A new shed has been added to the castle's back garden, with wooden boards covering the perimeter and only two openings left for windows.
At the center of the shed stands a square pool constructed with blue bricks, measuring approximately three meters in length and width, filled with yellow earth. When water is added in moderation, the mixture becomes not only difficult to ignite but also somewhat moldable—perfect for shaping with a small shovel. Several iron ingots are piled atop the yellow earth, which Carter Lannis had brought from the blacksmith's shop.
There was a well by the pond, and Roland had chosen this spot precisely because of it, which is why he had the shed built here.
Yet as a laboratory, it was still far from adequate. He shook his head, knowing the makeshift setup he'd put together overnight was far from ideal. The permanent workshop could only be built after Barov had gathered all the necessary materials.
"How was your sleep yesterday?" He turned to Anna, who looked bewildered, and asked with a smile.
The Witch's current appearance was a stark contrast to her prison days. Her linen-colored, flowing hair, meticulously groomed, glistened with natural radiance. Though her skin lacked care, its youthful glow was evident, with delicate freckles along her nose adding a touch of vitality. Her slender frame remained fragile, yet her cheeks had regained a rosy hue, and the bruises and neck marks were noticeably lighter than the previous day. Roland suspected the Magic Power not only granted WitchGod extraordinary strength but also enhanced their physical resilience. At least in terms of recovery, Anna was far quicker than most.
"After all the terrifying things we've been through, you deserve a few extra days off. But time's tight, so we'll make up for it later," Roland said, circling the girl. "Does this still fit?" Anna was wearing the outfit he'd carefully selected from multiple options—designed to satisfy his twisted tastes. The blacksmith's heavy full-body armor was too bulky for her. The mage's robes, while stylish in the game, were cumbersome and constantly restricted, with their full-sleeved edges easily catching sparks and turning to ashes. As for the maid's outfit? Well, what better could there be?
Even if the world hadn't yet seen authentic maid outfits, it wasn't a major issue—the Maid workwear already served as a prototype for future maid attire. Roland then had Tilly tailor a new set of clothes to Anna's body measurements, shortening the skirt, replacing long sleeves with short ones, changing the round collar to a folded one, and tying a bow. And just like that, the new Witch uniform was born.
With a custom-tailored pointed witch hat, ready-to-wear black ankle boots, and a bespoke short cape that barely reached the knees, a character once confined to movie screens now stood before Roland with striking realism.
"Your Highness, what... do you need me to do?" Anna struggled to follow the thoughts of this towering figure before her, feeling as though she was losing her mind. When she was dragged away in a sack through the dungeon, she had believed this cursed life would soon be over. But when she removed the hood, she saw not a gallows or a guillotine, but a lavish mansion. Then a crowd rushed in to strip her and bathe her. From her armpits to her toes, not a single inch remained untouched.
Next came the dressing process. She hadn't anticipated that even dressing required assistance, nor did she expect the garments to be so comfortable—so soft they clung to her skin without a trace of friction.
The last to enter was an elderly man with a white beard. After ordering everyone to leave, he presented her with a contract. Only then did she realize that the Fourth Prince of the kingdom had actually hired her in prison—and the offer was no joke. The contract clearly stated that if she served the Prince, she would receive a golden dragon as monthly payment.
Anna knew exactly what a Golden Dragon meant. Her father toiled in the mine day and night, his pay determined by the ore output. Even at peak production, he could only earn a Silver Wolf. A hundred Silver Wolves were needed to exchange for a single Golden Dragon, and even then, it depended on whether the Silver Wolves were of sufficient quality.
So what was her job—sleeping with Prince? Anna had indeed overheard the maids whispering about it during baths, but she didn't think she deserved the price. A bloodline tainted by the Devil, a depraved soul who willingly fell into depravity... Anyone who knew her true identity would avoid her at all costs. Even Prince, whose curiosity ran so deep that he feared not even the Devil, had no reason to pay her a penny.
That night, no one came to find her. She fell asleep—on the softest bed Anna had ever slept in, drifting off the moment she lay down. When she opened her eyes the next day, it was already noon. A lunch had been delivered to her room: bread, cheese, and a steak. She had resolved to die—what could a person who had chosen to abandon life still cling to this world? That was her original thought. But when she took the steak to her mouth, tears welled up uncontrollably.
The blend of meat juices and pepper powder dissolved in her mouth, its pungent aroma mingled with a hint of sweetness, relentlessly assaulting her taste buds until the lingering aftertaste lingered in her throat... Suddenly, she felt that there was still a touch of beauty in this world.
If one could consume such nourishment daily, even during the phase of demonic corruption, wouldn't this grant greater courage to resist?
Standing in this wooden shed that was neither a bedroom nor a prison, she made a silent vow. If the other party needed it, she would try anything—even donning bizarre attire or summoning the supernatural. Without hesitation, she repeated her question.
"Your Highness, what do you need me to do?" "For now, you must master your power—practice it relentlessly until you can command it with ease." "You mean Devil's—" "No, no, Miss Anna," Roland cut in, "it's your power." The witch blinked her beautiful blue eyes.
"Most people in the world hold a prejudice against you, believing the Witch's power originates from the Devil and is inherently evil. But they're mistaken," Roland crouched down, meeting their gaze. "You don't think so either, do you?" He recalled Anna's faint laugh in the dungeon—how could someone who considered themselves evil possibly utter such a mocking laugh?
"I've never used it to hurt anyone," she murmured, "except that robber." "Resisting oppression isn't a fault—you're doing the right thing. People fear you because they don't understand you—they know training builds a strong warrior, but don't know how to become a Witch. The unknown always strikes fear into people's hearts." "You're not afraid at all," Anna said.
"Because I know it's yours," Roland chuckled. "If that bandit had such incredible strength, I wouldn't dare face him." "Alright, let's begin," he said.