Miss Witch, please don't leave your fragrance everywhere

Chapter 1: You Are the Immortal Black Witch
Strange rumors had long circulated in the Boppard Parish, nestled within the Rhine Confederation.
They spoke of a witch—immortal and undead, who resided deep in the Misty Mountains that loomed within parish borders. It was said she raised legions of foul monsters and cursed any who dared approach her home. Every misbehaving child in Boppard had heard the same threat from their mother:

"If you don’t behave, I’ll send you up into the Misty Mountains, and the witch will turn you into a girl!"
Most boys would immediately behave, terrified by the thought—though some unfortunate ones had blurted out, “Wait, that sounds kinda nice!” and promptly earned a smack for it.
In short, witches were the kind of thing people tried to avoid, and no one from Boppard Parish dared venture into the Misty Mountains voluntarily.

Only strangers—fools from faraway lands—would ever think to climb that cursed peak.
“Hyaah—!!”
With a fierce shout, a girl dressed in ranger gear loosed an arrow, sending a swarm of blue slimes fleeing into the depths of the forest. Sunlight streamed through the rustling leaves, casting golden beams onto her beautiful, elf-like face.

She let out a long sigh, lowered her bow, and instinctively wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand—only to pause and frown.
Her leather glove had been dissolved during the battle, exposing her pale, delicate skin.
The journey up the mountain had been brutal. Wave after wave of monsters had ambushed her—mostly weaklings like slimes and mucus-spitting tentacle beasts.

But… they were absurdly strong!
These were supposed to be low-level monsters she could’ve handled in her sleep. Yet by the time she neared the summit, her mana reserves were almost completely drained.
Still, she pressed on.

Come on, Slude! The fate of the kingdom rests on your shoulders!
She gave herself a mental pep talk and pushed through the final patch of trees—only to be greeted by a breathtaking sight.
A serene mountain paradise.

Nestled amidst patches {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} of wild St. John's wort and alpine poppies stood a humble wooden cabin. Neatly tended vegetable plots surrounded it, and birds chirped in the trees overhead. It was like something from a fairy tale.
Before she could take it all in, the cabin door creaked open—as though the occupant had been expecting her.
Out stepped a young woman, her hair as black as midnight. Her porcelain features were flawless, and her eyes sparkled like polished pearls. Yet for all her beauty, there was something strangely lazy and… hopeless about her demeanor.
“Well now, a visitor? That’s rare… and a stranger, too.”

Her voice was sweet like a songbird’s. But Slude was too stunned to respond.
“Y-You’re a girl?!”
“Isn’t that obvious? What else were you expecting?”

“But—my master told me the one living in the Misty Mountains was a foul-smelling orc who drooled over pretty girls!”
“…Excuse me?”
Slude winced.

Indeed, witches had a strange reputation in the outside world. With fewer than ten witches on the entire continent, most people had never actually seen one. The common image was a hunched old crone with a wart-covered nose, cackling over bubbling cauldrons in a dark room.
It wasn’t hard to see how someone might mistake them for… orcs.
“Well, I’m certainly not an orc. I’m a witch—the ‘Black Witch,’ Angelica. And Miss Elf, it seems you’ve got quite a few misconceptions about orcs. They’re actually a monogamous race with their own culture and clan traditions. They’re not the brutish, lust-driven savages your kind makes them out to be.”

Slude, with her blonde hair, blue eyes, and long pointed ears, was clearly an elf—or at least mostly so. Somewhere along the way, the elven people had developed a strange, persistent prejudice against orcs, branding them as vulgar barbarians.
“Is that… true?”
“To quote the orcs themselves,” Angelica cleared her throat and adopted a gruff, mocking tone:
‘You pointy-eared pansies are always badmouthing us! Look at yourselves—no muscle, just skin and bones. You think we’re beneath you? We’re the ones laughing!’

Angelica had an orc friend who once read the popular elf novel “The Orc Slave and the Elf Queen” and got so angry at the offensive depiction that he nearly had a stroke. Legend has it he saw the spirits of his ancestors in his rage.
“…I was really looking forward to it, too,” Slude muttered, her voice full of disappointment.
Angelica could practically hear the sound of her girlish fantasies shattering—and, honestly, they seemed pretty odd to begin with.

“Anyway, aren’t these mountains full of monsters that melt girls’ clothes?!”
“They are. I bred them myself,” Angelica said proudly. “They don’t kill, but they’re great for scaring off unwanted visitors.”
Despite being from another world and having lived in this one for a long time, Angelica had never developed a taste for bloodshed. Slimes were common monsters across the continent—slow, low damage, and resistant to physical attacks. Perfect for training beginners.

Angelica had simply made them stronger. Combined with the fog that disoriented trespassers, it made for a peaceful, private hideaway in the Misty Mountains.
Also… cold slime made for a surprisingly refreshing dish.
“Seems like you were fed a bunch of nonsense by your master. I’d really like to know who’s out there ruining my reputation.”

“Uh… I brought a token from my master.”
Slude snapped out of her disappointment and pulled out a preserved flower encased in a transparent box. A single purple iris lay within.
“He said if I showed this to you, you’d know who I was.”

Angelica’s eyes widened slightly.
“A flower…? Ah, you’re Merlin’s apprentice. So that old man’s still kicking.”
“Er, yes. Though he’s definitely a little… aged.”

“By human standards, he must be, what—eighty? Ninety? I haven’t seen him in fifty years. That explains a lot. If you’re his disciple, things make sense now.”
It was rare for an elf to become the apprentice of a human, but Angelica quickly realized Slude was likely a half-elf—a child of both races. Half-elves were known for their elven beauty and human adaptability, often living among human societies.
Since she was Merlin’s student, Angelica decided not to kick her off the mountain. For now.

“Merlin wouldn’t send someone to me unless it was serious. So, what brings you here?”
“Ahem. The story begins long ago—”
“You’ve got ten seconds. Or I turn you into a pig.”

“Wha—?! Wait, hang on! Actually… that might not be so bad. N-No, what I mean is—the princess of our kingdom has been cursed! She’s… she’s turned into a boy, and no one can break the spell! Please, we need your help!”