The Witch Didn't Raise the Tyrant That Way - Chapter 1: This is How I Raised Him (2)

“Well then, what do you think? About this goodness of human nature you so boldly preach… I’ll make it an indisputable truth by personally wiping out every counterexample.”

The motive was simple: revenge, with a side of mockery aimed at an academy professor who had demanded that he pursue virtue and benevolence. That professor, of course, was the novel’s heroine, who would eventually help Kyle confront his inner child, still trapped by trauma, and win his heart. That was the original story, anyway…

But none of that is my concern.

What mattered most to me was my survival.

As for me, I’d woken up in Lilithea’s body three months ago. To put it simply, I was a transmigrator—though the exact details of my situation were beyond explanation. I’d simply opened my eyes one day and found myself in this body.

Calling it a dream seemed unlikely; this state had lasted far too long for lucid dreaming. Besides, in my past life, I had been bedridden for years, so long that my death wouldn’t have surprised anyone.

After waking up as Lilithea, I absorbed her memories and quickly realized that I had been transported into the world of the novel I’d last read—and that I was the very witch who had tormented the young tyrant-in-the-making. To make matters worse, Lilithea’s notoriety was already sky-high. At just sixteen years old, she was infamous as “the witch who traded her soul and herbal knowledge to demons.”

Maybe if I start behaving myself now, I can still fix this. If I keep my head down, perhaps the queen won’t abandon the male lead at my doorstep.

But that faint hope had just been shattered. I hadn’t even had the chance to clean up Lilithea’s reputation when Kyle was dumped at my door.

Still, I wasn’t entirely unprepared for this unexpected turn of events. Even if you find yourself in a tiger’s den, keep your wits about you and you’ll survive. Similarly, even if a budding tyrant ends up in my home, I can avoid the stake—as long as I live carefully and cautiously.

I made a conscious effort not to betray my nervousness, stealing glances as Kyle cautiously stepped into my precious cabin.

This house that I finally managed to own after dying. And now I’m supposed to die and leave it behind? Absolutely not.

Kyle tiptoed over the threshold, moving carefully as if testing each step. Thankfully, I had deliberately placed things out of his reach to avoid alarming him. Even though his hands were tied, I knew that this young tyrant’s potential physical prowess could still let him cause havoc without even setting foot inside if he wanted to.

Finally, he settled cautiously on the wooden floor and grabbed the fork I’d stuck into the apple pie. Taking a huge bite, his eyes widened in surprise.

Delicious, isn’t it?

Of course, any food would taste divine after going hungry for days, but my special apple pie was objectively mouthwatering. Pretending to sip my milk, I hid a satisfied smile. Kyle, now absorbed in devouring the pie, didn’t notice as I watched him gulp it down hungrily.

Then—bang!

With a yank of the rope I’d secretly tied to the door, it slammed shut. Kyle froze mid-bite, eyes wide with shock. Despite the noise, he didn’t drop the pie from his mouth, which only proved how much he was enjoying it.

I approached the startled kitten-like boy cautiously, as if I were dealing with a captured wild animal. He shrank back, dragging his body toward the wall, his crimson eyes never leaving me.

“If you behave, I’ll give you more pie,” I said soothingly.

He didn’t respond, but he did gulp down the food still in his mouth, his lips parting slightly as he stared at me. I took that as a yes.

“Give me your hands.”

“Wh-what…!”

“I’ll untie you.”

Before he could protest, I brought out the scissors. Predictably, the allure of more apple pie seemed to outweigh his distrust, and he offered no resistance.

It’s not like I have time to coddle away all his fears, I thought.

Kyle didn’t just distrust witches—he distrusted everyone. Right now, he was more like a hissing kitten, but someday, he would grow into a predator who wouldn’t hesitate to separate someone’s head from their shoulders after a moment’s hesitation. Instead of trying to win him over completely, my plan was to repeatedly demonstrate that I wasn’t worth worrying about—an approach that might eventually stick.

Hiss at me all you want. I’m not going to do anything to hurt you.

The rope binding his wrists was thick and sturdy. Even with sharp steel scissors, it took me some effort to snip through it. The blades clicked noisily as I worked, and Kyle’s wrists tensed as the scissors grazed near his skin.

“Hair as dark as the night.”

Kyle flinched at the sudden sound of my voice. Worried I might nick him, I gripped the rope tighter and kept cutting.

“And pigeon blood eyes. There’s only one person in the kingdom with both traits, isn’t there?”

“…”

“I only remembered that the name of the first prince was Kyle,” I added nonchalantly.

“…It’s not like I was particularly shocked by that,” he muttered, his voice forming its first coherent sentence. It was hoarse, his tone still tinged with wariness, but there was a flicker of innocence in it that I found endearing. I couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

“Sure, let’s go with that.”

Kyle stared at me, wide-eyed, as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing. I must not have fit the image of a witch in his mind. Truthfully, I didn’t think I looked the part either. Since waking up in Lilithea’s body, I’d eaten well and smiled often, so the sharp, bitter expression and pallor that had characterized her face in the original story had all but vanished.

The original Lilithea had died testing one of her own poisons on herself. After her mother had been stoned to death several years earlier over a misunderstanding, Lilithea had fallen into a deep depression, her misanthropy reaching extreme levels. She had abandoned the forest she’d grown up in, moving to another one where memories of her mother didn’t linger—but that only added homesickness to her emotional burden.

In the novel, she must have failed at her suicide attempt and met Kyle in a state where all that remained was anger at the world and life itself.

I could only hope the real Lilithea had found peace. The healthy body she had abandoned, her quaint but lovely cabin, the wealth of knowledge she had accumulated, and her long lifespan—all of it, I would use to the fullest, in the way that Lilithea herself could not. It was the least I could do to honor her memory, remembering the crushing sorrow that had ultimately defeated her.

To do that, I need to make sure Kyle has no reason to seek revenge later. While he’s here, I have to treat him well. Even if Lilithea somehow returns, wouldn’t it be better to establish a good relationship with the future king?

As I entertained that overly optimistic thought, I realized my lips had curled into a smile. Kyle’s gaze didn’t leave the corners of my mouth, his red eyes fixed on me warily.

“All done,” I said.

Finally, the rope was cut, and Kyle’s wrists were freed. His pale, thin arms were marred with reddish marks where the rope had chafed against his skin. I clicked my tongue in disapproval and rummaged through a cabinet to find Lilithea’s special ointment.

“Hold still,” I instructed.

Using a boiled towel I’d prepared earlier, I carefully cleaned his small hands, making sure to wipe between each finger and along every crease of his palms. When I brushed against the swollen, raw marks on his wrists, Kyle winced, his eyes twitching slightly.

“Ugh…”

“Just bear with it a little longer.”

When I unscrewed the lid of the ointment jar and scooped out the salve, Kyle flinched again. Even though I’d fed him and freed his hands, I was still a witch who had mysteriously known his name.

Ignoring his reaction, I went ahead and applied the thick, semi-solid ointment to his wrists. Healing came first; he could figure out for himself later that this wasn’t some sort of witchcraft. Once the ointment had been massaged in and absorbed, I wrapped his wrists in bandages, just as Lilithea’s mother had once done for her.

“Keep eating. You haven’t bathed in days, have you? You must feel grimy. I’ll prepare some bathwater for you.”

“Wha—!”

I held back a snort. It didn’t take a witch to figure out he hadn’t bathed recently; his disheveled state made it obvious. Suppressing a chuckle, I set to work, stoking the fire in the hearth and pulling out a tub to begin preparing a bath.

Now, let’s see… To help him feel more comfortable in this environment…

I remembered the toys Lilithea’s mother had made for her when she was about Kyle’s age. There were still wooden duck figurines and a toy boat lying around. I tossed them into the tub, hoping they’d help make the experience less daunting. Kyle might not be the type to enjoy such things, but better to have them than not. He was still a prince, after all, even if he’d been neglected and abandoned for years.

If I remember correctly, the royal family faked an accident during a hunting tournament, claiming the prince fell off a cliff.

By now, the funeral for the first prince might already be underway.

It was the queen—originally the king’s mistress—who had orchestrated Kyle’s downfall. She had poisoned the former queen, Kyle’s mother, to take her place and was determined to ensure her own child would inherit the throne. To achieve that, Kyle had to be removed.

Still, even after the funeral, Kyle’s vivid red eyes—an unmistakable mark of the royal family—would ensure his legitimacy wouldn’t be questioned when he eventually reclaimed his title. All I had to do was take care of him until he was ready to return to the palace. No enslaving him, no using him as a test subject.

The original story was a grim, pseudo-tragedy with a “merry bad ending” vibe, so why start down that path at all?

For Kyle’s sake, for the heroine’s sake—and most importantly, for my own survival—I had to tread carefully.

As I pondered this, the water in the pot began to boil, bubbles rising to the surface. Mixing the hot water with cool, I filled the tub and went to fetch Kyle.

He had finished the apple pie and was now picking at the crumbs left on his plate. Even the milk I’d given him was completely gone, not a single drop left in the cup. Despite the rest of the pie still sitting untouched on the table, Kyle had only eaten what was explicitly offered to him.

His restraint spoke volumes. I could practically see the lonely years he’d endured, never daring to want for anything, never expecting kindness.

“Come on. The bath is ready.”

Suppressing the ache in my chest, I beckoned to him. Kyle hesitated, looking like a child caught doing something wrong, before reluctantly following me into the small kitchen-bathroom combo.

“Here. The scrub brush and soap are over there, and the towel is on the hook. When you’re done, put these on.”

I pointed to the clothes I’d laid out on a stool near the door. It was a tunic Lilithea had worn years ago. Being a woman’s tunic, it would fall to just below his knees, with plenty of room in both width and length.

“Just this…?”

“I’ll look for something you can wear as pants later. Just bear with it for a day or two. Once we wash the clothes you came in, they’ll dry quickly in this sunny weather.”

I should probably check if there are any of Lilithea’s or her mother’s old thermal undergarments lying around. I can’t keep dressing Kyle in my clothes forever. Sooner or later, I’ll need to make a trip to the village.

…The village…

The mere thought made my chest tighten, and I let out a sigh. At the sound, Kyle, still lingering hesitantly by the door, flinched as though startled.

“What? Can’t wash yourself?”

“…”

“Do you want me to bathe you?”

“N-no…!”

Kyle’s face turned beet red as he darted his gaze back and forth between me and the tub.

“T-the toys… I don’t need them.”

“You don’t, huh? Well, judging by how reluctant you are to bathe, you’re at exactly the age where you’d appreciate them.”

“T-that’s not what I meant—”

“My mom made that duck toy, you know.”

“Gasp.”

“Play with it, sing the shark song ten times, scrub yourself with soap, rinse off, and dry off with the boiled towel over there. You’ve bathed alone your whole life, haven’t you? You’ll manage just fine.”

“H-how did you—!”

Oh, come on. Your appearance and current state say it all. Waving my hand dismissively, I made it clear that further protests weren’t welcome.

“Wash up properly, and I’ll make you something even tastier for dinner.”

With that, I set up a partition between the kitchen and the tub, giving him privacy. After a moment, the sound of rustling fabric came from behind the partition, followed by the gentle splash of Kyle lowering himself into the water. I exhaled softly, relieved to have crossed another small hurdle.

How much ham do I have left from the last time I cured some? Kids his age need to eat a balanced diet to grow well. Should I stop by the butcher in the village? How many eggs do I still have?

…Still, it felt nice seeing him eat so eagerly.

I’d only been caring for Kyle for an hour, but somehow, a baseless confidence bloomed inside me—like this temporary guardianship might go smoothly after all.

…No, I couldn’t let myself get complacent.

“Lily, are you okay?!”

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

“No one from outside the forest came here to hurt you, did they?!”

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

“Hey, Lily!”

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!