Witch Troupe and the Undead

Witch Troupe and the Undead

Author: Scientification of Realistic Boundaries

Introduction:

"My name is Roach. I'm not a horse, and my name isn't a carrot.

The current state is torn into pieces (literally), but since it has been put back together, it can be considered alive.

He has no special hobbies or interpersonal relationships, and by local standards, he is illiterate, if not illiterate.

The main work every day is fishing, making soup, chopping wood, and feeding horses. There is no traveling around the world.

What is my main job? Probably pets.

What are you good at? I don’t seem to be particularly good at anything. If I had to say, it would probably be courting death.

If I have to say, I'm pretty confident about my appearance because the witch praised me for being cute."

The man, with scars left by healed wounds all over his face, looked as if he had just emerged from a hellish battlefield. He smiled like a child and raised the axe in front of him.

Chopping wood, feeding horses, no world travel: Prologue: Resurrection

It felt as if liquid was flowing upwards from the soles of my feet, the gentle ripples scraping my skin with a deathly chill. My body sank uncontrollably downwards, or perhaps it was being gradually swallowed up by something called death. My consciousness gradually dissipated in this cold, damp atmosphere, about to merge into the darkness that enveloped this pool of icy water.

"Am I...dead?" This is an answer that is destined to remain unanswered. How can the deceased confirm whether they are truly dead? Or what exactly is the definition of death?

Is it the cessation of bodily functions, the dissipation of consciousness, the cessation of thought, or complete oblivion by the world? Without a precise definition of death, the answer to this question remains elusive.

However, regarding humanity's own view of death, the answer to this question is not so difficult to arrive at. "Without a doubt, I am indeed dead," the being floating in the nameless and dark liquid answered its question definitively.

"I hope the mortician won't be frightened by my corpse." Extraneous emotions, such as fear, resentment, joy, and bewilderment, seem to become very faint here. Instead, the first thought is that the mortician shouldn't be frightened by himself.

"Wait, how did I die?" If the mortician were to frighten me, then the corpse should be extremely gruesome. "It seems..." Something invisible was drawn from this cold, icy water, and a faint warmth surged up along with long-lost memories.

"Died from a bomb!" This is a death that most people can hardly experience. The last memory before death is a screaming crowd, a policeman trying out American iaido, and a madman with a ferocious expression standing in the hotel lobby holding a detonator.

"Why am I there? Wait, I remember bombs shouldn't be that easy to get."

More memories flowed through my body along with a faint warmth, and countless images, conversations, and words flooded my mind—if I still had a "brain" at this moment.

"Business trip abroad, meetings, hotel stay, terrorist attack, innocent bystander caught in the crossfire." The keywords extracted from the fragmented memories are so simple and plain. "Ah, really... a meaningless death!"

He was just an unlucky guy caught in the crossfire of the incident. He wasn't even a supporting character, let alone a main character. He was just something lying on the ground as part of the background when the hero appeared.

In all the stories, he belongs to the kind of character who is never even mentioned. In the debate about which hero is stronger, DC or Marvel, no one mentions the unfortunate office worker eating a hot dog on the roadside.

"So, I must have family or something, right?" A blurry figure appeared in my mind, but the memory was very vague. Perhaps it was a characteristic of death, or perhaps I simply didn't remember at all.

"Ah, I can't remember. Was my relationship with my family not good? Then why did I go abroad? What was I doing there?" No more complete fragments of memory appeared. There were only blurry and chaotic conversations, images, and shadows swaying. It seemed to be an international conference with unclear content, and I seemed to be just a simple entourage member.

"Standing like a lackey, yes, that guy who stands like a lackey." Although his memory wasn't complete, judging from various signs, this meeting should have nothing to do with him. He was probably just the kind of person who served tea and water during meetings and ran errands for the big shots by delivering documents.

"What a dull and monotonous life... So, am I going through a revolving door of memories before starting a new one?" As jumbled fragments of memories appeared, a faint, soft light emerged in the dark space, with countless tiny particles swirling within it.

"Found it!" A crisp voice rang out, and some kind of force penetrated directly into this space, grabbed the ball of light, and dragged it out of the icy, dark pool of water, followed by a plunge into the scorching heat of a furnace.

The rough gravel cut into my skin like a sharp blade, and the heat and radiation from the sun made my skin feel hot and painful. My numb limbs were fixed in place by something and I couldn't move at all. The pain rose and fell in every part of my body like an endless tide.

The only thing that bothered me was that there was always a faint, slightly sweet rose scent lingering around my nose, which made me feel at ease. Then, a smooth and hard unidentified object was forcefully inserted into my mouth, prying open my lips and teeth.

It was indescribable; the only description was a taste like pitch-black, deep despair spreading from the tongue to the whole body. This indescribable, terrifying liquid rolled down the throat and into the stomach, as if swallowing a living flame, the heat spreading to the limbs, making the whole person feel like they were burning up.

The "corpse" lying on the sand struggled violently, like a fish that had been thrown onto a chopping board but was not quite dead yet. The outward-turned and rotting wounds on its body healed at a speed visible to the naked eye, leaving only a faint red scar.

"Cough cough cough!" The young man rolled over, propped himself up on his elbows, and began to vomit violently, but nothing came out except some saliva.

Whether it was the effect of the miraculous liquid or the return of life to this broken body, a trace of vitality gradually rose from within, and the limbs began to regain some strength.

The man braced himself against the ground, raised his upper body, and turned into a kneeling position. He surveyed the surrounding scenery. It seemed to be a beach, with white seabirds circling around a distant cliff that jutted out like an eagle's beak, making a somewhat noisy chirping sound.

Scattered on the beach were driftwood, seashells, smelly little fish, and clumps of seaweed. A dilapidated fishing boat covered in barnacles lay upside down among the rocks not far away, letting the waves wash over it at will.

"I... am I alright? Or have I ended up in another world?" The man looked down at his body. His clothes were completely torn to shreds, and the haphazard scars looked like the wounds stitched up by a clumsy mortician. Clearly, if his memory served him right, he had transmigrated.

He didn't think any bomb could blow him from an inland city to such a pristine beach, and that such a powerful bomb hadn't torn him apart. Oh, judging by the wound, he must have been torn apart, but some force had saved him.

"Phew~ I'm so lucky. This feeling of starting life over again is wonderful..." The man let out a long breath. As the saying goes, death is the only hardship in the world. Not everyone can have the chance to start over in another world after death.

As his nerves relaxed, the sweet and fragrant scent of roses returned, drawing his attention to the unusual smell. He turned his head to look at the source of the scent and saw a petite girl sitting in a dilapidated carriage under the shade of a tree, intently flipping through a book in her hands.

The enormous book obscured most of her face, revealing only a glimpse of her snow-white forehead. Beneath the black hood embroidered with intricate patterns, her smooth, light-gold hair radiated a warm glow like the sun, flowing down her slender shoulders.

Beneath the black cloak was a thin silk dress that looked no different from pajamas, with gold threads outlining the shape of some kind of plant vines on the hem. A pair of soft, white feet were encased in blue Greek-style strappy sandals, revealing ten pearl-like little toes.

"Hmm, not bad food~" Such an impolite thought popped into the man's mind. As if sensing his gaze, the girl raised her head, her pair of clear, glass-like emerald eyes quietly meeting his gaze. Her delicate face was expressionless, as if she were nothing more than a girl doll carefully crafted by an artisan.

"Thump!" The girl jumped off the carriage, carrying her books, and walked gracefully and lightly to the man. Only then did he realize that the girl's height only reached his chest, and he estimated that she was no more than 1.5 meters tall.

"..." The girl gazed at him quietly, her eyes devoid of any emotion, as if she were looking through him at something behind her. "...Livia," her delicate pink lips parted slightly, uttering words as soft as a mosquito's buzz, yet clearly audible.

"Livia?"

"Hmm!" The girl nodded, paused for a moment, and then raised her left hand slightly. The white silk glove revealed her index, middle, and thumb fingers. On the other two fingers, except for the thumb, was a delicate silver ring. Her slender fingers were well-proportioned, like a piece of tender jade, making one want to devour it.

"This is..." Something seemed to come to mind, but it was vague and uncertain. "Is this a hand-kissing gesture?"

The man nervously grasped the outstretched hand. It was soft, cold, and smooth, with an indescribable sensation that seemed to carry some strange bioelectricity that sent shivers down his spine.

"......!" Her emerald eyes widened slightly, as if she hadn't expected the other party's actions at all.

"Uh, not a hand kiss?" The man was unsure whether to let go or continue holding on.

The voice of "Name" rang out, cold and indifferent.

"Roach, not Geralt's horse, it's Roach." He habitually emphasized this point. He had lost a lot of his memories, but this habit was the only thing he had retained. Even now, he didn't know whose Geralt the name popping into his head belonged to.

The girl named "Livia" repeated her name again.

"So, this is the hand-kissing ceremony?" Roach hesitated for a moment. According to the fragments of his memory, it shouldn't involve direct physical contact. He gently leaned closer, and the scent of roses became even stronger. His lips lightly touched the ring on his middle finger, and a thin arc of electricity exploded the moment they made contact.

"Ah! What's going on?" Roach released his grip, but then he saw a name appear on the smooth silver ring: "Roach (meaning: carp)."

"...Looks like I'm still being used as a horse?"

Compared to the somewhat bewildered Roach, the girl named Livia reacted much more strongly. She withdrew her left hand and placed it in front of her chest, while her right fingers gently pressed on the ring. Although her face remained expressionless, her pupils, which were dilated to the extreme, showed that she was far more frightened than Roach.

"So, you saved me?" Roach looked around but didn't find a second humanoid creature on the beach. If it wasn't the Little Mermaid from the sea, then it must have been the girl named Livia in front of him.

"Hmm... It's all broken and tattered. Repairing it will be a lot of work," Livia said softly, seemingly still recovering from the shock. Although her tone was as indifferent and cold as before, Roach miraculously detected a deep-seated trouble and annoyance in her voice.

"Then you must be really amazing, to be able to repair a corpse that died such a gruesome death."

"..." Livia looked at Roach, her small mouth slightly open, revealing her pearly white teeth and pink tongue. She seemed completely unprepared for his words. After several seconds, she finally spoke, "Yes, your soul and body are one, and you can be resurrected."

Roach miraculously understood what she meant. He didn't know if it was because of the name on the ring, but she meant that her soul and body were one, so repairing the body was equivalent to repairing the soul and being able to be reborn.

"Does that mean that no matter how I die, as long as I don't turn to ashes, I can be resurrected?"

"..." Livia's doll-like indifferent expression softened slightly, and the girl shook her head slightly. "No, it's very tiring." Seemingly feeling that her flat tone lacked persuasiveness, she repeated, "Really, it's very tiring."

“So, that was just now, that ring…” Roach pointed to the girl’s left hand, and she instinctively placed her left hand on her chest as if she had been targeted by a venomous snake, holding it quietly with her right hand, the book between her arms pressed tightly against her chest.

This confirmed for Roach that the girl... might be a little poor. Well, thinking about it carefully, that's not quite right. If we're talking about the standard of similar build, she's quite well-proportioned and standard. At least she's not a steel plate. She's probably at the same level as the girl (you can always squeeze some out).

“You, guard…” Roach clearly felt the girl’s gaze linger on his body for a moment before she changed her words, “servant…” Before Roach could react whether he should be angry or sad about it, she glanced at his hands again and changed her words once more, “assistant, um, pet.”

Now all that's left for Roach is sorrow.

He miraculously understood the girl's body language again. He first thought she was a guard, then after observing his own physique, he decided he was not qualified to be a guard. Then he thought she was a servant, then he observed his hands, which looked like they had never been used before. Finally, he thought she was an assistant. Then he looked at his appearance, which might not be very smart due to amnesia—and finally defined her as: "pet".

I'd like to ask if being a pet of a beautiful girl really means getting the treatment of a pet, like being helped with bathing, being fed daily, being cuddled whenever possible, standing up for someone if someone hits you, and even having your pet cuddly and shedding little pearls when it's sick or injured.

But Roach, with astonishing willpower or perhaps an inexplicable survival instinct, held back and asked, "I want to ask, when did I become Livia's possession? Is ownership decided so easily?"

“Your life is mine.” The girl raised her head and stared into Roach’s eyes, her tone serious for the first time. “The ritual is complete.” She raised her left hand, the silver ring on her middle finger gleaming.

"Wait, I can understand that you saved me, and even resurrected me, but what ritual? Why did you suddenly switch to this?"

Although Roach knew that such a life-saving grace was not something that could be repaid with just a few words of thanks, the sudden loss of his freedom and personal rights still made him feel very uncomfortable.

"And what would happen if I didn't agree?" Livia tilted her head, seemingly not understanding his meaning. "Is... something wrong?"

"Nothing's right. Does saving someone mean their life is mine...?"

Although Livia always appeared expressionless and indifferent, with a detached gaze, Roach still managed to confirm one thing from her body language and the almost imperceptible confusion in her eyes.

"Could it be that... this is the local custom or social attitude?!"

As luck would have it, fragments of relevant knowledge actually popped into his head: in the ancient Age of Exploration, if a merchant ship wrecked at sea was rescued, then by default, the people and property on board belonged to the rescuers.

If the rescued person does not want to become a dependent, they must pay a ransom. Roach looked down at himself and saw that he was only wearing half a pair of trousers and underwear. Obviously, he was unlikely to be able to pay the ransom except to be a beautiful girl's pet.

Moreover, upon closer reflection, the sheer amount of work involved in resurrecting someone's shattered body and piecing it back together makes it difficult to utter those "nonsense, my fate is in my own hands" or "you're just asking for death" kinds of thoughts.

Moreover, if he dies a few more times, he might have to trouble this young lady to revive him, which would be even more difficult to say.

Chapter One: Second Death

The docile pony slowly made its way along the forest path, which was almost indistinguishable to the naked eye. The old, dilapidated wooden carriage creaked and groaned almost everywhere except for the fact that the bell was not ringing. The only thing that made Roach curious and relieved was that the carriage was miraculously not very bumpy.

Perhaps due to some kind of magical influence, the tree roots, rocks, and even the tangled bushes along the way seemed to have grown legs and moved aside to the sides and all around before the carriage could hit them, allowing the carriage to keep moving forward on the flat and soft mud.

"So, Livia, what exactly do you mean by this ritual?" Roach, gripping the useless reins—because the horse knew the way better than him—turned to look at the girl quietly reading a book in the back of the wagon.

“…” Her light golden, fine eyelashes lifted slightly, and her emerald eyes glanced at him, as if assessing Roach’s intelligence. After a moment, she lowered her head again and slowly turned the pages of her book, as if his question was merely the noise of the wind blowing through the leaves in the forest.

"...I feel like I've been subtly insulted..." Roach turned his gaze back to the front of the carriage, which was now some distance from the coast.

Apart from the dilapidated paths that had been almost completely eroded by time and weeds, there was no trace of human activity in the forest. All that could be seen were unfamiliar trees and weeds that had never been seen before. Occasionally, a few birds would hop across the branches, their black bean-like eyes quietly watching Roach.

"Snap!" The heavy books closed together. The girl patted the dust off her skirt, stood up from the truck bed, and placed her small hand on Roach's shoulder. A mysterious force spread outward like ripples. The forest, which was no different from before, moved to both sides in these ripples, like a curtain being drawn back to reveal the two-story wooden house behind it.

The log cabin is a standard European style. In Roach's view, it is closer to the wooden buildings of the modern industrial era after the Renaissance than to earlier products. The exterior walls are made of logs, while the interior walls are made of planks, with mud bricks as insulation between them.

One side of the house has a fireplace and chimney made of pebbles and stucco. The roof is a wooden roof with an additional layer of thatch and mud, on which lush green unidentified plants grow and are dotted with pale yellow flowers.

The house was surrounded by a dilapidated fence, a simple fence consisting of a grid structure made of four wooden sticks. Inside the fence were stone flower beds, where large patches of flowers and plants grew lushly. In addition to the flower beds, there were also many plants growing in broken wooden barrels and pottery jars in front of and behind the house, blooming with various colors.

Behind the house was a roughly leveled ground, where there were simple stables and parking areas for vehicles. However, Roach did not see the location of a European-style dry toilet or the entrance to a cellar, so was it in the form of a wooden indoor toilet?

It has to be said that as soon as one's mind starts thinking about eating, drinking, and relieving oneself, the fairytale-like atmosphere of this secluded cabin in the woods vanishes without a trace.

Is this your home?

"Home?" Livia paused for half a second, then nodded slightly. "Yes, home."

The girl jumped off the carriage and ran towards the gate with light, quick steps. Even this short distance brought two adorable blushes to her face, showing that she probably didn't get enough exercise.

“This cart…” Then Roach saw the old horse pull the empty cart toward the stable. He took the harness off the horse himself, and then the old horse walked steadily into the stable, closing the door behind it with its hind legs.

"..." Roach suddenly realized that Livia's view of him as a pet wasn't unreasonable, mainly because he discovered that he might indeed be less useful than a horse.

"Chamomile, autumn crocus, impatiens, miscanthus..." As he passed the flower bed, Luo Qi glanced at the plants inside, and related names and bits of knowledge automatically popped into his mind. "It seems..." they all have medicinal properties.

Then, thinking back to the liquid he drank after his resurrection, whose taste could only be described as profound, dark, and fantastical, perhaps all that was grown here were herbs. Livia not only possessed some kind of supernatural magical power, but she might also be an excellent apothecary. Wait, this description sounds just like a legendary witch or sorceress.

And this cabin in the woods, in a typical fairy tale, seems to be the place where an ordinary little witch should stay. So, she is actually a witch, but she doesn't know if she will have the chance to learn magic.

The door was ajar, and Roach pushed it open gently. The room behind the door was simple; in fact, the house wasn't very big. Directly opposite the door was a burning fireplace with a blackened iron pot hanging on it. To the right was a long wooden table and four simple chairs, and to the left were several shelves and a workbench.

There were mortars, pestles, and various bottles and jars on the table. The most eye-catching item was a rather large crucible, with bundles of processed herbs hanging from nearby beams. In front of the fireplace sat a rocking chair and two long benches covered with thick blankets. On the small round table between them, there were some unfinished dishes that looked like cheese.

To the right of the fireplace is a staircase leading to the second floor, and to the left is a separate small room, which looks like a washroom or bathroom.

After looking around, Roach turned his gaze back to the stairs. Livia stood at the top of the stairs and waved to him, signaling him to follow her up.

The second floor has a simpler layout: a corridor, four rooms, a master bedroom, a guest room, a storage room with brooms, wooden boxes and barrels, and a study with very cute hand-drawn warning signs hanging on it. Well, it could also be some kind of magic workshop. In any case, the piles of scrolls, books and purple crystals placed on the desk all exude an ancient and mysterious atmosphere.

“The room,” Livia said, pointing to the empty guest room.

As she spoke, a swarm of logs bounced past Roach, forming a bed right before his eyes. Then, like a magic carpet, a large bundle of straw flew up, entered through the window, and was laid on the wooden bed. Soft, mycelium-like things spun themselves in the air and fell down, creating a very comfortable bed.

"Wow~ This is so magical!" Yes, Roach thought he would need to chant a spell, follow some basic rules, or transform some elements, but this scene was closer to the kind of "magic" in fairy tales that is completely unreasonable.

The bed, desk, and simple wardrobe assembled themselves right in front of Roach. He now understood how this little girl had lived alone in the forest for so long. At the same time, he sighed again that he probably really couldn't do the work of a servant. Compared to the convenience of magic, not to mention that he didn't have the skills, even if he did, it would take him several days to make these pieces of furniture.

Most importantly, after doing all this, Livia did not feel any loss of magic or any kind of supernatural energy. Either this level of magic was effortless for her, or this kind of magic did not require any magic or similar energy in nature.

“The room,” Livia looked at Roach and repeated. He roughly understood what she meant. Perhaps this understanding was brought about by that mysterious ritual?

"Hmm, I'm very satisfied." Roach indicated that he had no objection to the room's treatment, and the girl nodded slightly. She then turned around and returned to her own room across the street. The door closed by itself, and the ram's head relief on the door bared its teeth at Roach, as if warning him not to do anything bad.

Clearly, Roach didn't really have that idea. He didn't want to be so reckless as to dabble in those completely illogical, rule-based, bizarre curses and magical effects from fairy tales, where there was no concept of strength, weakness, victory, or defeat.

Besides, in the fairy tales he remembered, the magical curses were generally considered to be a good ending, with death being the only possible outcome.