Far on the outskirts of a town called Alstätte, there’d been rumors of a witch, a mage. People had seen her on her broom at night, flying high above the thatched rooftops.

Colonel König was an infamous figure. He was tall, intimidating, “a man the size of a mountain.” He wasn’t shy, just quiet.

Observant.

In fact, he was often downright rude or blunt. And despite women drooling over him in conversation, he didn’t go out much and rarely drank. All the romantasies were merely based off rumors. Handsome was definitely a key descriptor. But you’d heard far too much for your liking about his… nighttime performances and package.

It didn’t take long for word to spread and eventually reach him. He never liked hunting witches, but it was a side quest he had to do every now and then. It was never pleasant.

So, with a rifle over his shoulder, he rode by horseback out into the country, nearing Holland’s border.

He followed the vague but heavily repeated directions he’d gotten from various townspeople. He passed the occasional old well, maybe a fallen tree.

It was high spring and nature was in bloom, so flowers were everywhere. It made his journey quite lovely, almost delightful.

After about 25 miles of dirt paths and hiking trails and rivers, he stumbled upon a cottage.

It was quite pretty, Tudor style with a common thatch roof. It was surrounded by trees and a lush garden that fed graceful bees and the frequent birds. It was well maintained, which meant someone was living here. It sat by a small river, which was partly shaded by a massive weeping willow.

So, as he heard quite humming from inside, he walked up the rocky path. He swallowed whatever grudge was stuck in his throat and knocked heavily on the wooden front door.

Well, more like pounded.

“Austrian military!” He called, “Open up!”

His accent was ever so distinct.