Although the scene was familiar, it seemed particularly vivid this time, perhaps due to the strong smell of blood in the air.

In the Glanda Valley, as Vienny had said, there were hidden caves where witches hid. There were also a few devil worshippers on Dairen Hill.

However, with this information alone, it was difficult to prove that Vienny used magic for her insights. If she relied on such magic, it would mean that she regularly fed blood to beasts here to monitor external events.

But the only animals in the dungeon were rats. If she couldn’t control the rats directly, it would be impossible to spy on the witches’ hideout. That meant she was hiding some other power. But what could it be?

Even without the impending visit from the High Priest, McClart wouldn’t have given Vienny so much attention.

In truth, whatever power she was hiding didn’t really matter, as he was going to kill her anyway. There was no point in learning too much about someone destined to be purified by blue flames. Knowing one thing would only make him curious about two more, and learning them would only multiply his questions.

“Anyone who drinks my blood loses their mind and becomes a demon.”

Curiosity was indeed the most dangerous poison.

* * *

After the soldiers returned from the witch hunt, McClart seemed increasingly busy.

Vienny was left alone in his private chamber. The number of days Mcclart did not enter his room continued to grow, yet he still hadn’t shackled her. This was quite surprising.

It seemed as if he was implicitly allowing her to move freely within the confines of his personal space. But that didn’t mean Vienny could do anything useful; it could simply be a sign of his neglect.

Since the incident in the graveyard, Pepin’s behaviour had changed drastically. He concentrated solely on treating Vienny, and when his work was done, he left the room immediately. Of course, there were times when his eyes would linger on her body, but that was the extent of it.

Occasionally, his fingers brushed the wound on her arm with a hint of longing, but he was no longer prodding or disturbing her as he had been. Instead, he seemed genuinely committed to seeing that her wounds healed quickly.

With such a change in behaviour, it was natural for Vienny to feel anxious. She couldn’t shake the suspicion that her execution had already been decided. Otherwise, it was impossible to make sense of this seemingly peaceful existence.

McClart wasn’t forcing her to provide information, and Pepin wasn’t tormenting her either. Being confined to his private chamber meant no one was deliberately coming to torture or insult her.

The days passed without purpose, filling Vienny with a new kind of fear. She couldn’t understand what McClart wanted from her at all.

It would be better if he just told her outright.

Huddled in front of the warm fire, Vienny gazed absently at the flames. The fear evoked by the red and blue flames was completely different, simply because of their colours. The blue flames felt as if they were always ready to devour her.

The red flames, on the other hand, seemed relatively less threatening. Rather than trying to consume her completely, they felt more like a seduction, persuading her to step forward willingly. Both would lead to the same fatal outcome, but the presence or absence of violence changed the intensity of her fear.

As she absentmindedly bit at her cracked lips, Vienny flinched as a sharp pain hit her, followed by the taste of blood on her tongue. Perhaps it was because she hadn’t seen blood in a while, but the metallic scent that flooded her mouth was surprisingly vivid.

Though the pain was slight, the sensation of hurting herself brought a familiar sense of relief. Vienny continued to nibble on her lips, burying her head between her knees.

As the physical pain eased, her mind began to wander. She remembered the last area she’d reported on – McClart still hadn’t mentioned Dairen Hill.

So Vienny needed to think ahead about the next place she would inform on. The number of witches had significantly decreased, and they would now be seeking deeper, darker hiding places. She hoped the witches would hide well; only then would her informing have any real value.

When would the witch hunt finally end? Would she survive to the end? She knew that when it was over, she would be dragged to the capital and burned at the stake. She remembered the plan she had secretly made when McClart had first captured her.

To complete her final act of informing, then escape.

To run away and find the death she longed for.

The crackling of burning wood echoed around her, as if mocking her. The laughter of an indifferent wind seemed to mock her plight. Staring into the flickering red flames, Vienny continued to chew on her lips, now ragged and torn.

How long had she been sitting idly in front of the fireplace? Suddenly, the door swung open behind her.

A wave of tension swept through her previously relaxed body. She had thought the owner of the room wouldn’t be coming, and now she stiffened her shoulders, turning to see who had entered.

McClart stepped into the room, pausing in his tracks. He stood at the doorway, silently frowning as he glanced around his private chamber before looking down at Vienny, who was crouching by the fire.

“Isn’t your wound supposed to be healed?”

“It is.”

It wasn’t completely healed, but at least it wasn’t bleeding as much. But even with Vienny’s careful response, McClart’s expression remained stern. After a moment of silence, his lips pressed tightly together, he approached her.

At his gesture, Vienny cautiously stood up, instinctively bending over to make herself appear smaller. But McClart grabbed her chin and lifted her face sharply, his irritated blue eyes locked with hers.

“Can you control the scent of your blood too?”

“…What?”

“What on earth…”

McClart, muttering in frustration, fell silent. He stared at Vienny’s face with displeasure for a long moment.

It was clear that something had gone wrong outside. Vienny pressed her trembling lips together, her pulse quickening with tension.

Perhaps keeping her locked up here was a way for him to vent his frustrations whenever he was displeased.

The thought made her heart race with fear. At least with others, their emotions were often transparent, making it easier for her to understand their intentions. But McClart was completely unpredictable, leaving her unsure of how to react.

“So you’re saying the smell of blood comes from these lips.”

His voice was cold as he continued to look down at her, his thumb pressing firmly against her lower lip.

She held her breath, trembling at McClart’s cryptic reasoning. His large, rough thumb pressed against the torn part of her lip, sending a sharp sting of pain through her.

“Has Pepin ever tasted your blood?”

Her long eyelashes fluttered as she responded hesitantly, still caught in his grip.

“No, as far as I know… It didn’t happen…”

Every time she moved her lips, they brushed against McClart’s thumb, creating a strange sensation. It was said that the sense of touch on the lips was particularly sensitive. Perhaps that was why she couldn’t finish her sentence before pressing her lips together.

Swallowing dryly, Vienny tried her best to avert her gaze. Fortunately, his grip on her chin loosened almost immediately.

As she lowered her head, her black hair fell over her cheeks, cascading downward.

Normally he would have wiped his hands immediately, but for some reason McClart didn’t reach for a handkerchief. Instead, he looked down at the small smear of blood on his thumb and rubbed it with his index finger. Vienny, trying not to make eye contact, watched McClart’s expression carefully and shrugged slightly.

“You said you’re the only witch with red eyes.”

“Yes.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“The Great Witch’s blood… is inherently difficult to pass on.”

Her blood was unique and hard to inherit. Only those who could withstand it could pass it on. Having survived while countless others had perished, Vienny had no doubt she was the only Great Witch.

Anyone who grew up surrounded by the bodies of their siblings would think the same. This cursed bloodline was not easily continued, and that was fortunate.

“If you die, does that mean the Great Witch’s bloodline will be completely cut off?”

“Yes.”

“And what if there’s another witch like you?”

Could it be that they had found another red-eyed witch during the hunts? The thought sent a chill down Vienny’s spine, but she quickly dismissed it. Her mother had said it would be difficult for her to bear another child. All the witches had agreed that Vienny was their only hope.

Having taken on the responsibilities of the Great Witch at an early age to compensate for her mother’s weakened condition, all duties fell on her shoulders when her mother could no longer bear children.

McClart’s question was purely hypothetical, yet for some reason, it filled her with a deep unease.

“It’s unlikely, but… if you ever find a red-eyed witch…”

Vienny licked her lips, tasting her own blood on her tongue, and lowered her voice to a colder tone.

“You must kill her.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s dangerous.”

McClart, who had been staring at his blood-stained thumb all the time, clenched his fist tightly. Then he looked at Vienny with an indifferent expression.

“Does that mean you admit that you yourself are dangerous?”

“Didn’t you lock me in this room because you thought I was dangerous?”

A living poison pouch.

His expression suggested he had no intention of letting her go, likely referring to the nature of her blood. Since she had stated that her blood could turn someone into a demon if consumed, it was only natural for him to interpret it that way.

Although it felt stifling to be trapped in a place like this instead of the underground prison, Vienny rationalised it as she noticed McClart’s pace slowing.

He seemed determined to truly keep her isolated, perhaps to ensure that even the guards wouldn’t have easy access to her. If that was his intention, then his private chamber was indeed a place where no one could approach her carelessly.

McClart fell into a moment of thought as he considered her question.

“That could be the case,” he finally said, tilting his head slightly as he clasped his hands behind his back.

“Or it might not be.”

Vienny looked up at him, her gaze filled with confusion. He regarded her with an unreadable expression before turning away, maintaining his usual indifferent demeanor.

“The High Priest will be arriving soon. The honor of meeting him is rare, so behave appropriately.”

Just as McClart was about to step into the main room, he stopped suddenly. He looked at Vienny, who was standing awkwardly, and furrowed his brow as he added, “I won’t tolerate you being an eyesore for others. From now on, eat all your food.”

After McClart entered the main room, Vienny remained standing there for a long time, her face expressionless. Everything felt wrong from start to finish, and she didn’t even know where to start analysing it. What was certain was that this situation was incredibly uncomfortable and unsettling for her.

But it was clear that McClart had no intention of alleviating her discomfort. Gathering her scattered thoughts, Vienny moved to a secluded corner of the room.

A different kind of fear – more insidious and secretive than the one she had felt before – began to creep up on her. It was vague, and she had no idea how to face it. By the time she recognised its true form, it felt as if she had already sacrificed her own throat.

The ominous feeling lingered in her mind.

* * *

After a brief commotion near the castle, the heads of several Ifen and a witch were displayed on the castle walls.

That evening, with the grim sight of the hanging corpses as a backdrop, the High Priest arrived at Rave Castle.