Chick 343

343

‘Potato stem!’

After searching for ages, Groo finally spotted a potato leaf and hurriedly braked his tricycle, leaping out.

‘There’s only one left!’

Wicked mutants!

Groo pursed his lips like a little duck, pulling out a children’s trowel and gently started to dig up the potato.

But suddenly, a sharp sword was leveled at Groo.

It was a boy, just old enough to have started elementary school.

He wore long, trailing riding clothes and stammered as he spoke.

“A-are… are you… the master of this f-forest? A-are you…the W-w-witch of T-truth?!”

Groo’s teddy bear hands froze mid-dig.

With thick, exasperating eyebrows, the bear-faced child stared at the boy.

‘Forest’s master? Jiiing, Maaang?’

The boy’s trembling was so dramatic Groo could hardly understand a word. The bear’s eyebrows twitched a few times in mild irritation.

Why stammer like that? Why hold the sword if your arms shake so badly? Wouldn’t it be better to put it down?

The familiars seemed to share the sentiment and made no move to intervene. The boy was more likely to cut his own hand than to harm Groo.

Hmph. Groo dusted off his soil-stained hands and rose to answer.

So, he asked if I’m the master of the forest? In that case, let’s answer properly.

—That’s right. I am the master of this forest.

Groo declared his ownership with pride. This dungeon was, after all, his.

At those words, the boy recoiled a step in fright.

Seeing this, Groo took a step forward and spoke again.

—So, don’t even think of touching the potatoes.

These were Groo’s Critato reactor seed potatoes.

“I-I didn’t mean to covet anything from the forest. I’d never do such a thing!”

—Then that’s a relief. But who are you?

“I-I… I am Kerun Silverin, retainer to His Grace, Shados, the First Seat of Roots.”

Shados? Bailach’s eyes flew open at the mention of his name.

But Groo, unaware, pouted and grumbled,

—What a long name.

Kerun Silverin’s eyelashes quivered.

He had just admitted to serving Bailach Shados, and still received this blunt treatment? Was this squat teddy bear truly a witch, then?

Well, nothing else could have produced that terrifying scene he’d witnessed earlier.

The boy shuddered in fear, recalling the witch whipping her familiar to drive away the contaminated monsters.

While Kerun wallowed in his misconception, Groo eyed the boy with annoyance.

‘He’s got a dreadfully long and fancy name, doesn’t he?’

Groo, with a mere three-letter name, felt a bit insecure for a moment.

But he could not let that show.

After all, this was the classic boasting contest of children—brandishing the fanciest nickname.

Nickname contests were childish, ritual displays of self-importance using grand words; whoever started the boasting, the other would always respond in kind.

Competition!

Groo would not be outdone in ostentatious names. He drew a breath and proclaimed loudly:

—I am… Groote Critato of the Famine Crop Clan!

Mephisto and Bailach dropped their jaws at the outlandish clan name.

“F-famine crop clan…? I’ve never heard…”

As Kerun muttered, Groo lifted his nose even higher.

Of course he’d never heard of it; Groo had just come up with it on the spot, drawing from words he’d learned only yesterday.

He waggled his eyebrows up and down, full of pride at his imagined victory.

“Was the plague across our lands caused by someone coveting the forest’s bounty, O Witch?”

—…?

Fakeclaw’s thick eyebrows twitched up and down.

Plague? By whom? Me?

—I would never do such a wicked thing.

“B-but everyone says it’s the witch who caused this…!”

Kerun rolled up his sleeve to show his arm.

On the boy’s shoulder, two or three stones were embedded like magical gems.

The so-called Witch of Every Forest, the Witch of Truth, was rumored to turn anyone who met her gaze to stone.

Thus, everyone insisted that the disease turning skin to stone was surely her doing.

—How foolish, to be swayed by idle rumors.

Tsk tsk. Groo clucked his tongue and produced some ointment. Whatever it was, he should be able to draw it out with ointment.

—To get a corn on your shoulder, how careless. For this once, I’ll treat you specially.

Groo squeezed some ointment onto his bear palm and gently applied it to Kerun’s shoulder.

—Hoo— let the pain fly away.

“Wh-what are you doing?!”

Kerun leapt back in surprise.

Plop, plonk. Roll, roll…

“…?!”

Startled, Kerun hastily snatched up the two stones that fell.

Rockpox.

A contagious disease that slowly turned the skin to stone.

Anyone infected would soon find their entire body crusted with rock—and would not survive much longer.

Victims tried desperately to remove the stones, but it was impossible—the petrification always spread faster than it could be scraped away.

It was supposed to be impossible…

But now, the bare shoulder left behind was as clean and smooth as if nothing had ever been there.

Kerun stifled a gasp of surprise.

“How did they… come off? Am…am I cured?”

—The ointment removed them. Whether you’re fully cured, I can’t say, but there’s a way. Should the stones return, apply this.

The teddy bear’s paw handed him a small tube of ointment.

—I give this to you as a reward for not coveting my potatoes.

With trembling hands, Kerun accepted it.

That this tiny tube contained a cure, crafted by the Witch of Truth herself…

The moment the pox appeared, risking death, he had ventured into the Witch’s Forest—and it had saved him.

Kerun, tears streaming in relief at his survival, bowed his head deeply.

The ointment was too little to save the entire domain. But if he could only get more, there was nothing he would not do.

“O-oh W-witch of Truth…! Please, save our Silverin Domain!”

—Hmm?

The barely-made bear tilted his head.

---

Within Silverin Castle.

Waddle, waddle.

The unfinished teddy bear followed the Silverin lord’s son, Kerun, toddling along behind him.

—Little Ker-mound, what is a domain?

“As I’ve said before, my name is Kerun. Domain means the land ruled by the Silverins.”

—Oh, I see.

Perhaps because the witch lived far from the mortal world, there was much she didn’t know.

Waddle, waddle.

Kerun glanced back—and at the sight of the fat bird perched on the witch’s head, started and turned quickly away.

‘Is it right to introduce this as the master of the forest, the Witch of Truth, to Father?’

She certainly had many familiars.

Here, the number of familiars one had was a direct symbol of strength.

To travel with four was to boast of tremendous power.

‘Although they’re all rather small.’

Kerun shook his head. Strength could not be measured by size alone.

Root-blooded folk were not strong, but wise. His father would never judge by appearances.

He might even recognize the witch’s chilling aura at a glance!

At that moment, filled with expectation, the lord Romelun Silverin’s voice rang out.

“Kerun, what’s this now, bringing a doll with you? I don’t see a wind-up key—how does it walk?”

“F-father!”

“Are you feeling well?”

Romelun swept his son into a warm hug and kissed his cheek.

Then, eyeing the unfinished teddy bear with its expressive eyebrows, he tilted his head in puzzlement.

“Is this doll perhaps…?”

“Yes, Father, this doll is—”

“Cursed, perhaps?”

Had he recognized the witch’s aura?

Yet contrary to Kerun’s hopes, his father spoke in a tone of concern.

“This doll is quite… ugly, isn’t it?”

Unwittingly insulted, the witch’s tiny shoulders trembled in indignation.

Somehow, a huge fork had found its way into the teddy bear’s paw.

“……!”

The witch was just about to brandish the giant fork at the lord of Silverin when—

“T-this is the master of every forest, the Witch of Truth—Groote Critato of the Famine Crop Clan, Father!”