“You’ll thank me someday. I’ll collect my reward later.”

Something came towards them in the distance. Wolves? Or stray dogs? It seemed to be some sort of beast. Pepin’s eyes gleamed with interest as the two panting creatures slowly approached.

Vienny stood rooted to the spot, staring at the approaching beasts. Pepin had clearly expected her to be frightened and run away, for he clucked his tongue in disappointment. But his gaze remained fixed on the unfolding scene, filled with anticipation.

The animals – one with stiff brown fur, the other with dark black – approached in hesitant starts and stops. Although Vienny didn’t know exactly what had been poured over her, it was clear that the foul smell was drawing them in.

Suddenly a thought struck her: she had never lived the way she wanted to, so why should her death be any different?

Once these beasts tasted her blood, Pepin would conclude that her blood corrupted them. The eyes of any creature that drank her blood would turn unmistakably red—a fact that couldn’t be hidden.

She couldn’t prove the nature of her dreams to anyone, so the only evidence left would be the beasts’ reddened eyes. The power tied to the grand witch’s red eyes would be seen as real. After Pepin’s report, McClart would likely decide she was too dangerous to meet the High Priest and would kill her.

Vienny thought again: even her death wouldn’t happen the way she wanted. It was a sad resignation.

“Not running is a good choice,” said Pepin. “No need to provoke these beasts unnecessarily.”

He called out in a cheerful tone. Vienny suddenly noticed how much distance had grown between them—he had moved much farther away than she’d realized.

Vienny’s gaze fixed on the black-furred beast approaching her first. Its bones jutted beneath its fur, a clear sign of starvation. Each pant revealed and concealed sharp fangs, poised to bite.

The moment the starving creature tasted her blood, it would lose its aggression. Although there was no need to provoke it, as Pepin had said, Vienny instinctively took a step back.

The beast was close enough now that she could hear its growl. Trembling as she always did in moments of terror, she bit her lips. From a distance, Pepin’s laughter echoed as he noticed the fear finally appearing on her face. The creature filled her vision, coming closer and closer.

Her heel caught a sharp stone behind her and she stumbled, falling backwards as the beast lunged at her. She raised her arms to protect herself, but its fangs sunk into her flesh before she could react. Vienny screamed.

She felt the beast withdraw slightly after tasting her blood, but the wound continued to bleed heavily. Its rough, sandpaper-like tongue licked at the flowing blood, making the pain worse as it irritated the torn skin.

“Ugh…”

She tried not to bite her tongue, but couldn’t stop herself from sobbing. The black beast that had bared its teeth only moments before was now focused on her blood, its behaviour unexpectedly submissive. Meanwhile, the brown-furred beast that had been at a distance began to growl as it approached.

She watched as it lowered its body and prepared to pounce. Vienney could only hope it didn’t bite too deeply. Her tear-filled vision was filled with the sight of the beast lunging at her. She inhaled sharply in terror.

Whoosh!

Flames erupted before her eyes.

The beast that had lunged at her now rolled to the ground, howling in agony. Flames instantly engulfed its body, turning its brown fur to charred black. The acrid stench of burning fur and searing flesh filled the air.

The black beast, which had been busy licking the blood from her arm, bolted at the sight of the flames. Vienny, however, remained frozen, her gaze fixed on the burning creature, utterly dazed.

“Blue flames…”

She stared blankly at the writhing beast, oblivious to the pain in her blood-soaked arm. The sight of the creature thrashing in torment reminded her of the witches who had perished at the stake.

How different was it really? Through the eyes of a raven, she had witnessed countless executions, the gruesome spectacle of flesh roasting, blistering and peeling, the bodies turning pitch black.

“What is the meaning of this mess?”

The cold voice snapped her out of her thoughts. Still seated on the ground, Vienny slowly lifted her head. Someone on horseback, backlit by the sun, was looking down at her.

McClart Hemlock.

“H-How… how did you get here, Inquisitor?!”

Pepin’s startled voice rang out as he ran over, breathless. McClart, still on his horse, shifted his gaze slightly to look at Pepin.

“I asked, what is the meaning of this, doctor?”

“This, this is…”

“I have specifically ordered that the Great Witch be locked up.”

McClart said, a subtle but unmistakable threat in his voice. Pepin, noticing this, turned pale and hurriedly tried to explain.

“The High Priest’s orders arrived!”

Pepin quickly pulled out the piece of paper that had silenced Father Brown earlier. By presenting it immediately, without further explanation, it was clear that he believed McClart would understand the situation as soon as he read it.

McClart took the paper from Pepin without a word, his eyes scanning the contents with a detached expression. He finished quickly and let out a low, mocking laugh. Pepin, who had shrunk back, straightened his shoulders carefully and cleared his throat.

“You trusted this piece of paper and took liberties with what I had painstakingly ensured was contained, did you?”

McClart muttered dismissively. Holding both ends of the paper, he tore it in half.

“Inquisitor!”

Ignoring Pepin’s shocked outcry, McClart tore the paper into pieces, letting them fall to the ground. His voice dripped with cold disdain as he spoke.

“Rave Castle is mine, and this Inquisition is under my command.”

The cries of the beast, thrashing as it burned, grew fainter. Its breaths slowed until the creature finally lay still.

“I’m the one in charge here.”

With a final, fading cry, the beast collapsed. Its charred body lay smoldering, blue flames flickering faintly as intense heat radiated from it. Although the flames themselves were subsiding, the heat seemed to intensify.

Vienny wasn’t the only one who felt the heat. Pepin, his former false confidence fading, wore a tense expression as he continued to stare at the smoldering beast.

“I don’t care whom you serve, doctor,” McClart continued. “As long as you don’t disobey my orders in my castle.”

“My apologies.”

Quick to read the situation, Pepin approached McClart and bowed deeply. In doing so, he stepped on one of the scattered pieces of torn paper but paid it no mind. McClart’s gaze flickered to the paper beneath Pepin’s foot as he spoke with an indifferent tone.

“I’ll consider tearing up that letter as your pardon for this incident.”

“Understood.”

Satisfied with Pepin’s response, McClart turned his attention to Vienny, who was still sitting dazed on the ground. His brows knitted in clear displeasure.

“Your legs are fine, so why aren’t you getting up?”

The reprimand snapped Vienny back to reality. She pressed her hands to the ground to push herself up, but let out a soft moan as she accidentally put pressure on her bitten arm.

Ignoring McClart’s scornful gaze, she struggled to her feet, doing her best to steady herself. The horse snorted impatiently, and McClart’s cold voice urged her forward.

“Return to your room.”