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chapter 21
I carefully held his wings and greeted him.
He smiled faintly and nudged the bundles of herbs tied with string aside with one foot as he spoke.
“Ah, these are the ingredients the master mentioned. But… ha, really. You’re making athlete’s foot ointment with these herbs?”
He asked me in his warm, regional accent.
Why does everyone seem so puzzled by the ingredients I use?
I slowly nodded and replied, tossing back the question.
“Yes. Is something wrong?”
“Ha ha, well now…”
“Martin! Don’t worry about that—focus on your own work first!”
At Curail-sensei’s shout, he chuckled and flapped his wings.
“No, really. Once you finish making the medicine, may I watch too?”
“Ah, of course! Anyway, after making the medicine, I’ll have to come to Curail-sensei for confirmation anyway.”
I laughed and scratched my head. Seeing my white hair slipping through my fingers, Martin clicked his beak together in laughter.
“Yes. I’m looking forward to it.”
Watching him fly off toward Curail-sensei, I greeted the teacher. Even if she sometimes showed her territorial side toward me, I could fully understand her feelings.
The long burn scar on my right side and the old wound marks on the back of my hand pressed against me like guilt.
Curail nodded, lifted Martin onto her arm, and turned to check other herbs.
I carefully closed the apothecary door with Oren, trying not to upset her mood further.
Martin sighed as he looked at his master’s face.
He probably didn’t realize how uneasy he felt seeing her teasing that young witch on the ceiling earlier.
“Master.”
“What is it?”
“Why did you treat that young witch master like that?”
He murmured, staring at the teacher’s face.
Her expression still held a mischievous glint—a detail Martin could recognize, having served as her assistant for thirteen years.
“She was already so tense, being in the Beastmen Kingdom. You were too harsh,” Martin grumbled.
Curail chuckled at her pupil’s fussing.
“You think I was being territorial without reason, Martin?”
“Not exactly… but the young master seemed very unsettled when she saw your scars.”
He looked at his master’s scars with concern. Knowing how she had gotten them, he chose to stay silent.
Curail gently traced her own scars with her finger.
“Maybe she acted that way because she understood what these scars were from.”
“But she’s the kindest witch I’ve ever seen,” Martin added.
“Ha ha. You forget that you were once captured and forcibly experimented on by witches, don’t you?”
“Well, yes… but compared to those cursed women, this new master seems kinder, gentler.”
Martin continued, looking at the parrot form that would never revert to human.
“What you did earlier was a sort of test, right?”
He flapped his wings in the air from her arm. Curail narrowed her eyes and asked:
“Why do you think so?”
“Well, you tend to be harsh with people you like. Even when I begged to become your assistant, you treated me so strictly.”
He carefully chose his words while gauging her expression. Thinking of it still sent shivers down his spine.
Seeing the green feathers quiver, Curail chuckled.
“You’ve held onto that memory, huh? You little brat.”
“Just thinking about it gives me chills. I’ll never forget it for the rest of my life.”
She thought of the young girl trembling like a rabbit at his words.
“Martin, do you know what color witches despise most?”
“Uh… I’m not sure.”
“White. It represents death and the void—a world where truth cannot be reached.”
She gnawed her teeth and spoke as if crushing something.
Martin recalled the hair of the magic healer girl he had seen earlier.
“Probably, that girl hasn’t spent most of her life smoothly.”
She took a cigar from the drawer and placed it in her mouth. Seeing this, Martin flapped his wings in surprise.
“Master! I told you you can’t smoke here!”
“I know, kid. I’m just holding it, that’s all.”
Listening to his trembling voice, she sighed and placed the cigar between her lips.
The girl he had seen earlier had been remarkably determined.
Even in the face of territorial teasing, she hadn’t faltered—her resolve as a healer, striving to save lives, left an impression on him.
She chuckled softly and muttered to herself:
“By the way, that herbal combination is interesting.”
Martin settled on the desk and said:
“Oh, the ingredients you requested? I’m amazed that such a mixture actually makes medicine.”
“Exactly. Every medicine requires the proper ingredients.”
“Copeliers, right?”
He tilted his head, looking at his master.
Beastmen rarely needed medicine due to their high self-healing, but non-physical injuries required special remedies.
The common ingredient in such medicines was an herb called Copeliers.
It contained compounds that activated the cells in the body. However, if combined incorrectly, the potent activation could accelerate biological aging, shortening the user’s lifespan—a serious side effect.
Without it, the medicine was safe, but Beastmen often experienced allergic reactions, like hives, making its use a dilemma.
Thus, Beastmen were extremely cautious with medicine.
Yet, this small witch had omitted the Copeliers entirely.
“She doesn’t seem unaware of Beastmen physiology.”
“If this succeeds, I definitely want to observe the medicine-making process myself.”
He chirped excitedly with a bright smile. Curail smiled at Martin’s boundless curiosity.
“Yes. If a medicine without Copeliers succeeds, I’d also like to know the secret.”
She gently stroked her pupil’s head and murmured.
If all went well, she might finally fulfill a long-held wish. It had been a while since a newcomer’s efforts had made her heart race.
