Chapter 1

Yuran was a healer who aided patients regardless of their background. If they were hurt, she would soothe them. If they were sick, she would treat them. It mattered not whether they were a poor beggar, a rich noble, or a thieving criminal. Yet despite this moral practice of hers, she was far from naive.

Yes, she would help them. 

No, it wasn't for free.

"That'll be seventy jewbis," she smiled innocently at the rugged bandit, her voice syrupy sweet. 

The bandit's eyebrows furrowed furiously. "Seventy jewbis? YOU WENCH! You're just a pathetic healer, you think you can rob me like this?!"

Yuran rolled her eyes. Seriously? He's talking about being robbed when he's a bandit?

Her childlike facade hardened into a menacing glare. Just moments ago, he had laid on the bed helpless begging to be healed. 

"Looks like you don't know when to be grateful," her voice became cold and flat.

The bandit growled. "You-"

Suddenly, the bandit felt a searing agony throb in his side. He looked down and a wound appeared. His scratchy clothes began to stain red.

"I can always recall my services if you aren't willing to pay."

This bandit was part of an infamous gang around the area, Warntry. They were notorious for their vile behavior, attacking commoners for fun and robbing them of every little scrap they had. 

It's always such a waste if these filthy felons are left untreated. 

They could be sucked dry for so much more. 

Yuran felt ecstatic at the exhilarative thought of scamming yet another bandit and earning easy money. 

Other workers in the village hospice walking by breathed sighs of pity, yet didn't dare to look. Another victim was suffering Yuran's money-hungry wrath.

"F-fine! I'll p-pay…" the bandit groaned in pain, his eyes starting to glimmer with fear. His crusty lips puckered up in an ugly curve. 

He held out a few jewbi coins but Yuran didn't move. He felt scared looking at the unmoving, now intimidating figure standing before him. 

Yuran's lips uttered words sharp as needles.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm afraid seventy jewbis was a mistake. I calculated it again, your price will be three hundred jewbis," she sneered. She imagined robbing him of everything he had until he'd pull his pockets inside out and only find dust.

The bandit opened his mouth to refuse but felt a pang in his side where blood continued to gush out, wetting his shirt. Sniffling, he shakily and hesitantly handed over three hundred jewbis from a bag of his possessions leaning against the bed corner. 

"Happy to heal," Yuran snatched the payment immediately.

As the bandit sprang out of bed and rushed to the door, he doubled over once again in a familiar pain. Red started appearing again. Nervously he turned around, whimpering. 

The bandit's face was close to tears. What more does she want?

Yuran's lips twisted into a sinister whisper, a vehement aura wafting in the air. She exuded her innocent, naive smile. She allowed her paralyzing stare to fixate on the bandit for a few seconds.

"…"

"No tip?" 

The bandit shuddered. The terrifying white-haired witch in front of him was a more prominent danger than his wound, the muscles near his side twitching and crying for release.

"H-how much?"

"…Five hundred," she demanded. It was the first ridiculous number that came to mind.

This time, the bandit didn't protest. He threw the remaining jewbi coins from his leather bag at the floor and limped hurriedly away as the cuts and bruises slowly settled and vanished. Still shuddering, he swore to live a virtuous life for the rest of his days as he realized this was a punishment and a warning from divine intervention. 

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