The air was chilling.

In the dark, windowless prison, the only light came from torches fixed to the corridor walls. In the corners beyond the flames’ reach, shadows pooled like thick ink, merging with the cold that seeped into every crack.

Occasionally, the footsteps of a guard echoed off the stone walls, the sound scattering into the silence. The keys hanging from his waist clinked softly, adding an eerie note to the unsettling silence. But even that sound eventually faded, leaving only an oppressive stillness to blanket the prison.

As usual, she was curled up on a dirty blanket, shivering, when the sound of movement made her eyes open. Her half-awake mind slowly cleared, though her vision remained blurred in the darkness – her eyes were still covered by a blindfold. Yet she could sense the presence of someone standing behind the steel bars.

“Get up.”

The irritated voice belonged to the guard who had come a week ago. She struggled to move her stiff limbs, managing to push herself up into a sitting position. Even that small effort caused her wounds to reopen, and the metallic scent of blood filled the air around her.

“Did someone touch you?” a cold voice called out from somewhere a little farther away.

The guard, who had been fumbling with his keys, quickly responded in a tense tone.

“I-I was just disciplining her for leaving food behind…!”

“How long have you been assigned here?”

“It’s been a week now!”

The guard’s voice was rigid with nervousness.

The guards in this deep underground prison were rotated regularly, wary of the witch’s rumoured power to enter people with a mere glance. This precaution was meant to prevent anyone from falling victim to her supposedly evil tricks, but it sometimes led to unintended problems – especially when someone with strong religious beliefs, such as the current guard, was assigned. Those with deep faith often felt compelled to prove their devotion in unexpected and aggressive ways.

She turned silently toward the direction of the voice. Although she couldn’t see them, she knew the speaker was watching her.

“Open it.”

The guard quickly slid a key into the lock. The rusty metal creaked as the bars swung open.

The guard grabbed her arm roughly and pulled her to her feet without warning. Her legs, still weak and unsteady, buckled beneath her, causing her to stumble several times before she managed to regain her balance.

Leaving her handcuffs in place, the guard only removed her shackles before forcefully pushing her out of the cell.

“Where should I take her?” he asked, his voice tinged with nervousness.

“I’ll handle it myself.”

“You, Sir McClart?”

The guard’s voice trembled with surprise, followed by a heavy silence. She could feel the guard’s hand shaking slightly as he gripped her arm.

The firm grasp, which had been tight enough to twist the flesh on her arm, suddenly released. At the same moment, the blindfold covering her eyes was swiftly removed.

She squinted, trying to adjust to the sudden freedom of sight. The prison corridor, dimly lit by only a few torches, was shrouded in shadows. Fortunately, the low light made it easier for her eyes to readjust.

She blinked slowly and lifted her gaze to see a man with silver hair standing before her. His blue eyes, carrying a faint trace of disdain and loathing, were fixed on her with unwavering intensity. Once he confirmed that she could focus, he turned away.

“Follow me.”

The guard, uncertain of what to do, stood there awkwardly. As she moved to pass him, the guard, in his confusion, instinctively grabbed her arm again.

“L-Lord McClart?”

The sudden pull caused her to lose her balance, forcing her to put her feet down firmly. In doing so, she unintentionally put pressure on her reopened wounds, causing the pain to flare up.

Unable to suppress the sudden surge of pain, she let out a faint groan before quickly biting her lip and lowering her head to stifle the sound. With her eyes tightly shut, she waited for the pain to subside, trying to regain her composure. But then, she heard the sound of McClart’s approaching footsteps as he turned back towards her.

“Mc—ugh!”

The guard’s words were abruptly cut off as McClart kicked him, causing him to stumble and forcing him to release her arm. Even as he staggered, the guard clung desperately to his duty, crying out pitifully, “B-but Priest Brown ordered that the witch must never be let out—!”

“Enough.”

Clicking his tongue in annoyance, McClart drew his sword. He swung it casually, as if brushing off a minor inconvenience, and in an instant blood spurted from the guard’s leg.

The guard took a moment to register the pain before letting out a pained cry as the agony hit him. Clutching his bleeding thigh, his body shook violently.

McClart looked down at him coldly, his voice devoid of emotion.

“You won’t be able to continue as a guard with this leg. You can claim compensation from Priest Brown”.

It was unclear if the guard heard him or not. Having said his piece, McClart turned away without a second glance. He didn’t forget to give her a sharp look, silently ordering her to follow him.

She glanced briefly at the guard, blood pooling from his leg, and then, with slow, deliberate steps, began to follow McClart down the dim corridor. Coincidentally, the wound on the guard’s leg was almost in the exact spot where she had been tortured, though his injury appeared far worse.

* * *

The fresh air outside didn’t bring any relief.

It was still before dawn, and the chill of the night air cut to the bone. The underground prison had been just as cold, but at least it offered some protection from the biting wind. Out here, there was no such reprieve.

She clutched her arms tightly to her chest. She was shivering but moving as fast as her injured leg would allow. McClart’s pace wasn’t particularly fast, but for her, it was a struggle to keep up. Still, she didn’t utter a single complaint. She knew well that McClart’s usual stride was much quicker than this, and at the very least, he was walking at a speed that allowed her to follow without falling behind.

If she lost sight of him now that she was outside, she would immediately be branded an escaped convict. Many were looking for an excuse to light the pyre, and given the opportunity, they wouldn’t hesitate to prepare her execution.

She could vividly imagine the crowds gathered in Montblier Square, where witch burnings were often held, waiting eagerly to see her tied to the stake.

The very thought sent a shiver down her spine. She hunched her shoulders and kept her eyes down, focusing only on the man’s boots as he walked steadily in front of her, keeping the exact distance between them. After what seemed an eternity of following him in silence, McClart finally came to a halt.

Cautiously raising her head, she saw McClart talking to a sentry guarding the castle entrance. The moment the sentry’s eyes met hers, he quickly looked away, a clear expression of disgust on his face.

There were still rumours that she was trying to enchant others. Not wanting to cause unnecessary trouble, she lowered her head again.

After a brief exchange, McClart moved forward. As she followed him into the castle, she overheard the guard muttering a curse – directed at her. The insults didn’t bother her; she had bigger worries now. McClart had begun to climb a stone staircase.

Walking on flat ground had been manageable, but climbing the stairs was an entirely different challenge. She began to ascend at half her previous pace, gripping the railing for support. Each step sent pain flaring through her body, reminding her that there wasn’t a part of her that wasn’t suffering.

Sweat poured down her face like rain, and her breaths came in shallow, strained gasps as the effort pushed her to her limit. Her legs trembled, threatening to buckle beneath her with every step.

Fortunately, McClart had stopped on the second floor, watching her silently as she struggled to climb the remaining stairs. A wave of relief washed over her—grateful he hadn’t left her behind. Summoning every ounce of her remaining strength, she pushed herself to reach the final step.

But just as she reached it, her tired foot slipped and she felt her balance tipping backwards. Desperately, she reached for the railing, but her sweaty palms slipped off the smooth surface. Reflexively, she closed her eyes and braced herself for the inevitable fall.

The pain she expected never came. Instead, her body, which had been leaning backwards, was suddenly pulled forward with such force that she wasn’t just stabilised; she was propelled forward, landing hard on the floor.

It was McClart who had caught her, preventing her from tumbling down the stairs. He released her as soon as he pulled her upright, causing her to fall forward instead of rolling back.

She groaned as she awkwardly pushed herself up from the floor, embarrassed by the undignified sight she must have made. Meanwhile, McClart pulled out a handkerchief and meticulously wiped his hands, as though ridding himself of something unclean.

“Thank you…” she began, but McClart turned sharply before she could finish. He tossed the handkerchief to the floor, despite it being clean and intact. He showed no sign of regret as he left it behind.

The room they were heading to was just beyond the staircase. She recognized it immediately—it was one of McClart’s private offices.

McClart had multiple offices, and she had been to several of them before. This room, too, was a place she had visited once in the past.

As they entered, her attention was immediately drawn to a massive map covering an entire wall, filled with lines, markings, and scattered notes. It was large enough to wrap around her entire body.

“There were only half the number you mentioned in Stein.”

Her eyes drifted to a particular point on the map – the village she had betrayed a month ago, where the witches had once lived.

“They say the rest might be hiding among innocent followers. Is that what you did?”

She stared blankly at the map for a moment before slowly turning her head to face McClart. He stood there with a stern, unyielding expression. She tilted her head slightly, her tangled black hair slipping over her shoulder and falling softly.