Witch Taming System

Lancel moved through Port Town, trying to piece together anything he could.

"Does anyone know where the troupe that performed yesterday went?!"

He stopped people at random, looking from one face to another, hoping for even the slightest reaction.

But all he got were confused, dismissive stare. Some were even wary, as if he had just shouted nonsense at them.

After all, who would even know? To them, it was just a passing performance.

Still, Lancel didn’t stop.

He kept asking, moving from one person to the next, his steps growing more frantic as the answers never came.

"Hey! You were there yesterday, right?" he asked a man unloading crates by the docks. "The troupe that performed. Where did they go?"

The man paused, glancing at him with a slight frown.

"...Troupe?"

"The performers. The ones wearing clown makeups yesterday."

The man shook his head slowly. "Don’t know what you’re talking about."

Lancel clicked his tongue and moved on. He stopped a pair of women chatting near a stall, cutting into their conversation.

"Have you happened to see any performers wearing clown makeup around?"

The two exchanged looks.

"...Clown makeup?" one of them repeated, brows knitting together. "No. There are always performers around here, but nothing like that."

"You’re sure? They had a whole setup yesterday. Heck, there was even a crowd."

The other woman shook her head, taking a small step back.

"I did notice that... But I wasn’t interested enough to watch."

Lancel stared at them for a moment longer before letting out a sigh and turning away.

"...Right."

A merchant arranging trinkets by a wooden stand caught his attention next.

"Then you must’ve seen them," Lancel said, stepping closer. "A troupe wearing clown makeup. They were performing right here yesterday."

"Ah, yes..." The man nodded slowly. "Quite an interesting bunch—"

"Do you know where they went after their performance?" Lancel cut in. "Anywhere they might’ve stopped by? Any place at all?"

A clue was a clue.

Right now, that was all Lancel needed. Just something, anything to point him in the right direction. To know where to start looking.

The man scratched his chin, trying to recall something that wasn’t quite clear.

"Now that you mention it... they didn’t stick around long," he said slowly. "Packed up right after. Didn’t even bother drawing a crowd for long."

"Where? Which direction did they go?"

The man pointed vaguely toward the edge of the port.

"Over there. Toward the outer road. If I remember right... one of my buddies mentioned a clown troupe stopping by his place for a quick bite."

"And where is that?! What’s the name?!"

"Calm down. It’s called The Rusted Anchor. Keep heading down that road, past the last row of warehouses. There’s a narrow street that cuts to the right. You’ll see it there."

"...Got it."

That was enough.

The moment Lancel found a place that matched the description, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The restaurant was empty. A single balding man was there, sweeping the floor while whistling.

"We’re still closed," the man said with a frown. "Come back later."

"I’m not here to eat," Lancel replied. "I’m looking for a troupe. Clown makeup. I heard they stopped by here yesterday."

The stopped sweeping, turning to look at Lancel with an even deeper frown.

"...We get a lot of people here."

"They came in a group. It’s highly unlikely you didn’t notice them."

"Even if I did, why would I tell you?"

Lancel clenched his fists. "Because they took two people with them."

"...Two people, huh. Yikes."

"Where did they go?"

"Listen. It’s not like I keep track of where my customers go after eating," the man said. "But kidnapping in Port Town isn’t anything strange. If you’re looking for information, the men down by the docks would’ve noticed something."

"The docks?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks!"

By the time he reached the docks, the noise had already swallowed him whole. Workers shouted over one another as crates slammed against the ground and ropes as ships moved with the tide.

Lancel moved straight into it.

"Hey!" he called out, stopping a man hauling a net. "You were here yesterday, right? Did you see a troupe pass through? Clown makeup, moving in a group!"

The man barely glanced at him.

"Ask someone else."

Lancel didn’t stop.

He moved again, grabbing the attention of another, this time a pair of men carrying crates between them.

"...Clowns?" one of them muttered, exchanging a look with the other. "Don’t remember."

The second man frowned, then shook his head.

"Lots of people come and go. If they kept moving, we wouldn’t notice."

Lancel clicked his tongue, already turning away.

"Hey—"

Lancel reached out to stop someone passing by without much thought. But the moment his palm made contact, the man lurched forward far harder than intended.

"Ah..."

He hadn’t realized how much force he used. Actually, by his standards, it wasn’t much at all.

But before he could process it properly, the man he had pushed stumbled straight into another, one who had been carrying a stack of crates balanced precariously in his arms.

"Oi!"

Thud!

The impact sent the crates tipping over. One fell, then another, then the entire stack came crashing down in a chain, slamming against the ground as the contents scattered across the dock.

"Watch it, you idiot!"

"What the hell are you doing?!"

The man who had been hit turned around immediately with an angered look, grabbing the other by the collar.

"You trying to screw me over?!"

"I didn’t—he pushed me!"

Both of them turned at the same time.

Their eyes landed on Lancel.

"...You."

Lancel raised his hands slightly.

"Wait, that was—"

One of them shoved the other aside and stepped forward, grabbing Lancel’s collar.

"You think you can just mess around here, you punk?!"

More heads turned.

The noise had drawn attention, and just like that, the surrounding workers began to close in, clearly irritated as they saw the mess on the ground.

"Haa... Fuck... I don’t have time for this..."