Yingqian quietly stepped past the front door to the witch's tent. It was hard for him to make a sound, anyway; his mortal body was buried somewhere, and now his footsteps were silent along the ground as he walked. Now, all he had was the ability to carry a bag of sword shards made by his brother long ago.

"Hello?" he called, setting his bag onto the floorboards. "Witch? You in here? You have a client to tend to."

He raised a brow upon seeing them step down the stairs. They looked very magically weak. Perhaps he was in the wrong place to get a curse lifted off of him.