Chapter 64 : Schindel Strasse (64)

“Shall we head back now? Or…”

“Let’s go see something else! That wasn’t really a ‘spectacle’ no matter how you look at it!”

Is that so?

Hans had thought it was far better than a performance like the Kumo Strasse’s visceral dissection show, at least for Alje.

Hans poked the puffed-up cheek of the girl, which had swelled out like a balloon. 

With a soft pssshh, the air seemed to escape from her lips, only for the girl to puff her cheek up tightly again with a glare.

“Alright. Let’s go, let’s go.”

If her opinion was that firm, then he’d have to go along with it. 

What else could he do?

It was night, but the play hadn’t been that long to begin with, so they still had plenty of time left. 

Hans took the girl’s pouting hand and began walking down the street again.

“Ehehe.”

“You seem suddenly happy. Did something good happen?”

“It’s because you’re a dummy, mister.”

“…?”

“Hehe. I’m shy, so don’t ask!”

He had no idea what she meant.

Alje chuckled softly as she held Hans’s hand. 

Just a moment ago, it had been Alje who had taken Hans’s hand first, but this time, it was Hans who had taken hers.

A trivial order of action that might not even register for some.

But to someone, it could be a sign of joy greater than anything else.

If Hans were harboring lust for the girl, it might have been different, but since it was not love, he didn’t act with any special awareness.

That realization might change things slightly—if it ever came.

But the girl didn’t ask, and even if Hans were asked, he had no intention of answering.

“Then how about the library?”

“The library…? I’d love to!”

Of course, for Alje, anywhere was fine as long as she was with Hans.

“At the very least, it’s a place more proper than that theater. I think you’ll like it.”

“Ugh, that play was sooo weird! Do people really find stuff like that fun?”

Hans replied simply.

“Because a witch was watching.”

Yes, that was all that mattered. 

Nothing else was important.

The audience’s complaints? 

The actors’ despair? 

So what.

Even if a thousand of them gathered, they still wouldn’t be able to take on a single witch.

“Well, the library’s the same in that sense… but it’s not a space meant only for amusement.”

The spectacles of Kumo Strasse overflowed with blood and eros, tailored to the lowly tastes of the dregs of society,while those of Schindel Strasse—though more restrained—were still twisted by the bizarre preferences of witches.

But there are some things that should not be twisted.

Information and knowledge, records and history.

Of course, Hans knew that witches deliberately concealed certain things that were never meant to be revealed.

Even so, the library was probably one of the places most similar to the outside world.

Books were rare treasures, and Hans, once a farmer, had never actually visited a library before, so he couldn’t be sure.

The library they arrived at wasn’t that big. 

Actually, it was smaller than expected.

“This is the library?”

A different kind of disappointment from when they’d left the theater.

The brown building standing on a gray stone floor had a somewhat antique look to it, but it was laughably small—just a bit smaller than the new house where Hans and Gretel now lived.

Granted, that house had originally belonged to a witch, one of the largest and most spacious in all of Schindel Strasse.

Alje entered with her expectations already lowered.

Then, upon seeing the inside, she murmured in awe.

“Wow…”

If the theater had disappointed exactly as much as expected, then the library did the exact opposite.

There was no denying the modest size, but the small space had been neatly and intricately arranged— With books, bonsai plants, and cute little dolls.

Of course, a closer look revealed that the “bonsai” were actually wildly grown witch-plants pruned into shape, and the “cute dolls” were stitched together from scraps of monster leather.

Even so, there was at least a certain will behind it all.

A mournful compulsion to replicate a glimpse of the outside world— Not the Labyrinth, not the twisted city.

“You’re not someone I’ve seen before.”

It was late, so there were no visitors in the library, but the librarian was still at her post with the door open.

A middle-aged woman. 

Considering her age, you could say she was still quite attractive.

If not for the horrific traces of violence etched all over her face: ears like dumplings, a flattened nose, lips that wouldn’t fully close and hung slack, and in the gaps, glimpses of teeth missing in several places.

Despite that, the clothes she wore were as luxurious as those of the theatergoers, and the voice that flowed from those barely-sealed lips carried a sense of intelligence and dignity.

“There are only so many people in Schindel Strasse, madam—how could I possibly remember all their faces?”

“Of course, I don’t remember everyone in Heimvig. But I do remember everyone who visits this library. After all, not many crawl in here just to sniff the musty scent of old books.”

She made a rattling sound in her throat. 

Likely laughter, given her condition.

“You, I remember. The witch’s lover.”

“Is that so?”

Of course, Hans didn’t remember her. 

He had visited the library before with Gretel, but the woman’s appearance hadn’t left any impression strong enough to remain in his memory—Neither from beauty nor from injury.

“But I’m a little surprised you’ve changed lovers… Did the witch abandon you? Or are you avoiding her gaze?”

“None of the above. If that were the case, I wouldn’t be walking around so openly, would I?”

He denied all three.

He hadn’t been abandoned by the witch, wasn’t avoiding her, and hadn’t changed lovers.

Alje, missing the subtle nuance, asked with curious eyes.

“Is this really the library? Why is it so small?”

“You look like a noble-born lady, so let me answer: There are no readers in Heimvig.

Even if there are, most only read technical manuals or secret tomes. 

Who would bother reading worthless books stocked in a public library?”

Books that many people use are bound to wear out and suffer damage no matter how carefully they’re maintained.

Knowledge is power—and truly rare, valuable knowledge isn’t left in places like this to begin with.

At the woman’s self-deprecating remark, Alje tilted her head and walked toward the bookshelves.

Even the shelves weren’t very large, and most weren’t even half full—gaps yawned throughout like the librarian’s missing teeth.

Then, a bright smile bloomed on the girl’s face.

“Worthless? These stories are amazing!”

Hans stepped closer, curious what had made her so excited, though he was illiterate and couldn’t even read.

Noticing his puzzled expression, Alje immediately picked up on it like magic and began excitedly explaining at length.

And the stories were indeed the kind a girl like her would love:

Fairy tales about princesses in peril and the third-rate romances of bumbling heroes trying to rescue them.

Most of the books weren’t in great condition, but Alje was overjoyed as she eagerly began devouring them. 

Hans chuckled and sat down beside her.

Since he couldn’t read, Hans simply sat there, staring blankly at the library around him—just as he had the last time he came here with Gretel.

Floating dust motes, the pitch-black windows of night, the oil lamp hanging from the ceiling that gave off not a stench but a fragrance, the sparsely filled bookshelves propped up against one another to keep from falling.

He didn’t remember the librarian, but he remembered the library.

Even though it had been quite a while since he last came, the place hadn’t changed.

There was nothing particularly nostalgic about the place, but that unchanging nature brought a strange sense of peace.

“That girl… she’s not a witch, is she?”

“Why do you ask, madam?”

Hans was a hunter. 

Even inside Heimvig—even inside Schindel Strasse—he always kept a corner of his heart on alert.

The woman waved her hand as if to say there was no need to be on guard.

“Nothing like that, don’t get the wrong idea. Just curious.”

Sure enough, the girl was so engrossed in the book that she didn’t even notice the two of them talking.

The cheap romance novel she was reading had just reached its climax.

A princess on the verge of being devoured by a terrifying monster.

But for some reason, the monster kept the princess on its tongue for hours without eating her,And during that time, a prince—an ordinary human with no divine blessings, protection, or miracles—managed to slay the monster using nothing but grit and perseverance.

In terms of quality, it was a mess that could rival the play they had just watched.

Yet the girl’s face, as she immersed herself in the story, was all smiles—completely opposite from before.

What was the difference?

“If she really wants it, she can take that book with her. She likes it that much.”

“Huh? Is that really okay?”

“It’s not, normally.”

Because even if it’s contrived and ridiculous— In the end, it finishes with “And they lived happily ever after.”

“Normally, people getting stuck deep in a labyrinth like this, and these books sitting here collecting dust without a single hand to turn their pages… it’s all absurd, really…”

“…”

“Take it. I won’t ask you for money.”

There is no such thing as pure goodwill in the labyrinth.

Maybe she was planning to give them the book now, then change her story later and accuse them of theft.

Or, a simpler method—maybe the book was coated with poison somewhere.

Or perhaps there was something important or a clue hidden inside, and she intended to frame them later.

It wasn’t books, but Hans had experienced gifts like that firsthand.

In a place like this, it took courage not only to give a gift, but even to receive one.

But Hans glanced to the side for a moment, then gave a simple nod.

“Hmm.”

He didn’t believe that Alje would remain innocent forever.

But at the very least, if she was ever cornered— She could open a book and escape to the meadows of childhood innocence.