“Do you think spending a few days by the Inquisitor’s side has raised your status?”

His voice, despite the smile in his eyes, held a hint of irritation. Frustrated by McClart’s repeated interference, Pepin seemed to be harboring a great deal of resentment.

“Bow your head obediently while I’m still smiling at you. Otherwise, you might just find yourself pushed into those cleansing flames. Or should I kick you down there right now?”

It would only take a few steps to send her over the edge. Her body, tense with fear, swayed like a paper doll under Pepin’s firm grip.

Seeing Vienny’s red eyes widen in sudden fear seemed to ease Pepin’s irritation, softening his voice slightly, though his threats continued.

“If you’re going to be clueless, at least be fully clueless. I told you, your value—”

Suddenly, flames erupted on a nearby tree. The vivid blue fire blazed up without warning, and Pepin, startled, leaped back, pulling Vienny with him in the process.

Pepin, staring in shock at the tree consumed by flames, quickly looked around. His face, which had been full of arrogance moments ago, was now pale with fear as he frantically searched for McClart, who was nowhere in sight.

Abandoning his previous bravado, Pepin hurriedly dragged Vienny back to camp, running without a backward glance, as if afraid McClart might suddenly appear and seize him.

It wasn’t until she was shoved back into the transport carriage that Vienny could finally catch her breath. Her wrist throbbed where Pepin had pulled her roughly.

Panting, Vienny slumped down, resting her back and head against the carriage wall.

The image of the tree engulfed in blue flames flashed in her mind. Was it McClart’s doing? Or had a stray spark from the valley somehow ignited it? Considering how completely the flames had enveloped the tree, the latter seemed unlikely.

Having once seen an animal consumed by blue flames right before her eyes, Vienny suspected that this might be the same situation.

If her assumption was correct, and it truly was the former, then McClart must be nearby. But why would he distance himself from the witch hunt when it wasn’t even finished?

She couldn’t make sense of it.

Vienny abandoned the thought. Whatever the reason, it had ultimately worked in her favor, and that was all that mattered. Even if it had been McClart’s doing, understanding his motives wouldn’t benefit her. With that decision, she massaged her sore wrist and tried to relax.

Their camp was far enough from the valley that the screams were only faintly audible, but the distance did little to ease her discomfort.

The sounds still echoed sharply in her ears, making them throb, and it felt as if smoke was stinging her eyes, although she couldn’t see where it was coming from. The acrid smell lingered, sharp and intrusive, almost as if it were truly there…

Clang!

The carriage door suddenly burst open, flooding the space with light. Vienny flinched, looking at the figure standing in the doorway.

It wasn’t her imagination. As the door opened, the acrid smell assaulted her nose. Vienny stared in confusion at the shadowy face framed by the light.

“Inquisitor?”

It had been only a short while since she’d last seen him in the burning valley—less than an hour. Could the hunt already be over?

“Don’t just sit there looking dazed—get out.”

Having given his cold order, he turned sharply and left the carriage. But even after he was gone, Vienny couldn’t bring herself to move for a moment. She noticed that the camp looked exactly as it had when she’d hurried back with Pepin.

This meant the soldiers hadn’t returned yet, and the witch hunt wasn’t over. McClart had abruptly come back to camp alone and suddenly opened the carriage door.

A question arose in her mind again. Why?

She didn’t have much time to wonder, as the soldier who had come to fetch her was now urging her impatiently.

Stepping out of the carriage, she caught a faint scent of smoke in the air—a trace left behind by McClart. Soon, when the soldiers returned, the camp would be filled with all kinds of odors. The thought alone made her feel slightly dizzy.

The soldier led her to McClart’s tent. The only difference from the usual routine was that it was earlier in the day. Typically, she would be taken to his tent around dinner and kept shackled there until morning, when she’d be moved back to the carriage.

McClart had claimed it was to keep the Great Witch close for monitoring overnight, ensuring she didn’t try anything. In practice, though, he wasn’t particularly harsh or forceful with her while she was in the tent.

Normally, the soldier would have pushed her inside without a second thought, but today he paused at the entrance.

“I’ve brought the Great Witch.”

The soldier’s voice rang out loudly enough to be heard inside the tent, but no response came right away. As the silence stretched on, Vienny’s anxiety grew, though she couldn’t say exactly why.

Was McClart really in there? Had she mistaken someone else for him in her earlier confusion?

“Let her in.”

After a moment, a cold voice came from within. It was McClart’s. Although she had entered this tent countless times, the tension of the moment made her uneasy.

Vienny forced her reluctant steps forward and entered the tent. The air inside felt cooler than usual, probably because the camp fire hadn’t been lit for long.

McClart sat staring into the glowing embers. His black armor confirmed that he had just returned from the hunt.

Though she had seen McClart more often recently, it was her first time seeing him in full armor since her capture. The plate armor, engraved with Chiron’s emblem, made his already imposing figure appear even larger.

Feeling increasingly intimidated, Vienny lowered her head, holding her breath. She wished he would say something, but McClart showed no sign of speaking first.

Nervously biting her lip, she only realized what she was doing when she tasted blood. She quickly stopped, but her already torn lips were bleeding again.

Almost as if noticing, McClart shifted his gaze toward her.

“Doctor Pepin is returning to the castle.”

Vienny’s eyes widened slightly.

Most people still avoided contact with the Great Witch. The only reason Pepin had stayed by her side as her physician was because no one else wanted to care for her.

If Pepin was leaving, it meant that from now on, no one would tend to her wounds when she was hurt.

Could he have called her here just to inform her of this? The news of Pepin’s return to the castle was surprising enough, but the fact that McClart felt the need to tell her was even more baffling.

Unsure how to respond, Vienny’s face showed confusion, which seemed to prompt a frown from McClart.

“Are you sorry to see him go?”

“…Pardon?”

It seemed he had misunderstood her expression.

“You seem to rely on the doctor quite a bit.”

She had been too surprised by the sudden news to respond, but how had he interpreted it that way? Vienny blinked, confused, before slowly shaking her head.

“No, that’s not…”

“Well, you did seem quite close.”

The heavy clink of his armor echoed as McClart stepped closer. Up close, he looked even larger and more intimidating than from a distance. Vienny’s small stature only made the contrast more striking.

The man, easily twice her size, looked down at her with a grim expression, making her mouth go dry and a cold sweat break out.

“Close enough for him to kindly wipe away your blood with his handkerchief.”

The memory of the incident on the hill flashed through her mind. So it had been McClart who burned the tree. The strange pieces she hadn’t understood now fell into place, but the questions in her head only grew.

How had he witnessed her and Pepin while being occupied with the witch hunt? And why had he burned the tree? The questions continued to build.

“You still claim that you didn’t bewitch the doctor?”

“I did not bewitch him.”

Vienny replied firmly. Yet the coldness in McClart’s eyes didn’t waver. Instead, a cynical smile twisted his lips.

“You expect me to believe you had no intent behind deliberately wounding your own lips?”

What did her wounds have to do with bewitching Pepin? Vienny was about to ask, but then she remembered how Pepin grew excited over her injuries.

McClart must have noticed that too, which explained why he interpreted her habit of biting her lips in such a way.

It felt exaggerated and extreme, but to McClart, anything she did would likely seem malicious.

“Did you make Pepin drink your blood?”

It was a question she had heard before. Vienny clenched her jaw, lowering her gaze.

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

“Does that mean you’ve tried it on someone?”

“Well, that…”

Vienny hesitated. She didn’t need to test it to know the answer, but how could she convince McClart of that?

He was clearly convinced that Pepin had been bewitched by her blood. She had no idea how to prove her innocence. Opening her mouth to speak, her voice came out weak and hesitant.

“A witch’s blood is poisonous to humans.”

She repeated McClart’s own words back to him, and for a moment, he was silent.

After a brief pause, a cold gauntlet gripped her chin and forced her face upwards. McClart’s stern features filled her vision.

“Then let’s test it.”

Vienny didn’t have a chance to ask what he meant before his rough lips pressed against hers, silencing her. A tongue swept greedily over the blood on her lips, then slipped between them, entering her defenceless mouth.