Chapter 1060 – Mo Lan’s Travel Diary 13

Mo Lan set down her teacup, walked over to Sylvia’s side, and gently tapped her finger against the window.

“Look over there. What do you see?”

Sylvia rose onto her tiptoes, the tip of her nose pressing against the cold glass, and gazed in the direction her mother was pointing.

In the distance lay a verdant valley embraced by surrounding mountains.

Scattered across the valley floor were over a dozen tents made of animal hides dyed in three colors—blue, purple, and gold—arranged in a loose cluster like enormous flowers that had suddenly bloomed from the earth.

Between the tents, colorful woven rugs hung drying in the air, and wisps of cooking smoke curled upward from several stone hearths.

But what drew even more attention were the figures moving among the tents.

They were lean and sinewy, their skin a deep bronze from years of wind and sun. Their faces were painted with intricate patterns in blue, purple, and gold using natural mineral pigments—some resembling the branches of lightning, others like coiling vines.

Nearly every one of them wore light armor of tanned hide, carried longbows and quivers on their backs, and had short knives or hand axes hanging from their belts.

Most striking of all were the Flash Thunder Wolves at their sides.

The wolves had fur of interwoven silver-gray and deep blue, with a brilliant golden stripe running from the crown of their heads all the way to the tips of their tails. Some lay quietly at their masters’ feet, while others paced slowly about.

Occasionally, faint blue electric sparks would leap from their claw tips or ear tips, crackling softly.

In the very instant Sylvia was watching, one particularly robust Flash Thunder Wolf suddenly raised its head, its golden eyes locking onto the airborne castle with unerring precision.

It let out a low growl, deep and resonant as distant thunder.

Several Tatari who had been cleaning their weapons beside the tents immediately looked up, hands reaching for the weapons at their waists.

“Are those… the Tatari? Have we arrived?” Sylvia’s voice trembled slightly, equal parts nervousness and excitement.

“We have,” Mo Lan replied, her voice calm and gentle. “And it looks like we’ve already caught their attention.”

The castle did not fly directly into the center of the valley. Instead, it began its slow descent onto a flat stretch of grassland near the adjacent hillside.

This distance neither intruded too far into the Tatari’s living space nor was so far that they couldn’t see the castle in full.

The low, droning hum stirred the entire valley.

More Tatari emerged from their tents, craning their necks to gaze up at the massive, uninvited castle.

Children were pulled behind their mothers, their small faces filled with curiosity rather than fear. The warriors, meanwhile, quickly gathered into a loose defensive formation, hands on their weapons, eyes sharp as hawks.

But there was no panic, no screaming.

These nomads, who had spent their lives surviving among mountain forests and thunderstorms, displayed remarkable composure.

They looked up, studying the castle’s construction, assessing whatever threat it might pose—unhurried to attack, yet unwilling to retreat.

“Sylvia,” Mo Lan’s voice rang out in the quiet general store, warm yet firm. “Open the door for our guests.”

Sylvia took a deep breath, wiped her small hands on the hem of her clothes, then hurried over to the counter.

Her fingers pressed down on the brass lever, trembling slightly, yet she pushed it down without the slightest hesitation.

Click.

The smooth sound of mechanical gears turning filled the air.

The wall on the outer side of the counter began to retract and fold back, revealing a wooden porch that extended outward.

Above it, the shop sign slowly descended, its magical luminescence clearly visible in the morning light—Witch General Store.

The moment the sign lit up, the atmosphere in the valley shifted subtly. The Tatari warriors, their spines taut and weapons in hand, visibly relaxed when they saw the word “Witch.”

Several mothers who had been shielding their children behind them loosened their tight grips.

Even the restless Flash Thunder Wolves sensed the change in their masters’ attitudes, ceasing their low growls and instead tilting their heads curiously toward the shop interior.

Ever since the Dawn Society had spread Card Magic across the entire Continent of Valen, making it an essential part of daily life for every spellcaster and even ordinary people, the Witches had come to occupy an extraordinarily special position throughout all of Valen.

They were the one group you absolutely could not provoke. Offend even a single Witch, and your entire tribe would face collective consequences—card prices would spike, or worse, you could be stripped of the right to use cards altogether.

But they were also the most reputable of all peoples. Witches would never actively harm any intelligent race.

More importantly, the Witches operated the most comprehensive and affordable Card Shop. From them, you could purchase cards that were otherwise impossible to find, and they would never gouge you on prices.

A Tatari warrior with the most elaborate face paint of all and a faded golden scar on his left cheek stepped forward two paces.

He raised his right hand, palm facing forward.

It was a universal gesture meaning both “halt” and “may I approach”—but his posture had already shifted from wariness to cautious engagement.

The Flash Thunder Wolf at his side followed him forward, its golden eyes fixed unblinkingly on the porch, though its tail swayed gently in a relaxed manner.

Sylvia held her breath.

She looked at her mother. Mo Lan simply smiled and gave her a nod, her eyes saying: “Go on, little shopkeeper—your customer is here!”

Sylvia inhaled deeply, wiped her small hands on her hem to dry sweat that wasn’t actually there, then climbed up onto the tall stool beside the counter and sat down. She picked up a small megaphone from the drawer, one enchanted with an Amplification Spell.

“Hello, friends of the Tatari! Welcome to the Witch General Store! We’re Witches traveling aboard a mobile castle, and we’ll be staying here for three days. You’re welcome to come inside and shop!”

She had tried her best to sound composed and steady, but she was only a little Witch of barely three years old, and the childish innocence in her voice was unmistakable.

A glimmer of curiosity flickered in the eyes of the Tatari warrior outside the door.

They had seen traveling Witches before—but always adult Witches passing through on brooms or flying carpets. A little Witch arriving aboard a mobile castle was a first.

But children always made it easier to let one’s guard down.

Taliro turned his head and said something to the people behind him. The Tatari language was clipped and hard-edged, like stones striking together.

Then he took two steps forward, stopping three paces from the porch.

When he caught sight of the cards on the shelves inside, his gaze grew heated. Then he noticed Sylvia behind the counter, and his caution finally melted away entirely.

A real Witch—even if she was just a tiny one.

Still, Witches were so protective of their young that there was no way an adult Witch wasn’t accompanying her. He leaned forward another step and, sure enough, spotted a purple-haired Witch sitting by the window behind the counter.

“A Witch’s general store?”

Taliro’s Common Tongue carried a noticeable accent, but it was clear enough.

Sylvia nodded vigorously, her heart pounding like a drum.

“Yes! We have cards of grade 5 and above—healing potions and things like that. Would you like to come in and look around? No obligation to buy—browsing is free!”

Taliro was silent for two seconds.

Then, the corner of his mouth suddenly twitched upward. It was probably a smile, though the face paint and scars lent it a rather rugged quality.

“Alright. Then I’ll… have a look.”

Taliro lifted his foot and stepped inside.