"
"Yes. A little."
"Who taught you?"
"Ah… a witch from Aeaea. I got caught in a shipwreck while at sea. She saved me and taught me a few tricks to get by."
The lie rolled smoothly off Samael's tongue, not a flicker in his eyes.
"I see. The witches of the overseas islands are all Blessed by our goddess Hecate. It seems you are indeed a follower of the Dark Moon Goddess."
The priestess nodded, suddenly intrigued. She stepped forward, sat down uninvited, and began chatting with him like he was one of their own.
If I'd known this would happen, I wouldn't have put so many points into Charisma…
I ended up charming the wrong demographic!
Accidentally becoming the confidant of a middle-aged temple matron, Samael nearly laughed and cried at the same time.
He had zero desire to make small talk with this wrinkle-faced old harridan, but with Medea currently crouched right under his feet, he couldn't simply walk away.
Left with no choice, he entertained her with half-hearted replies.
After a full half hour, the matron priestess reluctantly stood up—only after a discreet cough from one of the younger attendants reminded her of the time.
Before leaving, she even tossed him an olive branch.
"Outsider, if you ever need work, report to Hecate's temple. Given our shared lineage, I will give your case special consideration."
Samael nodded politely, finally seeing the temple delegation out of the tent.
Once his senses confirmed they were far enough away, the Ancient Serpent stretched and tapped the table.
"All right, they're gone. You can come out now."
But after several calls, nothing stirred beneath the table.
Puzzled, Samael lifted the cloth—only to find the princess of Colchis half-reclining against the side board, fast asleep.
A small, glimmering thread of drool trailed from the corner of her mouth, dampening a patch of her chest.
You're the witch who betrayed a kingdom! And yet you trust a stranger you just met enough to fall asleep like this?
And sleep through all of that? How enormous is your heart, little girl?
Samael could only stare at the sight, caught between laughter and disbelief.