How pathetic, she thought with a deep sigh.

Weeds. Weeds of all things. She was making excuses, trying to blame such trivial obstacles – what did she really want to confirm?

“If that’s the case, I’ll help you.”

The sound of a blade being unsheathed echoed from behind her.

She remembered what Nuere had said last night, smiling as she spoke. Nuere was the most skilled swordswoman among the demons, and to ensure victory, she always coated her blade with poison.

“Don’t worry.

“I’ll end it in one blow, without pain.”

Nuere said with a beaming smile. Vienny lowered her eyes and stared at the poisoned blade. Perhaps it would be best to accept Nuere’s help. Yes, that would be better.

The only small consolation was that death still frightened her. If she had stayed a little longer, if she had enjoyed this illusory peace a little more, she might not have wanted to die at all.

She swallowed dryly, about to give her answer.

Bang!

A thunderous noise erupted and fierce blue flames shot up. The sound of snapping trees and something exploding filled the air.

The ground beneath the once-quiet lake shook, sending ripples through the water. Like a living being, the fire slithered between the trees, quickly consuming everything in its path and forming a circle around the lakeshore.

The intense heat was so great that it felt as if it could evaporate the entire lake. Indeed, steam began to rise from the edges of the lake closest to the flames.

Vienny, her eyes blank, stared at the blue flames surrounding the lake. The sound of a horse snorting brought her back and she turned her head in its direction.

“Looks like he really did follow us.”

Nuere muttered irritably, twisting the blade of the dagger she was holding. Standing at the point of the blade’s aim was McClart, calmly dismounting.

He was alone. Judging by the exhausted, heavily panting horse, he had moved quickly and arrived before his soldiers.

Sword in hand, he strode towards the lakeshore at a determined pace, and Nuere’s expression twisted, her body tensing into a defensive posture.

McClart stopped a few paces away, seemingly unconcerned by Nuere’s presence, his eyes fixed solely on Vienny.

“Vienny.”

It was rare to hear him say her name, but oddly enough, McClart always said it as if it was the most natural thing in the world, as if he’d called her countless times before.

At that moment, a nearby tree, engulfed in flames, cracked and fell to the side with a resounding crash. Vienny instinctively held her breath, then forced herself to speak.

“How did you find me?”

Barely two days had passed. Considering it was still morning, the actual time that had passed was just over a day.

She didn’t know when McClart had returned to the castle, but assuming he had just fought demons and returned, he must have been exhausted. But even if he had left immediately without rest, his arrival here was incredibly quick.

If he hadn’t been sure of his destination from the start, he couldn’t have arrived at such a perfect moment.

“You wanted to die underwater, and this is the nearest waterway to the castle.”

“Unbelievable.”

Nuere, ready to spring into action at any moment, sneered.

She subtly stepped between McClart and Vienny, as if to prevent him from reaching her. McClart’s eyes, already cold, became frighteningly emotionless as they shifted to Nuere.

He kept his eyes on Nuere, but spoke to Vienny.

“Don’t move an inch from where you are.”

The sword in his hand was slowly engulfed in blue flame.

“I’m coming to you.”

It was Nuere who answered his words.

“There is a limit to how long you can ignore me!”

Neither waited. The clash of sacred power and demonic magic was instantaneous, the force so great that it shook the ground like an earthquake, ripples radiating across the surface of the lake.

The previously calm reflection of the fluffy white clouds and deep blue sky twisted violently, merging into an unrecognisable swirl.

Nuere had been standing near Vienny from the start, and the point of impact between her and McClart wasn’t far away.

The shockwave, mixed with searing heat, hit Vienny, knocking her back and sending her stumbling deeper into the lake. The shallow water she had been standing in suddenly reached her thighs in just a few steps.

At that moment, the once-growing blue flames quickly diminished.

“What is that? Your flames are much bigger than this. Are you mocking me?”

Nuere shouted in frustration, her dark magic swelling with anger. Sparks flew where their powers met. But McClart did not increase the power of his flames.

“Ah, is it because you’re afraid the Great Witch will get caught in it?”

Nuere now held a sword in each hand.

In her swift, almost imperceptible movements, Vienny could only catch the angry words that escaped Nuere’s lips.

“Ridiculous! You fanatical bastard!”

Nuere leapt into the air and brought both blades down on McClart in one swift motion.

Just as the swords were about to split his skull open, they instead hit the ground with a hard thud, and a powerful kick slammed into Nuere’s side.

Her body lifted off the ground, suspended for a moment as McClart swung his own blade horizontally at her. Blue flames traced the arc of his sword, leaving a blazing afterimage in the air. The smell of burning flesh occasionally filled the atmosphere.

Nuere barely escaped McClart’s attack, but the situation still looked dire for her.

Vienny, who had never seen McClart fight so directly before, froze in place, unable to even consider running. The sheer intensity of his fight left her stunned, unable to think clearly as she watched the fierce exchange unfold before her.

Unlike Nuere, who used wide and quick movements, McClart countered with minimal effort, his economy of movement stark in comparison. Yet each time their swords clashed, or their bodies collided, sparks flew, suggesting the sheer force behind his attacks.

The fight did not last long. The moment Nuere fell to the ground, McClart’s long sword pierced her, sinking more than halfway into her body. It looked as if the point had buried itself in the earth beneath her.

Nuere writhed in agony, uttering a pained cry as she tried to pull the blade out by grasping the edge.

The sound of burning flesh filled the air, mingled with blood, and faint smoke rose from where the sword had impaled her – it was as if the sword itself was a sacred relic.

It wasn’t even his usual greatsword, but Nuere, the demon known to be the most skilled with a blade, had fallen easily into McClart’s hand.

Vienny, who had witnessed the brutal, bloody battle, stood frozen, her mind blank.

McClart glanced down at his defeated opponent before placing his foot on her knee. At that moment, Vienny thought she should turn away, but McClart’s next move was quicker.

Crack.

The sickening sound sent a cold sweat down Biene’s back. Her lips quivered uncontrollably with fear.

McClart’s actions today were particularly brutal. Considering that he usually preferred to incinerate most of his enemies in a quick burst of holy power, the current treatment Nuere was receiving spoke volumes.

This slow, excruciating brutality was McClart’s way of expressing his anger.

He was angry – absolutely angry.

And most likely because of her.

“I said I would destroy everything for you.”

The lake engulfed in blue flames, the demon’s screams – it was a chaotic, hellish scene. Yet McClart’s calm voice reached her ears, oddly discordant with the ruin around them.

“Was that not enough?”

Though McClart’s gaze remained fixed on Nuere, Vienny realised that his words had been directed at her alone from the moment he had arrived.

Vienny’s lips moved and she forced strength into her voice.

“What I really want to destroy… you refuse to acknowledge.”

“I told you, I cannot kill you.”

A wave of emotion swept over her at the sound of those words. Vienny’s eyes welled up and her voice rose in response.

“With all this holy power at your disposal, why do you still desire the power of the Great Witch? Why can’t you just treat me like another demon worshipper like you do everyone else…!”

“What I’m trying to save is…”

McClart, who had been staring coldly down at Nuere, finally turned his head towards Vienny. His blue eyes, as they met hers, held a flickering intensity – burning with a heat similar to the flames he had conjured.

“Not the Great Witch, but you.”

McClart turned his whole body towards Vienny. She stared at him, her eyes blank, before she forced her voice out.

“You think I believe that, Inquisitor?”

“If you don’t understand, I told you to get used to it.”

A faint twitch flickered at the corner of her eye. In that moment, McClart was like a devil—one who confused the mind with his beautiful face and clouded reason with sweet words.

“Don’t say such things… don’t say such ridiculous things now, pretending that you have no interest in the power of the Great Witch, pretending that…”

Vienny trailed off, her words unfinished.

Even biting down hard couldn’t stop her lips from trembling. His kindness, so far – it felt as if he wanted her to believe it had always been for Vienny, not the Great Witch, as if it had truly been meant for her, not driven by ulterior motives.

“How can I believe that?” she asked, her voice shaking. “How can you prove it to me?”

McClart could not answer Vienny’s incredulous question. Vienny continued, her voice tense and rigid, without waiting for an answer.

“I cannot get used to this inexplicable kindness.”

It was impossible to get used to something without understanding the reason for it. Even if she could get used to it, the unchangeable truth remained: he was Chiron’s Inquisitor and she was the Great Witch of Tempe.

“I will always doubt you.”

McClart, who had been listening in silence, exhaled deeply at her firm words. The cold mask he wore seemed to crack, if only for a moment.

“Then… if you…”

The composure he had fought to maintain crumbled in an instant.

“If I want you to want to live, what do I have to do?”

His voice, dry and exhausted, was tinged with anguish.

The tone he used, his twisted expression – it reminded her of the day he had told her to fall into hell. Full of despair, pushed to the brink, utterly desperate.

It was strange to see him wearing that expression when she was the one standing on the edge of the cliff.

As he looked to her for an answer, his eyes pleading, Vienny replied in a whisper.

“There is none.”

McClart’s eyes wavered noticeably. It was strange to see him react so emotionally to her words. He had always seemed like an unshakable rock, incapable of so much as a scratch. He was the man who always looked down on her from above, always moving her as he wished.

To see someone like that hurt by her words brought out a cruel, sadistic side in her that she hadn’t known existed.

She sought out the remnants of the betrayal that had once torn her apart. Somehow, she felt she could bring back even a small part of the resentment that still simmered within her, enough to scratch at his heart in return.

“There is no such thing, Inquisitor.”

McClart parted his lips, then took a step towards her.

As McClart moved towards her, his expression suddenly changed and he turned. Vienny’s eyes followed his. Nuere, lying in a bloody heap, began to twitch. It seemed she was gathering the last of her strength to launch a final attack.

Quickly, McClart reached out and grabbed the hilt of the holy sword, twisting it into Nuere’s body as if to dig deeper. Blood, long since exhausted, splashed into the air.

Nuere coughed up the blood, a faint smile forming at the corners of her lips. Strangely, Nuere’s eyes were on Vienny.

I said I’d help you.

That seemed to be what her silently moving lips said.

Vienny, standing in a daze, looked down slowly. She saw a familiar knife deep in her stomach.

Bright red blood began to spread around her in a circular pattern. It was only after taking in the sight that she felt the pain in her body.

What had been a faint, hot sensation gradually turned into the feeling of her organs being torn apart. Her vision blurred and with a wave of dizziness, her legs gave way beneath her.

Death seemed the only way out, as if someone was whispering in her ear that this was her last chance.

Staggering, her body collapsed backwards, sinking deep into the water. As her body sank, a trail of dark blood spread across the water, blooming like a flower.

Her vision became clouded, filled with a deep blue hue. Whether it was the colour of the water that engulfed her, the sky beyond, or perhaps the eyes that had looked at her in despair, she could no longer tell.

She closed her eyes.

* * *

When the Inquisitor returned, his face was pale, and in his arms lay the Great Witch, limp and lifeless.

Moiria stood before the Great Witch, drenched from head to toe. The stab wound in her abdomen looked serious enough, but the deep purple colour of her lips made it clear that there was more to worry about. The Great Witch was in critical condition, suffering from both severe blood loss and poisoning.

The room, its hearth blazing more fiercely than ever, provided warmth as the Great Witch lay on the softest, warmest bedding available.

The cold sweat on her face and the complete lack of colour made her look like she was about to draw her last breath. Her frail, lifeless limbs showed no sign of movement, as if she had no connection to the world of the living.

After three days and nights spent by her side, Moiria finally completed all the treatments she could offer.

The Inquisitor, who had also remained at the Great Witch’s side for those three days and nights without rest, simply stared at her pale face, showing no signs of exhaustion.

It was then that Moiria noticed the stench of blood coming from his hands, which were covered in dark soot. The skin on his palms was cracked and burned, untreated for days.

Even as Moiria tended to his wounds, the Inquisitor accepted her care with utter indifference, his eyes fixed on the Great Witch as if he feared she would vanish if he looked away for a second.

When Moiria had done what she could and left the room to replenish medicine and supplies, a heavy silence filled the already cold room.

The Inquisitor, who had sat motionless in his chair like a wax figure, suddenly stood.

He stepped closer to the bed and stood there, gazing down at the Great Witch’s face. His hand reached out as if to brush aside her sweat-soaked fringe, but he hesitated, finally pulling it back.

“Isn’t it ridiculous?” he said, his deep voice betraying the trembling of his tightly clenched fist as if to hide his trembling hands.

“After all, all we really know about each other is that you want to die and I want to stop you.”

The room was filled with the faint, fragile sound of breathing – so faint it was barely audible. The image of her, the source of that delicate breath, collapsing into the water she had longed for with an expression devoid of attachment, refused to leave his mind.

“When you wake up, you’ll hate me… But perhaps it is a selfish desire to want to face your hatred for the rest of my life.”

Her lashes, soft against her pale cheeks, remained still. The Inquisitor, his face distorted with pain, looked down at her colourless face before slowly moving closer.

“When you wake up, everything will be different.”

He whispered with a gentle plea, planting a light kiss on her cold, cracked lips.

“So please, choose life.”

Whether his desperate words reached her or not, he had no way of knowing.