Charles froze. A careless brush of his fingertip against Ruth's sent searing pain shooting through him—as if he'd been stabbed by a needle.
He reflexively let go and looked down. Ruth's delicate, jade-white hand shimmered before his eyes. Each of her slender nails was painted a vivid purple-red, exquisitely manicured yet utterly incongruous beside radishes and kitchen knives.
Yet he knew—those ten purple-red nails were peerless weapons capable of shredding steel like paper. Tearing his body apart would be as effortless as slicing through butter.
And now, beneath Ruth's beautiful facade lurked nothing but cold, murderous intent...
In the split second he hesitated, Ruth's seemingly frail fingers snatched everything from his grasp.
Then Charles watched as the kitchen knife danced in her hand with feather-light grace, spinning across the radish's surface without resistance—peeling its skin as smoothly as cutting tofu.
The skill made Charles suck in a sharp breath.
What a performance. Truly worthy of the Blade Witch!
But this was merely the beginning. Next, Ruth placed the peeled radish on the board. The blade descended in swift, even strokes—first into uniform slices, then into fine shreds arranged neatly aside.
Flawless.
Such knife work could rival even the System's precision!
As Charles marveled, a faint, delicate aroma drifted into his nostrils.
It emanated from Ruth's body—that distinctive fragrance only fastidious maidens possessed. Hattie carried it too.
These witches, masquerading as nuns, committed fully to their roles, adopting every expected trait.
Now, that delicate scent teased Charles' nerves. Watching Ruth's busy, focused back, a bold idea crept into his mind:
How about taking advantage of the opportunity to launch a surprise attack and Purify her?
Yet the moment the thought arose, he crushed it mercilessly!
Charles, oh Charles, you've really grown arrogant. When better opportunities await, why rush here?
A mere twist of her body, a single pinch from her nails, and she could strike him dead on the spot!
So discard such wicked thoughts. Survival comes first!
Chastising himself, he then heard Ruth speak: "Why are you just standing there? Boil some water and soak the salted fish."
Snapping back to attention, Charles dared not delay. Warily keeping her movements in his peripheral vision, he lit the stove, ladled water into the pot, and waited for it to boil.
Ruth never once glanced at him, wholly absorbed in her task. She sliced radishes into uneven lengths but uniformly slender strips, then set them aside on a plate for later use.
"Take out the bread," she instructed next. Unsure of her intentions, Charles could only obey, following each command.
The kitchen settled into an eerie state—silent, bustling, yet oddly peaceful. Charles remained wordless throughout, while Ruth, as if performing a soliloquy, intermittently issued him orders.
Finally, after roughly half an hour of joint effort, a simple dish of salted fish and radish strips was ready. Ruth evenly layered the salted fish and radish onto each slice of bread, rolled them up, and brought one to Charles' lips. "Here. Eat."
Flustered, Charles studied her expression carefully, yet her face betrayed no emotion. "I-I can feed myself, Miss Ruth. Ah… won't you eat too?"
Ruth shook her head but persisted, holding the rolled bread to his mouth. "I've eaten. This is for you."
Her delicate, pretty hands now hovered near his lips, their translucent skin glowing with a healthy flush, tempting him. Despite his hunger, he longed to open his mouth and gently nip those fingers.
Yet he stayed lucid. Gazing at her beautifully polished purple-red nails, he knew—this witch, who loathed humans, would tear him to shreds the moment he dared any blasphemous act!
Hold back. You must hold back!
And so, unable to refuse yet forbidden from savoring her soft hands, Charles suppressed his impulses, parted his lips, and took a bite of the bread.
Hiss…
The fluffy bread wrapped around crisp radish, with the salty tang of fish lurking inside, ready to burst—surprisingly, it tasted… good?
Wait… the game never mentioned Ruth being a hidden chef?
Was this the system's doing?
A flicker of surprise crossed his face, and Ruth caught it instantly. "What? Does it not taste good?"
Charles shook his head quickly. "No, it's delicious. Thank you, Miss Ruth."
Even as he spoke, doubt gnawed at him.
What's going on? Why is this witch suddenly serving me?
"No need for thanks," Ruth said, her tone still icy. Yet she, too, was scrutinizing every shift in Charles' mood. "Helping the poor, especially underage children like you, is simply our duty."
"So, until you've fully recovered, rest here without worry. If you crave anything, don't trouble yourself—just tell me, and I'll prepare it for you."
After a pause, as if for emphasis, she added, "You can trust me completely. There's no need to be so guarded."
Her words were meant to ease his wariness. Instead, they struck Charles like a thunderbolt!
I get it now—she's trying to lull me into lowering my guard!
Just like how sushi chefs massage octopus—not for its comfort, but to make the flesh more tender!
This witch is softening me up for slaughter!
A bead of sweat formed on Charles' temple. Forcing an awkward smile, he muttered, "I… see. Thank you for your kindness, Miss Ruth…"
BANG—
The door burst open. Hattie, clutching a cloth-wrapped bundle, stood panting in the kitchen doorway—
And froze at the sight of Ruth feeding Charles a rolled bread stuffed with salted fish and radish.