She’d thought it was early dawn, but outside, daylight was already bright. Normally, they would have set out by now, and she looked around the campsite, puzzled. It was clear that the soldiers had been ready to leave for quite some time. As soon as McClart stepped out, they swiftly began packing up and dismantling the tent.

Vienny felt the occasional glances from the soldiers, though McClart paid them no attention, striding forward with purpose. She followed closely behind, keeping her hood pulled low over her face.

“Inquisitor, you’re here.”

They stopped near where the horses were kept. Several horses stood restlessly, and McClart approached the largest, sturdiest black horse, taking hold of its reins.

Vienny recognised the black horse as McClart’s; she remembered him riding it, clad in dark armour, when he rode into her village. His imposing figure on the mighty steed had made a striking image.

“Go make sure the others are ready.”

McClart ordered, and the soldier quickly saluted and moved away. Brushing the horse’s mane with practiced ease, McClart glanced at Vienny. She stood there, only her eyes visible beneath the cloak, glancing around uncertainly.

She debated whether or not to tell him she didn’t know how to ride a horse. It didn’t seem like he intended to give her one, but without a horse, her injured ankle would be a problem. Yet, even if he offered one, all the horses here seemed too large and unruly for her to handle.

Just as Vienny finally decided to mention that she could manage walking, McClart unexpectedly grabbed her by the waist and lifted her effortlessly.

“In- Inquisitor?!”

Her voice cracked in surprise as she found herself suddenly lifted onto the horse, the sight from this height leaving her tense and disoriented. The horse was much bigger than she’d expected and she had no idea what to hold on to, feeling as if she might slip at any moment.

Awkwardly perched on the saddle, Vienny remained frozen as McClart climbed behind her, his solid frame pressing against her back.

“We’ve wasted enough time already,”

He muttered irritably and took hold of the reins with both hands. The movement trapped her in his arms and she swallowed nervously, feeling the tense energy emanating from him.

Sensing his foul mood, the words she’d been about to say caught in her throat, leaving her in uneasy silence.

The only comfort was that being encircled by his arms reduced her chances of falling. Deciding it was best to quietly comply, Vienny gripped the front of the saddle tightly and lowered her gaze.

Watching the soldiers move swiftly around them, she realized, as McClart had said, that they were indeed running late for something. A part of her wondered if it was because they had waited for her to wake up, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask. Instead, she stayed silent, hoping to avoid adding to McClart’s irritation.

* * *

The Teike Plains were, as the name suggested, flat and open – a landscape that offered little cover for witches to hide. But if they knew where to hide, it would make their capture all easier.

“Under the three trees standing side by side.”

McClart instructed, marking the location on a map and handing it to his adjutant who was waiting nearby. They had set up camp in a suitable spot, ready to begin their search and capture the target as soon as the scouts had completed their final reconnaissance. The adjutant, holding the map McClart had given him, shot a disapproving glance at Vienny, who was huddled in a corner. Though he could not voice his complaints directly to the Inquisitor, his eyes were filled with hostility towards the witch.

The issue wasn’t just with the adjutant alone, but instead of reprimanding his attitude, McClart simply gestured for him to leave with a jerk of his chin.

It was late, time to settle in for the night. Vienny, after eating her dinner, had begun nodding off shortly after, eventually dozing with her head lowered. She looked visibly worn out from the unfamiliar horseback ride, and McClart hadn’t bothered to wake her once she’d fallen asleep. Her ankle, visible under the blanket, was still swollen but looked noticeably better than before.

Walking all day on a leg like that—foolish.

McClart clicked his tongue in irritation as he removed his doublet. Truly foolish, weak, reckless, and dangerous…

The more descriptors he piled on, the more irritated he became. Just then someone outside announced that they’d brought water and towels for washing. He took them, shut the door behind him and sat down heavily on the bed, his whole body sticky with sweat and dirt.

Washing up was a luxury, but at least wiping with a damp cloth made sleep easier, if only briefly. Such minor inconveniences were worth enduring to keep himself in peak condition. The cool cloth against his skin helped to calm his growing frustration. He pressed the towel to his neck, trying to calm himself, when he heard movement behind him.

The witch, who usually slept soundlessly, stirred, prompting McClart to instinctively glance over his shoulder.

As he’d guessed, Vienny, who had been deeply asleep moments before, was now awake, watching him. Her red eyes were still hazy with sleep, and she blinked slowly, gazing at him blankly as if trying to piece together where she was and what she was seeing.

McClart’s gaze traced her features—from her eyes down to her sharp nose, past her pale cheeks, finally settling on her chapped lips. The moment his eyes lingered there, he quickly looked away, gripping the cold towel in his hand a little tighter.

“…Shall I help you?”

He turned back, momentarily doubting his ears. Vienny, now fully awake, had sat up completely. With her upper body emerging from the blanket wrapped around her like a rounded cocoon, she resembled a small mouse timidly peeking out of its burrow.

“What?” he snapped, his voice sharp. Vienny shrank back slightly, mumbling in a timid voice.

“Because you can’t reach your back…”

This witch clearly had no understanding of her position. Either that, or she’d grown arrogant, thinking he might grant her some small privilege or convenience.

He stared at her with a cold, expressionless gaze, and Vienny slowly lowered her eyes. She had this habit of cowering, avoiding eye contact whenever she was frightened. Even the slightest raise in his voice would make her bow her head and avert her gaze immediately. There seemed to be no thoughts of resistance in her, no sense of pride or responsibility befitting her position as a witch—only a desperate instinct to survive.

Whenever McClart saw her like this, his disdain only deepened. To him, it seemed fitting that someone who aligned with demons would behave this way.

As Vienny bowed her head, her long black hair spilled forward, and he was reminded of the previous night’s scene. He had found her in the shallow river, surrounded only by the sound of running water. He’d approached cautiously, suspecting she was up to something. But all he saw was her frail figure, her soaked clothes clinging to her skin, revealing the wounds scattered across her legs and the noticeable swelling of her ankle.

But what struck him most was her face, drained of all color and streaked with tears. Her red eyes stood out starkly, glistening as they reflected the early moonlight, which made her sharp, emaciated features appear even more ghostly. She looked so pitifully sorrowful that anyone seeing her like this might feel compelled to pull her into their arms. Draping his cloak over her had been an impulsive yet necessary choice. Had he not done so, he might have been the one reaching out to comfort that sorrow himself.

“Come and wipe me down.”

The sharp tone startled Vienny, and her eyes widened in surprise. McClart tossed the towel toward her and turned his back. Behind him, he heard a slight shuffle, followed by the cautious sound of her footsteps approaching.

Soon after, he heard the soft sound of water and then felt the cold cloth make contact with his back. Her touch was light, more of a gentle dab than an actual wipe, barely applying any pressure. The towel moved from his shoulder blade down along his spine, causing his back muscles to tense with each subtle pass.

All his senses seemed to focus on the places the cloth touched. McClart pressed his lips together, frowning. Though it was only a damp cloth on his skin, he became acutely aware of her fingers behind it, hands he shouldn’t even be noticing.

“Are you planning to wipe my back all day?”

At his sharp question, her movements grew faster, rubbing with more force. Now he could feel the outline of her fingers through the towel. Finally, McClart twisted his upper body, looked back, and grabbed the towel from her with a rough motion.

“You’re just wasting time unnecessarily.”

Clicking his tongue in irritation, he noticed Vienny bite her lip, looking even more dejected. It seemed to be a habit of hers—one that left her lips constantly chapped and raw. Was she really so foolish, unable to stop herself from making them bleed, no matter how many times he told her? No wonder her lips were so rough.

The thought that had crossed his mind made his jaw tighten. McClart quickly finished wiping himself down and pulled on his shirt. Yet, no matter how much he tried to focus on other things, his attention kept drifting back to her.

When he noticed Vienny hesitantly trying to step away, his body moved before his rational mind could catch up. She was still close after wiping his back, and in an instant, he reached out and grabbed her. Pulling her by the arm, he caused her to lose her balance, falling onto the bed. Enclosing her frail form within his arms was almost too easy.

Damn it.

“In… Inquisitor?”

“What are you up to?” he growled, and her face turned pale, her mouth opening without words.

“Well?” he pressed. “Are you trying to seduce me instead of Pepin, to get something out of this? State your intentions.”

Her lips, which had been calm until now, were bleeding again after just a few anxious bites. His gaze kept drifting down to her lips, now stained red. They were always wounded, rough, and cracked, yet he found himself unable to look away.