The firelight rose from under her feet and soon faded.
This is the 23rd practice.
Failed again.
Sweat beads had already formed on Anna's forehead. She wiped them with the back of her hand, and steam immediately began to rise, making a sizzling sound.
Without a moment's pause, she immediately began the next exercise. The Witch's uniform was neatly folded and set aside—had she not insisted on this from the start, the garments would have long been reduced to ashes in the flames.
Fortunately, as the Fourth Prince, Roland could easily stockpile extra robes. He had Tilly deliver an entire barrel of long robes—temporarily gathered from the Maidens.
The twenty-fourth exercise finally bore fruit. The flames no longer rose from beneath her feet but appeared in her palms. She raised her arm cautiously, intending to guide it to her fingertips, but the fire flickered twice before suddenly leaping up her arm, igniting her sleeve and then engulfing the robe.
Anna snatched the flame, yanked off the charred hem of her robe with a poker-like motion, and turned to rummage through the bucket for a new one.
Whenever this happens, Roland would avert his gaze, staring elsewhere—though the other person couldn't care less.
In truth, she would have come to practice fully nude had it not been for Roland's insistence. But then he couldn't watch properly—his composure was shattered by the sight of a naked girl, especially when she transformed into flames, radiating an otherworldly allure.
Roland shook his head, dismissing the distracting thoughts. At this point, harnessing this power was proving far more challenging than expected. He had set Anna a clear objective: the flames must emerge from her palms or fingertips without damaging her garments, while maintaining a temperature high enough to melt the cast iron ingots in the pool.
When the thirtieth attempt failed, Roland stopped her.
"Let's take a break," Anna said, staring at him blankly without responding.
Roland had no choice but to step forward, take the girl's hand, and drag her to a chair, forcing her to sit down.
"You are already tired. When fatigue sets in, you should rest without overexerting yourself. We still have a long time ahead," he said, wiping her sweat-drenched forehead. "Let's have afternoon tea first."
Roland knew the nobles of the Kingdom of Graycastle had no tradition of afternoon tea. With such a barren world, people rarely had leisure to savor refined cuisine—let alone four meals a day, as three meals were barely common. As for idle rich kids, they usually gathered in bars or casinos during such times.
If you don't have this habit, just make one. There are ready-made dim sum, and if tea isn't available, you can substitute it with wheat wine. Upon learning he was heading to a remote border town, the Fourth Prince brought his maid, servants, and chef all at once.
The first afternoon tea was held in a simple wooden shed in the castle's back garden.
Anna stared at the exquisite pastries on the plate, her eyes almost failing to believe her own eyes. How could food be made to look so beautiful?
Though she couldn't name the pastry, its pure white exterior paired with vivid red fruits instantly whetted her appetite. The delicate patterns adorning the edges added another layer to her artistic vision.
Roland watched Anna's bewildered expression with a smug grin. "It's just a strawberry cream cake, you fool. You're scared stiff!" He added, "Plus, the strawberries are sugar-sweetened—no longer fresh."
What's more enjoyable than eating is observing the Witch's expressions. As Roland watched her carefully place the cake in her mouth, her blue eyes almost glinted, her hair swaying gently, a sudden illusion of watching a food animation welled up in his mind.
—Any dish that doesn't glow is no good!
Well, the character development process feels pretty satisfying.
Watching Anna practice and enjoying afternoon tea with her became part of Roland's daily routine. Even if he didn't get involved in official matters, Barov would keep everything running smoothly for him.
Three days later, Barov delivered the meticulously organized Border Town documentation to Roland's office. This had been an absolute miracle—the Fourth Prince had actually taken the time to review such a voluminous and tedious dossier.
In truth, he still hadn't. Roland felt dizzy after just two lines and said to Barov, "Read it aloud for me." After an hour of listening to the Minister's Assistant's report, he noticed something amiss. "Why is Border Town's annual tax and trade revenue zero every winter?" While low temperatures and reduced harvests were understandable, zero revenue meant nothing. Did the locals hibernate?
Barov coughed twice. "Your Highness, have you forgotten? The 'Moon of Evil Spirits' is a perilous season. Border Town lacks defensive capabilities, and all residents must relocate to the Long Song Fortress. But rest assured, Your Highness's safety is always our top priority." "The' Moon of Evil Spirits'?" Roland recalled. The term seemed familiar—until now, he had dismissed ghost legends and evil witches as mere tales from the uncivilized world. But now, whether evil or not, witches were real. So... what about the other widely circulated ghost legends?
During court lectures, the history instructor had elaborated on the Demon's Moon. Each year after the first winter snowfall, when the sun dimmed, the Gates of Hell in the Dragon Ridge Mountains would open at that moment.
The malevolent aura from hell corrodes living beings, reducing them to the Devil's servants. Some animals mutate into powerful demonic beasts, attacking humans. Most witches emerge during this season, their power far exceeding their usual strength.
"Have you seen it? The Gate of Hell," Roland asked.
"Your Highness, how could an ordinary person possibly see this!" Barov shook his head repeatedly. "Not to mention the Dragon Ridge Mountains are impossible to cross, even approaching the mountains would expose one to evil energy. Minor cases would cause unbearable headaches, while severe ones could lead to mental collapse. Unless..." "Unless what?" "Unless the person is a Witch. Only Witches can see the Gates of Hell, for they have fallen to become the Devil's henchmen and are naturally immune to evil energy." At this point, Barov glanced back at the garden.
"Where's that evil beast? You've seen it before, haven't you?" Roland snapped, slamming his hand on the table.
"Well, I've never seen it. Like Your Highness, this is my first time visiting the borderlands. In the kingdom's heartland, Graycastle, true evil is rare." With annual migrations, how could this place ever develop? He had initially assumed Border Town was just barren land with some potential for development, but now it's nothing but a pit.
"The fact that the Long Song Fortress can repel evil beasts proves they are not invincible! If that's true, why can't we crush them in Border Town?" "The Long Song Fortress boasts massive walls and houses the Duke of Llane's elite troops – far beyond what a small town like Border Town can match," Barov explained. "Border Town was built from the start to provide early warning for the fortress, which is why it's situated between North Slope Ridge and the Red River." Roland sneered, acting like cannon fodder blocking the enemy's path.