Chapter 200: No Early Romance for Kids!
Half an hour later, Medea slowly came to, rubbing her sleepy eyes as she stretched and sat up. She blinked in confusion for a moment, then, recognizing the surroundings, realized she had just done something incredibly foolish.
Seeing that the kind guest was still waiting inside the tent, the underage little witch flushed beet-red. Her hands twisted nervously at the hem of her robe as she stumbled through another round of apologies and thanks.
Samael, standing by the shelves, turned toward her without any sign of annoyance. Instead, he pointed toward several lifelike models arranged in the corner and asked with interest,
"Did you make these?"
There were bronze warriors, miniature dragon-tooth soldiers, embroidered witch dolls, flour figurines, and partially shaped stone carvings—most of them unfinished, likely because she wasn't yet satisfied with the results.
"Mhm… just a small hobby to pass the time."
Once asked about them, Medea's spirits immediately lifted. Within seconds she had tossed aside her earlier embarrassment and began eagerly presenting her proud creations one by one.
But by the end, the little witch rested her chin on her palm with a sigh, her excitement fading.
"No matter which material I use, or how I try… I can never achieve the effect I imagine."
"You could start by building a movable internal frame using tiny jointed pieces, then layer soft clay and resin over it. That way it has both structure and expression."
Samael rolled the small model in his hand as a wave of nostalgia from his previous life surfaced. The tips came out naturally.
In the future, these things would be called figurines—ridiculously expensive figurines. Any time he wanted one, he had to save money for ages, and even then he never dared look at the high-end ones that cost tens of thousands.
"Really?"
Medea's eyes shone instantly. She grabbed Samael's sleeve in excitement and peppered him with questions about the details.
Since it was rare to meet a fellow figurine enthusiast, the Ancient Serpent decided to indulge her. Drawing from memory—and a bit of mischief—he even sketched out a complete set of figurine designs for the Seven Classes, each with that iconic golden ahoge.
If the future King Arthur ever saw a figurine of himself dug up from the Temple of Hecate… what kind of expression would he make?
Strangely, the thought was kind of delightful.
Meanwhile, Medea gazed at the doll-like face on the blueprint as if she had discovered an entirely new world. She adored it instantly.
The young witch threw herself wholeheartedly into imagining how to craft such a perfect work of art, already planning to make several detachable dresses and other outfits—so she could change them every day.
"Well then, I should go."
Having satisfied a certain peculiar indulgence, Samael rose to leave.
Still unsatisfied, Medea looked at him with reluctant eyes. She wanted to hear more strange stories, learn more about crafting models. But Samael simply gestured toward the sun setting outside the curtain, gently declining.
"Tomorrow… if you'll be divining here again… will you come back?"
As his silhouette neared the exit, an impulse surged within Medea's chest and the words slipped out before she could stop them.
Samael paused for a moment, then shook his head and offered her a final reminder.
"The Kingdom of Colchis may become unstable soon. Stay in the temple and don't wander out. Don't make your family worry."
By the time Medea processed his words, the kind guest had already disappeared into the lively streets.
Her gaze dimmed with a hollow sense of loss. Seeing that it was getting late, she tidied up the fortune-teller's booth and quietly made her way back to the Temple of Hecate without anyone noticing.
The sun dipped westward as the runaway young witch slipped back inside using a concealment spell.
With a flick of her fingers, the "Medea" lying on her bed dispersed into pale smoke, reverting back into a cloth doll and falling softly onto the pillow.
That night, though her rebellious escape had gone surprisingly smoothly, Medea lay in bed clutching her pillow, tossing restlessly. A strange tightness lingered in her chest. Her delicate brows drew together; she felt an indescribable sort of unhappiness.
By midnight, still wide awake, the little witch abruptly opened her eyes. She climbed out of bed and slipped quietly out of her room.
Moments later, Medea, candle in hand, padded barefoot into the silent Temple of Hecate. After confirming no one was there, she closed the door, blinked her bright eyes, and knelt obediently before the statue to pray.
"My lady goddess, you are merciful. You'll surely grant my small request, won't you?
Please keep Lord Theseus safe. He might be doing something dangerous, and he even protected me… but I'm so clumsy, I couldn't help at all…
And if possible, I'd like to come earlier tomorrow. I want to talk with him again.
They're just small wishes, so please don't worry. I'll keep serving you and praying to you every day!"
Under the wavering candlelight, Medea quietly slipped out her pale wrist. She loosened a strand of black hair from her sleeve, held it over the flame, and burned it with solemn care. The temple curtains stirred without wind. A thin coil of black smoke drifted upward.
It worked! The goddess Hecate has received my prayer!
The young witch cracked open her eyes, sensing a faint whisper of divine inspiration. Her small face lit up with joy. She hopped to her feet and hurried back to her room to sleep, fully satisfied.
What Medea did not notice was that the statue of Hecate in the main hall remained utterly silent, while the statue of Ares in the side chamber flickered faintly. At the same time, in the darkness, a trail of pink mist began to rise from nowhere, clinging to the girl's skin in thin strands before slowly seeping into her body.
...
The next morning, Samael woke up as usual, stepped outside to stretch and wash up, and casually planned out his route for the day.
But the moment he left the cabin and stepped into the living room, dozens of heroes packed in a corner all turned their heads at once. Their strange stares locked onto him, and even the air felt tense.
Holding a tray and chewing on bread, Samael flinched. Being watched so intently by so many muscle-bound men sent a shiver down his spine. He muttered irritably,
"Why are you all staring at me? It's just breakfast. If you want some, get it yourselves."
"No one's concerned about your breakfast. But shouldn't you explain where this child came from?"
The crowd shifted aside. Atalanta stood there with a cold frown, holding the hand of a shy little girl with violet hair and eyes.
Their unexpected guest was none other than Medea, the underage traitor witch they had met yesterday.
"Lord Theseus! Thank the gods for guiding me—you really are here!"
The instant Medea spotted Samael, her eyes blazed with excitement. She broke free from Atalanta's grasp and ran straight toward the unlucky man.
"What are you doing here? Didn't I tell you to stay at Hecate's temple and not run around?"
Samael stared at her in disbelief, already feeling a headache coming on.
Little Medea lifted her flushed face. Her violet eyes stayed fixed on him while her fingers twisted the hem of her clothes. Her voice trembled as she stammered,
"I... I couldn't sleep, and... and I thought about you the whole night…
I prayed to the goddess for you already... but it wasn't enough. I want... I want to stay by your side…
Even if I'm not very useful... sniff... I still want to help..."
The direct, burning confession dropped into the room like a bomb.
Even Samael froze, mind blank. It's just helping her a little and talking for a bit, right? Since when did we get this close?!
Jason, hidden in the crowd, shot him a wink and a thumbs-up. Already picked up another one? Nice going, brother.
Meanwhile, Atalanta's face darkened. Her eyes turned sharp and icy, the pressure around her so heavy that the surrounding heroes instantly fell silent.
Then Samael caught a faint flicker of pink mist in Medea's Purple Eye. Realization hit him quickly. He raised a hand and gently patted the young witch's head, using a soft, coaxing tone to dissolve the tense atmosphere prickling at his back.
"Alright, alright, I know you mean well. But you're still too young. You can go off on adventures when you're older."
At that moment, the Ancient Serpent narrowed his eyes. With a tug of his right hand, he yanked out a cluster of pink mist, severing its hold on Medea.
The young witch's mind cleared instantly. Seeing the unfamiliar surroundings, confusion washed over her.
Meanwhile, Samael's lips curved faintly as he murmured internally, Kids aren't allowed to fall in love early!