McClart brushed his thumb across Vienny’s lower lip, his voice calm and steady.

“It seems you’ve forgotten, so let me remind you.”

His rough, thick fingers traced over her lips, gently parting them.

“Even if I purify every evil on this land, I will leave you behind.”

As her lips parted, the tip of her tongue brushed against his finger. The warmth and pressure of his touch stirred something unfamiliar in her mouth, the slow, deliberate movement reminding her of something deeper.

“Your place is by my side.”

Then, abruptly, his finger withdrew. Just as Vienny began to breathe through her parted lips, a shadow fell over her. McClart’s lips fell on hers, intense and consuming, with none of his usual composure.

His tongue traced every spot his finger had touched moments before, pressing against her with an almost predatory intensity. Vienny, helpless under the force of his kiss, soon lost her balance and fell backwards onto the bed. The glass she had clung to so desperately was already gone, set aside by McClart.

He followed her down, his presence leaving her with nowhere to turn. His tongue pressed deeper, more insistently, taking her breath away until a sudden, sharp bite on her lower lip shook her concentration. Meeting his gaze, now so close, she saw a strange warmth in his eyes – a warmth that seemed to spread into her.

“Sleep more.”

With a voice far more controlled than before the kiss, McClart whispered, then rose and left the room, the door clicking shut behind him. Vienny heard the sound of a lock turning. She remained lying on the bed, dazed and unmoving.

Her ragged breaths gradually steadied, but her heart still pounded, and the tingling sensation lingered on her lips. Touching the spot where McClart had bitten her, she noticed a faint smear of blood mixed with saliva on her finger. Vienny stared at the blood on her hand, and a thought struck her.

It seemed her blood wasn’t so bad after all. Somehow this realisation felt like a small relief.

***

“The demons seem to be lying low.”

“The witches are also nearly impossible to find.”

Even as he listened to his subordinates’ reports, McClart’s gaze remained fixed on the stained dagger lying on his desk – the very one that one of the witches had aimed at Vienny. The moment he had seen the scene from afar, he had acted instinctively and set fire to everything. Looking back, he wondered if he should have spared at least one person for questioning.

All he managed to recover from the scene was this dagger and a goblet. The dagger alone might suggest a hate-motivated attempt on Vienny’s life, but the presence of the goblet suggested something far more suspicious.

It was clear there had been another motive behind the scene, but having purified everyone involved, retracing the information would now be significantly more difficult.

Of course, he could ask Vienny about it… but, in truth, despite his feelings for her, McClart couldn’t fully trust her. More accurately, he didn’t believe she had any desire to live. Seeing her ally with witches intent on her death, all in an effort to escape him, only strengthened that belief.

Had he arrived even a moment later at the coastal cliffs, Vienny would undoubtedly have died there. So, when it came to the matter of the dagger and goblet, he expected she might offer an account that aligned with her own motives—or rather, with her desire for death.

The thought stirred his anger. While it was unfortunate that he couldn’t immediately uncover the purpose behind the dagger and goblet, he felt it had been the right choice to purify those treacherous witches at the cliffs.

“For now, order the soldiers to regroup and focus on resting.”

“Yes, sir. And Priest Brown mentioned—”

“Is there still a priest lingering in my castle?”

“I’ll send him away immediately.”

McClart gestured for his subordinate to leave, then picked up the goblet. There was nothing visibly unusual about it, but something kept drawing his attention to it, leaving him unsettled.

Perhaps it was because he already knew that Vienny’s blood carried a unique power. After fidgeting with the goblet’s surface for a while, he finally placed it, along with the dagger, in a box and stored it in the lowest drawer of his desk.

With most of the urgent matters addressed, he stood up. Typically, he would spend the entire day in his office and only head to his bedroom at night, but things were different now.

He had rekindled the fireplace in his private quarters, which had been empty for a year, and brought the one he wanted close. He was anxious to return immediately to make sure she was still there, following his instructions.

Vienny had passed out at the coastal cliffs and remained unconscious until they arrived at Rave Castle. Her new physician, Moiria, had stressed repeatedly that Vienny required special care, as her body was in poor condition.

Moiria specifically warned about her ankle, cautioning that without proper treatment, she might never walk on it again—or, in the worst case, it could require amputation. Until it healed, she needed to remain immobile.

If she couldn’t use her ankle, she wouldn’t be able to run away.

That thought crossed his mind briefly, but he still instructed Moiria to ensure that Vienny recovered fully.

It wasn’t just her ankle that was a cause for concern. It was clear at a glance that she hadn’t taken care of herself over the past year. Were if not for the Great Witch’s unique resilience, it would have been no surprise if her ailments had claimed her life long ago. But as soon as she regained consciousness, she was already moving around the room.

She couldn’t do much harm simply moving about, but still, it wouldn’t hurt to be cautious. There was always the lingering worry—what if, once she fully recovered, she tried to take her own life again? But watching her waste away wasn’t an option either.

Now that he thought about it, had she eaten? He’d specifically ordered that the dishes be left after her meal, so he could see exactly how much she’d consumed when he arrived.

Thinking of Vienny’s typically meager portions, which were far below what McClart considered a reasonable meal, he quickened his pace.

“Nothing unusual?”

The soldiers guarding his private quarters snapped to attention, promptly reporting. Aside from bringing in her meal, nothing significant had happened.

Unlocking the three locks felt agonizingly slow. Perhaps replacing them with one sturdy lock would speed things up? With a glance of dissatisfaction at the locks, McClart strode into the room as soon as the door opened.

Vienny, huddled in front of the fireplace, jumped to her feet in surprise at his entrance. Next to her was a tray with a bowl and utensils, still half full.

Seeing her awkwardly standing there, McClart hesitated, unsure what to reprimand first.

“So, it seems you really want to be tied up,” he said, choosing to address her getting out of bed. Though it was only about ten steps from the bed to the fireplace, it was enough to strain her injured ankle.

At his cold reprimand, Vienny looked troubled, trying to explain.

“The food was brought in, so I…”

“They would have brought it to the bed, wouldn’t they?”

“I didn’t want to spill anything while eating in bed…”

“From now on, just eat there. If the bedding gets dirty, I’ll have it replaced.”

It looked like Vienny had more to say, but she remained silent and nodded. McClart, however, wasn’t finished.

“And I told you to finish your meal, didn’t I?”

“My stomach was too full…”

“You barely ate half.”

“It was too much from the start…”

“If you don’t eat properly, you won’t be able to handle the effects of the medicine.”

Once again, Vienny’s lips twitched, as if she wanted to protest, but she stayed silent, nodding stiffly with clear reluctance. McClart continued his scolding.

“And why did you insist on sitting on the floor?”

“Pardon?”

“The sofa right next to you—is it just for decoration?”

“That’s the Inquisitor’s…”

“Are you saying you don’t want to sit on a sofa that I’ve used?”

Vienny closed her mouth again, her brows furrowing deeply as she struggled to hold back her true thoughts. This time, instead of just nodding stiffly, she bit her lip and finally spoke up.

“Aren’t you supposed to kill me?”

It seemed she knew exactly which words would provoke him, almost as if she deliberately chose them, perhaps hoping he would become angry enough to abandon or even kill her. But whatever her intent, McClart had no intention of giving in.

“And why would I?”

His voice was colder and sharper as he restrained his anger. Vienny’s shoulders slumped slightly at his reaction, perhaps intimidated by the response she had incited.

It was baffling—why go out of her way to provoke him, only to end up shrinking back when confronted?

“If I die, then the power will be passed on.”

“…What are you talking about?”

“I heard you kept the Great Witch’s child alive—the one captured a year ago. Didn’t you keep them in hopes they would inherit the Great Witch’s power?”

The mention of the child they’d captured a year ago made McClart pause. He’d handed the child over to the High Priest and heard nothing since. Assuming the child had been killed for failing to inherit the Great Witch’s power, this unexpected information was unsettling.

Could the High Priest have kept the child alive? If so, why would he have ordered McClart to produce an heir to offer to God? Perhaps someone had taken the child in the meantime.

The Great Witch’s bloodline… Even if the child didn’t inherit the power, they still carried the mark of the Red-Eyed Witches, which might be of value to someone. Only one person came to mind who might act on such an impulse.

McClart frowned, staying silent for a moment, then spoke in a cold tone.

“If someone must die, it should be that child, not you.”

McClart approached Vienny, who wore a strange expression, and lifted her in one swift motion. Startled, she wrapped her arms around his neck to keep from falling, and he felt a slight bit of his irritation ease.

He quickly reached the bed in the main room, but as he prepared to set her down, he found himself almost reluctant. Still, he leaned over and gently placed her on the bed, and she let go of him quickly. The slight improvement in his mood faded.

He thought that holding her would settle everything, yet somehow, his restlessness remained. In fact, his mind felt even cloudier. After losing her so many times, he realized that simply having her in front of him wasn’t enough to bring any real sense of relief. If she had still been asking him to kill everything, as she had in the past, it might have been easier to understand.

But now, Vienny didn’t even seem to want that anymore. It felt as if she expected nothing from McClart at all.

Reflecting on it, an instinctive, fierce warning slipped out.

“Don’t even think about running.”

He growled low, and Vienny bit her lip tightly—a small action, yet for McClart, it felt like a signal.

A signal that it was time to kiss her.

He intertwined his tongue with hers, drawing her closer, and Vienny clutched his collar, seemingly trying to steady herself. He felt her grip his chest tightly, a small moan escaping her as she struggled to stay upright. It was endearing to see her try so hard to resist when a simple nudge could make her give in completely.

Without hesitation, McClart leaned in further, pinning Vienny beneath him so she could no longer retreat. Unable to move, Vienny gripped his collar tightly, her usually pale cheeks flushed a deep red, suggesting she’d been holding her breath.

As their lips parted, she inhaled sharply, her chest rising and falling with labored breaths, brushing against his. Had she been this inexperienced a year ago as well? It was clear she still hadn’t quite learned how to breathe steadily during their moments together.

Because of this, even a bit of intensity left her face and neck flushed, struggling to catch her breath. Wanting to see that expression, he would purposely move more forcefully, and eventually, she would end up in tears.

Sometimes she would let out complaints, barely aware of them, mixed in with her muffled moans. Still, it seemed she’d grown accustomed to their intimacy over time.

The vivid memories stirred tension in his body, but McClart chose to ease his desire, nibbling softly at her lips instead. No matter how he thought about it, it hadn’t been this intense before. If she was struggling so much with just one kiss, helping her regain her strength was clearly the first priority.

He stared down at her lips, glistening with a hint of saliva.

“Don’t you even know how to breathe?”

Though he managed to hold back, he couldn’t entirely suppress his frustration, and an irritated mutter slipped out. Voicing it only deepened his displeasure.

It was frustrating enough to have to restrain himself, limiting their intimacy to kisses, but to break them off each time and go slowly—it felt as if he were being taunted.

“This is what happens when you don’t eat properly.”

Her red eyes, slightly damp, blinked a few times before looking up at him blankly. Her breathing had steadied, and McClart, lost in thought, considered kissing her again—until he heard Vienny’s calm voice.

“When I was first captured and brought here… I heard it was you who ordered that I be given just enough food to stay alive, since there wasn’t enough even for the soldiers, let alone for a witch.”

McClart, who had been focused on her lips, paused and looked into her eyes. Her slowly blinking gaze held no trace of resentment.

“My meals haven’t changed since then.”

To be honest, McClart couldn’t even remember what he’d said back then. But, knowing his own nature, it was entirely possible that he’d spoken those words. Momentarily at a loss, he frowned.

“I believe I also told you to increase your food intake.”

“Yes, you did. You told me not to let my wretched appearance make others uncomfortable.”

McClart, who had almost felt a hint of triumph, was left speechless once again. He had indeed told her to eat more, but had he really phrased it that way? He couldn’t quite recall.

Unaware of his stiffness, Vienny cautiously continued in a soft tone.

“I’m already used to eating like this.”

“Then start eating more from now on.”

Watching Vienny look up at him in confusion only fueled McClart’s inexplicable frustration. Was it really that difficult just to tell her to eat well?

“My castle isn’t so poor that one more mouth to feed would strain our rations.”

Vienny’s lips moved as if to protest, but he cut her off with another kiss. Her face flushed red again, her breath catching, and McClart reluctantly pulled back and stood up.

With so many things bothering him, he realized there was a long way to go. And, surprisingly, he hadn’t even imagined that among those bothersome things was his own past self.