Chick 347
by Cristae347
After being thoroughly washed and pampered by the maids who called themselves Nos, Shy, and Laila, On Groo felt dizzy from the endless stream of requests.
“Witch, please raise both your hands high.”
“Witch, would you turn your head this way?”
“Witch, could you lift just one arm this time?”
“Witch…”
“Witch…”
Ugh!
On Groo was led around by the ceaseless instructions, the title “Witch” echoing in her ears to the point of vexation.
This went on for quite some time.
Finally, they dressed her in black bloomers overlaid with a gold-threaded dress embroidered with constellations.
They hung countless ornaments—each glittering like a star—around her neck and wrists.
And at last, after placing a pointed witch’s hat adorned with a star at its tip on her head, the maids released On Groo.
“How is it, Witch? Do you like it?”
Pleased, the maids stood her before a mirror.
Startled by her own reflection, for indeed she looked every bit the part of a true witch, On Groo gaped wordlessly.
Her expression was so endearing that the maids burst into joyful, trilling laughter.
“If you wait just a moment, we’ll show you in to the master.”
“Please wait here for a bit~, Witch.”
The maids bustled out of the room.
Only then did On Groo drop her arms to her sides and let out a small sigh.
“Phew.”
At that moment,
One of the maids, Nos—she who always smiled with her slim, crescent eyes—peeked back in through the door.
“I nearly forgot to give you this.”
Nos handed over a staff embedded with jewels.
She had been earnest even during the fitting; clearly, she took her costuming very seriously.
On Groo received the staff with as much dignity as she could muster.
Unable to contain herself any longer, Nos swept On Groo up in a tight embrace before letting go.
“…?!”
Startled by the sudden show of affection, On Groo blinked in surprise.
“Well, that’s all.”
Nos offered a sweet smile and slipped out, skirts fluttering.
Transformed into a picture-perfect witch, On Groo took her seat at a table laden with cakes, milk tea, and all manner of desserts.
The air was thick with sweetness. Across the table, Bailach, already waiting, gave a scoffing laugh.
“Now, at last, you look worth talking to. Dress like that from now on, understood?”
“Mm.”
Nod, nod.
At her calm, unbothered reply, Bailach raised an eyebrow.
“Stop that impudent tone.”
“Imoortant!”
“…You’re getting closer, I suppose.”
“Yes, thank you for the compliment.”
Bailach pressed his forehead, as if considering whether he truly needed to continue this sort of conversation.
But he had brought her here himself, convinced she would be useful.
Bailach, in a low, solid voice, addressed On Groo, who was forking large bites of cake into her mouth.
“You said you wished an audience with His Majesty the Emperor.”
Eyes rolling, cheeks stuffed, On Groo gulped down the cake and nodded.
“Yeth.”
Bailach’s gaze hardened.
“Then, first I must ask—witch, what exactly can you do?”
Startled by the grave tone, On Groo sipped her milk tea, eyes darting warily.
What could she do? Was this another test?
If he asked her to do something truly ‘witch-like,’ she’d be done for.
After all, she was only pretending to be the Witch of Truth.
Slurping the last of her milk tea, On Groo wiped her mouth, eyeing Bailach for any sign of his intentions.
‘Let’s just hear what it is, and if I can’t do it, I’ll come clean.’
Resolving so in pure honesty, On Groo lowered her voice to sound as convincing as possible.
“Do you come to me with a request, or is this a test?”
“……”
For a moment, Bailach was lost for words.
The question caught him off guard.
A request, or a test.
The meaning was clear: the witch was keenly reminding him that he was the one in need.
As expected—even in so unthreatening a guise, she had the presence of the legendary witch. He would have to be careful.
“You must already know: His Majesty is not in his right mind. He spends all his strength purging the snows of contamination.”
So that’s it!
On Groo knew nothing of it, but nodded slowly as if she did.
“Just as I thought,” Bailach murmured, studying her with deeper gravity.
“Witch, it is said you stopped the plague in Silvershire.”
“Mm, yes, I did.”
Well, it hadn’t been intentional, but things had turned out that way by chance.
Bailach’s voice grew somber.
“I want you to help restore His Majesty to health. It’s not a test. It is… my plea.”
On Groo’s eyes grew wide.
‘He wants me to heal the Emperor?’
Her heart plummeted.
She’d only been lucky with the plague. She was neither a doctor nor the Witch of Truth.
‘Groo, you can’t do something like that…!’
Flustered, On Groo brought her cup to her lips again.
Slurp!
She pretended to drink from the already empty cup, sneaking quick glances at Bailach’s face.
His eyes were full of earnest desperation.
It was painfully awkward to refuse him.
“Myuu…”
At that moment, the ugly hamster—perched on her shoulder and listening to the entire exchange—let out a plaintive sound, out of pity for his past self.
The real Bailach pressed a tiny paw to On Groo’s cheek.
“Myu, myu.” (Let’s try, Master.)
The hamster pulled at her soft cheeks, signaling her to get on with it.
But before On Groo could act, it was Mephisto who interrupted.
“Pee?!” (Try what, exactly?!)
With a flap of his wings, Mephisto batted the hamster’s paw away, raising his voice.
“Peep! Peep!” (How on earth is Groo supposed to heal anyone?! If something goes wrong after all this…)
“Myu myu myu myu myu!” (Either way, unless we meet Shea, we’ll never get out of this dungeon!)
Emotion flared between the two familiars.
Mephisto balled up the ends of his wings into tiny fists.
“Peep. Peep…” (You’re always like this. Never listen to anyone…)
“Myu! Myuu!” (That’s my line! You were the one who went and betrayed your father!)
Mephisto’s face froze in shock.
Bailach regretted his words immediately, but they could not be withdrawn.
The truth was, Mephisto stabbing and sealing Shea still lingered as a wound for Bailach.
Before, Mephisto remembered nothing, but now that his powers and memories had returned, he knew just what he had done.
So to call him a traitor, now—Bailach had not meant to hurt him, only to state the truth.
Bailach clenched his paws.
“Myu myu.” (You sealed your father, and imprisoned me.)
“Peep…” (I…)
“Myu myu myu.” (And you stood by while the second built the Tower.)
“Peep…” (I, I…)
The hamster’s voice fell, cold and heavy.
“Myu.” (I was a fool.)
When Mephisto heard that, he bowed his head deeply.
And then—
Whoosh.
He uttered not a single excuse, but flew away without a word.
Bailach flinched, as if to give chase, but finally dropped into a chair and folded his arms.
Let him leave, or stay—as if it mattered. He could look after his own master.
Bailach repeated this to himself, struggling to calm his heart.
Meanwhile, On Groo, though she hadn’t understood a word, sensed that something in the mood had gone terribly wrong.
Across the table, the Bailach of the past seemed to glare as if to say, ‘Your familiars are fighting, aren’t they?’
On Groo squirmed under his gaze.
‘What do I do? It really does look like a fight…’
She hugged Yurian and Lucifer to her chest and pressed her chin into a fist.
This was bad. Her pupils trembled.
‘The two most helpful friends I have are fighting.’
…What should I do?
All that remained in the room now was a chilling silence.
Whether her familiars quarrelled or not, the Bailach of the past seemed to press her for an answer. His gaze choked like a noose.
‘Disaster! Disaster!’
On Groo licked her lips and abruptly rose to her feet.
“…There are differing opinions. I shall defer my answer until tomorrow.”
“Could it be… You actually heed your familiars’ opinions?”
“Of course!”
In truth, she had caught none of it—she hadn’t understood a word!
But On Groo nodded as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Bailach could not hide his astonishment.
His Monarch had never been one to heed the voices of his familiars.
To Monarch Shea, familiars were mere trifles, destined to vanish someday.
Bailach watched the little witch’s retreating figure in silence—an unspoken envy in his eyes.