"Tell me again exactly what happened during the mine collapse," Anna nodded and began to recount.
Roland was a little surprised.
He had expected her to remain silent, file a complaint, or even curse, but she simply answered his questions with a straight face, replying to every query without hesitation.
The story is simple: Anna's father was a miner working in the mine during the collapse. Upon hearing the news, Anna and fellow miners' families rushed into the mine to rescue him. The North Slope Mines, rumored to be a hideout for underground monsters, had many branching tunnels. Without a unified rescue plan, the team scattered to search on their own. When Anna found her father, only Susan, the neighbor's aunt, and Uncle Anke were there.
She discovered her father's leg was crushed by a cart loaded with ore, leaving him paralyzed, while a notorious miner squatted nearby, ransacking his belongings for money. When the robbery was exposed, the miner lunged at Uncle Anke with a hoe, knocking him to the ground. Just as he was about to strike, Anna had already taken his life.
The neighbors swore not to reveal her secret, and the three of them rescued Anna's father. But before dawn the next day, he had already set out with his cane, informing the patrolling guards that his daughter was a Witch.
"Why?" Roland couldn't help but turn around and ask.
Barov sighed, "Probably for the bounty. Those who find and report witches can claim 25 Golden Dragons. For someone with a broken leg, that's enough to cover the rest of their life." Roland fell silent for a moment. "He was a strong, adult man. How did you kill him?" At that moment, Anna laughed. Like ripples rippling across a lake, the torch's flame flickered.
"That's the Devil's power you're talking about." "Shut up, witch!" the warden bellowed, though his voice trembled with every syllable.
"Is that so? I'd like to see it," the Fourth Prince said, unmoved.
"Your Highness, this is no joke!" Chief Knight turned his head and frowned.
Roland emerged from behind Knight, advancing toward the cage. "The fearful may leave first—I didn't ask you to stay here," he said. "Don't panic, she's still wearing God's Punishment Lock on her neck!" Barrow called out to reassure everyone, as if comforting himself, "No matter how powerful Devil is, he can't break God's protection." Standing just a hand's length from the prison bars, Roland could clearly see Anna's dust-streaked, scarred face. Her delicate features suggested she was underage, yet her God-like affection showed no trace of immaturity. Even anger seemed hard to find—this unsettling discord Roland had only seen on TV, where impoverished orphans interviewed would crouch with heads bowed. But Anna wasn't like them.
Even now, she still strives to stand upright, her gaze slightly upward, meeting Prince's eyes with calm composure.
She was not afraid of death, and Roland realized she was waiting for it.
"First time seeing the Witch, sir? Your curiosity might get you killed." "If it's truly the Devil's power, even a glance would bring disaster," Roland replied. "Then the one who dies shouldn 't be me, but your father." The cage's flames suddenly dimmed—this was no mere illusion. The fire seemed to be suppressed, soon reduced to a mere flicker. He heard urgent breathing and prayers behind him, along with the thud of someone stumbling while retreating in panic.
Roland's heart raced with each passing moment. He felt as though he stood at a magical threshold—on one side was the world of common sense, governed by rigid constants and laws that functioned with meticulous precision. On the other side lay an unimaginable realm, teeming with divine mysteries and the unknown. Now he stood before the threshold of this new world.
Was that the God's Punishment Chain she wore around her neck? What a crude chain—just a red-painted iron link dangling a crystal-clear pendant. If not for the witch's hands being tightly bound behind her, such a thing could've been snapped off with a single tug.
Roland shot a quick glance back at the crowd. Seizing the moment while everyone was still panicking and praying, he swiftly reached into the cage, grabbed the pendant, and yanked it with all his might. The chain buckle snapped with a metallic clang—this move left even Anna stunned.
"Come on," he whispered. Are you a con artist, a chemist, or a real witch?
If you were to pull out bottles and jars now and start preparing strong acids, I would be disappointed," he thought to himself.
Then Roland heard a crackling sound—the sound of water vapor expanding when heated. White mist rose from the ground, and the surrounding temperature soared sharply.
He watched flames rise from beneath the girl's feet, tenderly licking her exposed calves, until the ground she stood on was engulfed in fire. The torch behind her exploded simultaneously, as if fueled by pure oxygen, bursting into a blinding light. The entire cell was suddenly bathed in daylight, accompanied by the terrified screams of those around her.
Witch strode forward, the flames dancing with her steps. As she reached the prison's edge, dozens of iron bars erupted into roaring columns of fire.
Roland had to step back, the scorching air biting his skin in excruciating pain. In mere breaths, he felt as if he had traveled from late autumn to midsummer—though not the sweltering heat of summer, but the intense heat generated by the flames, which enveloped him completely. The side facing the flames was engulfed in a surging wave of heat, while the back remained bone-chillingly cold. He could even feel cold sweat breaking out on his skin.
—She is not afraid of fire.
Roland recalled the Minister's Assistant's words. Only now did he fully grasp the meaning of those words.
She is fire herself, how could she possibly fear herself?
Soon, the iron bars shifted from deep crimson to a glistening yellow, beginning to melt and warp. This indicated they had been heated to over 1,500 degrees—achieving such temperatures without any insulation, far beyond Roland's wildest imagination. Like everyone else, he had already left the cell, clinging to the farthest stone wall.
Without this precaution, the intense heat from molten iron could ignite clothing even without direct contact—like Anna, whose prison uniform had long turned to ashes, her body engulfed in roaring flames.
I don't know how long it took for the flames to completely fade away.
Only a single flicker of the torch burned on the wall, as if nothing had happened. Yet the sweat-soaked clothes, the searing heat, and the prison bars—burned to resemble the devil's claws—all told everyone this was no dream.
While Roland and Knight remained standing, the others had collapsed to the ground, with the warden even wetting his pants from sheer terror.
Anna stood naked outside the cage, the shackles that had bound her arms now gone. Her body was exposed, her hands hanging naturally at her sides, her lake-blue eyes returning to their former serenity.
"I've satisfied your curiosity, sir," she said. "May I be killed now?" "No," Roland stepped forward, wrapping his coat around her, and spoke in the gentlest tone possible. "Miss Anna, I wish to employ you."