Neither Moiria nor Gentian would share any outside news with her. Especially when it came to McClart, there was almost nothing they would tell her.

It was as if Moiria had been told to keep quiet, while Gentian still held a grudge against McClart that made him unwilling to even mention his name.

In truth, what Vienny was most curious about was how Gentian, who disliked McClart so much, had ended up staying at the manor.

When she asked, Gentian gave a brief explanation.

“Nuere stabbed you, didn’t he? He came to me and asked if I would take responsibility for what happened.”

Once they realised they were losing their power, the guerrilla warfare the demons were waging had to come to an end. Those who had lost the ability to seek revenge made survival their first priority. And as if sensing this, McClart appeared before Gentian.

McClart claimed they needed someone capable of defending the manor and at the same time giving Vienny a sense of stability when she woke up. It seemed like a mere excuse.

Gentian was probably chosen because, apart from his combat experience, he was someone Vienny had chosen to escape with twice before. He seemed to be the better choice.

“What if you try to escape again?”

When Vienny asked this, Gentian’s expression seemed to change slightly. He answered, sounding either frustrated or annoyed.

“Then at least that means you’ve regained enough strength to run away, which is a good thing.”

It was also what kept Gentian in the mansion.

He seemed truly determined to escape, bringing maps and exploring the area. When he showed the map, as if to subtly boast, Vienny couldn’t help but find it absurd.

“You’re not planning to stay here forever, are you?”

Vienny couldn’t answer Gentian’s seemingly obvious question. Should she try to escape again once her body had recovered?

If McClart had been right in front of her, if she could have seen him react to her in some way, it would have been easier to sort out her thoughts. But he wasn’t there, and it was difficult to even get any news of him.

Vienny rested her chin in her hand and looked out the window.

‘Aren’t you curious about a life without being the Great Witch?’

Perhaps those voices, undoubtedly directed at me, were whispers that had been going on for six months. If that’s the case, has he found a way to get rid of the Great Witch’s power?

Could the sudden trouble with the High Priest be due to McClart? If so, why would he betray his god? What could he possibly gain by betraying his god?

“Just give me you.”

“How is your condition?”

Moiria’s question overlapped the man’s desperate voice.

Vienny, who had been leaning against the window frame, looked back at her and answered.

“Much better.”

“That’s a relief.”

“That’s a relief.”

Moiria replied, her voice genuinely filled with relief. Thinking back to when Vienny first woke up, Moiria remembered how happy she had been. She must have worked hard to take care of her all that time. It must have been a challenge to care for a patient whose body had healed but still wouldn’t wake up.

As she watched Moiria arrange the medicine, Vienny suddenly asked.

“Did you know that I tried to end my life in the water several times?”

Moiria froze, her hand hanging in the air above the bottles. She looked at Vienny with wide eyes, as if she was hearing it for the first time.

“You did?”

“Yes.”

Moiria, her lips moving as if searching for words, murmured in a desperate tone.

“I guess some people just can’t figure things out…”

Vienny didn’t quite catch the rest of the muttering, but it had the tone of a frustrated complaint.

Vienny looked confused. Was Moiria talking about McClart? She couldn’t think of anyone else Moiria could be referring to.

It would make sense if Moiria found it a bit silly that McClart had built a holiday villa near the water when he knew that Vienny had tried to drown herself. And the reason he gave – that it was the only thing he knew she liked – made it even more absurd.

“As Moiria said, he was truly pathetic.”

“When will the Inquisitor arrive?”

“Hmm…”

A troubled look crossed Moiria’s face for a moment as she seemed to ponder something, clearly conflicted. She flicked back her fringe a few times, sighing thoughtfully, until she seemed to come to a decision. Her expression became serious.

“I’m sure he knows you’re awake, but he’s probably tending to some unfinished business.”

“Unfinished business?”

“I don’t know the details. Just… he may not be able to come at all. Chiron has been in turmoil lately with factional fighting, and the Inquisitor has taken a stand against the High Priest.”

That’s probably why they left that reckless fool behind.

Vienny remained silent for a long time after Moiria’s murmured words, almost as if she were talking to herself. Finally, Moiria smiled awkwardly, trying to lighten the mood.

“So there’s no need to panic or make any rash attempts to run away. You can take your time to fully recover.”

The mention of running triggered something in Vienny’s mind – Gentian’s earlier words about the loss of power. He had said that it was a widespread situation, not just something that affected the Demons.

Reflecting on all the times McClart had come to her bedside to whisper to her, it seemed he had also discovered a way to strip her of the Great Witch’s power. No wonder he had to go against the High Priest – there was no way the High Priest would allow such a thing.

But in a world where magical powers were fading and the power of the Great Witch was diminishing, could divine power still remain intact?

Would McClart still be safe after losing that divine power?

“Let’s fall into hell together, he said.”

To stubbornly keep someone alive who was determined to die, only to casually throw your own life away – how could he?

She knew from the beginning that he never listened to a word she said, but how could he be so ruthless to the end?

As she struggled for words and took a deep breath, Moiria asked with a look of disbelief.

“Did the Inquisitor say something about Hell?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, my goodness.”

Moiria sighed and shook her head.

“This is simply unbelievable.”

Moiria muttered, shuddering slightly at the absurdity of it all. With a resigned look on her face, she handed Vienny her medicine.

“Stop worrying and concentrate on getting better.”

Instead of telling Moiria that she no longer really needed the medicine as she was almost fully recovered, Vienny quietly accepted the medicine without protest.

Vienny obediently swallowed the pills and drank the water, then began to lie down on the bed. Suddenly she asked a question.

“If the holy power disappears, what will happen?”

“Holy power?”

Moiria tilted her head as if she had never thought about it before. After a moment, she replied in a nonchalant tone.

“If even the holy power fades, it will be the ultimate proof that the gods have abandoned humanity, will it not? Someone will inevitably look for something – or someone – to blame.”

The blanket crumpled in Vienny’s hand. When she remained silent, Moiria went on.

“If we’re unlucky, the Inquisitor may be blamed in the end, but it will have nothing to do with you. Don’t worry about it.”

* * *

The High Temple withstood the attack better than expected.

But though they put up a good fight, in the end they couldn’t stop the invaders. The priests, unable to withstand the raging flames, fled the sanctuary, and even the soldiers could no longer hold their positions.

Everyone saw McClart making his way through the shattered, burning, trampled High Temple, but no one dared stop him. They knew it was McClart himself who had summoned the massive flames that now engulfed the High Temple in a blazing inferno.

McClart reached the Temple’s central gathering place without encountering any resistance.

The High Priest stood on the platform – a deliberately built, single-storey structure designed to be the closest point to the heavens. Even in his final moments, he begged the mercy of the gods, looking far older than his previously eternal and unchanging facade.

“High Priest.

The High Priest, who had been kneeling before the towering statue, turned. The lines around his eyes deepened as he looked at McClart.

“So soon…”

He murmured, as if lamenting how quickly everything had fallen apart. The High Priest, who rarely lost his composure, now seemed visibly shaken. He had been shocked six months ago; he hadn’t expected McClart to reach him so quickly.

McClart himself felt it had taken a long time, though his opponent seemed to think otherwise. It gave him no particular satisfaction or pleasure.

“Have you forgotten that I was the one who set fire to half of Tempe in just six months?”

This time, those flames had simply been directed at Chiron.

“And besides,” he continued, “this is my home – one I know so well I didn’t even need any inside information to break through.”

Monasteries, sanctuaries, inquisitorial chambers – there was no place he didn’t know. Raised in the Temple since childhood, this was his world.

The High Priest let out a sharp laugh at McClart’s words.

“How dare you compare the land of witches to the holy nation that serves the gods!”

“Even demons are children of God.”

McClart replied, his tone calm.

“What difference does it make whose land it is?”

At his reply, the High Priest’s face twisted in fury and his voice rose in anger.

“How could one who serves God be deceived by a mere witch and destroy the Temple of the Divine with his own hands?”

Even if McClart hadn’t destroyed it, the temple was already an empty shell.

Instead of arguing, McClart simply looked at the High Priest, his eyes steady and unaffected. The High Priest, seeing McClart’s calm demeanour, struggled to contain his anger, his face flushing red before turning pale.