McClart no longer needed information from the Great Witch. What he wanted was her blood – the very thing that Vienny wanted more than anything else to be erased from this world.

Vienny let out a breath of despair. She had seen it with her own eyes and now she had to accept it.

He would not keep his promise to her.

* * *

The acrid smell filled the air from every direction. The witches hoped the rain would douse the flames, but the fire, fueled by sacred power, would not die until it had burned away all evil.

The sight of the blue flames flickering in the steady drizzle was both eerie and chilling. McClart surveyed his surroundings with cold, unfeeling eyes.

The witches had built caves beneath the plains, thinking they’d found an ingenious hiding place, but it made them all the easier to catch in one fell swoop.

Amidst the chaotic screams, the cry of an infant could be heard. A soldier, clearly unused to handling a baby, fumbled nervously as he tried to calm it.

The tiny creature, so small it seemed fragile to hold, had red eyes – an instant signal to McClart that this was indeed the Great Witch’s bloodline.

The old woman holding the child also had red eyes. She froze in shock when she realised she’d been found out, then quickly scowled, probably guessing who had given away her location.

“When the newborn Great Witch dies, the previous Great Witch regains her power. That is the nature of witch’s blood!”

The old woman’s despair was obvious. Was every Great Witch so desperate to protect her own life?

Remembering the first time Vienny had begged for her life, McClart found himself thinking with the same detached indifference.

“I may have lost my power because of Vienny,” the old woman said, “but unlike her, I accept the fate of the Great Witch. I would rather…”

There was no need for a direct command. A single word that the noise was a nuisance was enough.

The soldiers took the child from her, and a sword was plunged into the old woman’s body. The newborn, forcibly separated from its mother’s embrace, let out a faint cry.

As the child needed to be kept alive, McClart handed it over and instructed the soldiers to calm it as best they could. Then he turned his attention to the purification of the remaining witches. It was an ordinary witch hunt, but today it felt particularly exhausting.

Perhaps seeing two pairs of red eyes like Vienny’s had affected him. The words the old woman spoke before she died were at least worth considering.

If the new Great Witch was killed, the former Great Witch would regain her power. This also meant that when a new Great Witch was born, the power of the previous one would fade.

In other words, once this child was handed over to the High Priest, there would be no reason for him to be interested in Vienny. Even Pepin, who had been insistently circling around, would probably come to his senses and withdraw.

He turned away with a look of annoyance. His gaze briefly caught the sight of a hunting dog, its teeth bared as it snapped at the neck of a fleeing demon worshipper. McClart was about to look away indifferently when he suddenly stopped.

“Inquisitor?”

McClart walked quickly towards the dog, grabbed its lead and lifted it off the ground. The dog, excited by the taste of blood, barked and thrashed wildly.

When it raised its head, its bright, menacing eyes gleamed – a pair of red eyes.

“Inquisitor, what’s going on here?” one of the soldiers asked, clearly perplexed.

Ignoring the question, McClart dropped the leash and let the dog fall back to the ground. The sky, thick with ash-coloured clouds, made midday seem dull and dreary.

Looking up at the increasingly heavy rain, he noticed a few dark birds flying across the sky. A shiver ran down his spine.

“Finish up here. I’m heading back.”

With a short command, McClart turned sharply, his mind cooling with clarity.

* * *

The camp looked much as it had when he first left. Ignoring the surprised stares of the soldiers as he walked in alone, McClart headed straight to his tent.

The soldier standing guard outside, looking bored, snapped to attention when he saw Macklatt approaching.

“The Great Witch?”

“She… she hurt her leg, so she went to the river to wash!”

“Hurt her leg?”

“Yes. She said she burned it on the brazier…”

Before the soldier had finished speaking, McClart threw open the tent door. A damp, metallic smell of blood filled the air from the outside entrance.

Normally the smell would have made his mouth water, but now it sent a shiver down his spine. Clenching his jaw, he opened the inner door and the first thing he saw was the bed, stained a deep red.

The blood had dried and hardened over time and even at first glance there was a considerable amount of it. There were also red stains on the floor. There were no bloodstains on the brazier, of course.

“When did she leave?”

“Earlier…”

The soldier hesitated. Only then did he seem to realise how much time had passed since the Great Witch had left to go to the river. Without a moment to reprimand him, McClart hurried out.

The river was close and his heart was beating faster with a growing sense of unease.

The rain obscured his vision, making it difficult to see far ahead. Only the muffled sound of raindrops hitting the water’s surface reached him.

By the time he arrived, his breathing had become heavy. The mist that had settled over the river showed no sign of anyone.

Remaining calm, McClart surveyed the area. As this area was rarely travelled, even trampled or twisted grass gave a clear direction of movement.

Whoever had been here seemed to have followed the river downstream. McClart remembered that this river led to a waterfall.

It was far too high to jump safely, but if she wanted to evade the guards, it would have been her only option – assuming she really wanted to escape.

Escape? McClart’s face twisted in anger. The very possibility that she might have considered it filled him with rage.

He was equally frustrated with himself for not considering her escape as a possibility. How had he become so careless? When had he let his guard down so easily?

Only this morning he had become irritated when Vienny had asked if he was going to tie her up. How foolish of him to be so careless, even under the influence of her blood!

He gritted his teeth, stepped forward with clenched fists, his anger simmering.

She wouldn’t have run away – not until the witch hunt was over. She was probably just restless and wandering.

If she really tried to escape, he could threaten her with the existence of another descendant of the Great Witch. She was deeply attached to her bloodline, and knowing that it was still alive would make it impossible for her to really escape…

Through the dim rain, he saw a lone figure standing by the water’s edge, and the harsh thoughts running through his mind stopped abruptly.

“Great Witch.”

He didn’t raise his voice, but it was enough for Vienny to hear. She turned slowly, wrapped in the familiar cloak.

He couldn’t tell how long she’d been standing there, but judging by how soaked she was, she’d been in the rain for a long time. Her drenched, heavy black hair reminded him of the day he had found her crying.

Was she crying now? As he approached, he saw that her cheeks were wet, though he couldn’t tell if it was from tears or the rain.

“Is the hunt already over?”

Her voice was faint, barely audible over the rain. The cloak he’d given her to keep out the cold was obviously only making her body temperature drop faster.

“What are you doing here?”

“Did you… killed them all?”

Instead of answering, she answered with another question, now fully facing him.

The bluish tint to her lips was enough to suggest how far her body temperature had dropped. Given her frail condition, it wouldn’t be surprising if she fell ill in this state.

McClart rebuked her in a harsh tone.

“How long have you been standing in the rain?”

“You told me you were going to burn all of Tempe.”

She interrupted, her voice deep but determined. This wasn’t the usual look of fear on her face, the look of someone just looking for a way to survive.

Her slightly twisted gaze was both angry and somehow sad.

“But the High Priest promised me that if I turned to him, he would stop the witch hunts.”

Not fully aware of what the High Priest had offered Vienny, McClart let out a breath of astonishment.

It was no surprise that the High Priest took a keen interest in the power of the Great Witch, or that he instructed Pepin to keep a close eye on her, never letting her out of his sight.

But to say that he would stop the witch hunts? That was an absurd suggestion, and probably an indication of how highly he regarded Vienny.

“When a new Great Witch appears, the previous one loses her power,” McClart said coldly and stepped closer to her.

“You will soon lose your power, and then the High Priest will lose interest in you.”

The High Priest’s interest in Vienny was purely for the power contained in the High Witch’s blood. This was probably why he agreed so readily when McClart promised to bring him the newborn child.

McClart intended to give the child to the High Priest on his return and then release both Vienny and him. If possible, he would also dismiss any other troublesome priests in the area.

He thought it best to send Pepin away as well. Even if it was difficult, choosing a new doctor himself would ensure they found a more reliable one.

At McClart’s words, Vienny lowered her eyes.

“So you plan to sacrifice this newborn child in my place, for my power will soon fade.”

She didn’t seem to hide the fact that she had seen everything through the dog’s eyes. McClart clucked his tongue and frowned.

“Seeing my despair up close, I thought you might have felt a shred of compassion.”

Vienny’s voice sounded almost calm, but if you listened closely, you could hear the twisted sarcasm underneath.

Her red eyes, cold and hardened, were fixed on McClart. Was she so angry because he had chosen to keep alive the bloodline she had fought so hard to destroy?

The fact that the newborn child carried the blood of a suspected witch was reason enough for purification… but McClart suddenly remembered that Vienny was a Great Witch.

The leader of the evil demon worshippers, responsible for overseeing every aspect of their lives. A dark being, like any other witch, who used blood to perform her magic.

As he realised the depth of her wickedness, an instinctive feeling of revulsion surged through him.

“There is no reason to feel pity for a witch,” he said.

The words came out harshly, and it was clear from Vienny’s desperate look that she had noticed the contempt in McClart’s voice.

“You think all witches of Tempe are demon worshippers who need to be purified, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

It was a question that needed no consideration. McClart answered as if it were obvious and took another step towards Vienny.

Just a little closer and he could grab her. Feeling the distance between them shrink, Vienny instinctively stepped back, seemingly unaware that there was nothing but empty space behind her.

McClart was about to point out her foolish retreat when she spoke first, her voice calm.

“Then burn me alive now.”

McClart, who had been watching her footsteps, paused and raised his eyes.

“I will soon be useless. As you said, I will lose the power of the Great Witch. I don’t want to face such humiliation, so kill me now instead.”

It wasn’t hard to tell that she meant what she said. McClart, who had stared at her in silence with a frozen expression, soon spoke in a threatening tone.

“I warned you not to mix dirty personal motives with doing the will of God.”

“You were captivated by my blood, Inquisitor. I thought you wanted to be free of it, even if it meant killing me. So I waited…”

“That is not for you to decide.”

At McClart’s firm words, Vienny drew in a sharp breath. Her pale lips quivered slightly.

It wasn’t just her lips. The way her shoulders were hunched showed how much she was shivering from the cold.

It was a foolish sight indeed. Was the Great Witch going to push herself until she fell ill? His unease grew with each passing moment.

As McClart struggled to control his emotions, Vienny, barely able to stand and seemingly on the verge of collapse, forced out a question.

“Was it really just an act of kindness to keep the bed warm?”

It was a phrase he had used repeatedly over the past few days, almost as an excuse. Vienny had never shown much of an emotional response to those words, so her question came as a surprise.

McClart paused for a moment, then replied with force in his voice.

“What other use could you possibly have?”

“Then that must be the only reason you’ve decided to keep me alive.”

Was it just his imagination? There was a faint note of resignation and disappointment in the voice that had been let out like a sigh.

No, perhaps it was a feeling of relief. When Vienny lifted her head, her expression seemed noticeably lighter than before.

“Witches who can warm a bed are everywhere. There must be someone more useful.”

She took another step back, her heel hovering over the empty room. Seeing this, McClart instinctively raised his voice, calling out to stop her.

“Vienny!”

She paused, just as she was about to step back without hesitation. Her red eyes stared intently at McClart.

“Even though it’s unnecessary information, you still remember.”

“If you fall from there, you’ll die.”

McClart gritted his teeth and spoke in a harsh tone, his palms damp from a mixture of rainwater and cold sweat.

He approached her cautiously, trying not to provoke Vienny. Only three more steps and he could grab her.

“There’s one thing I’ve always dreamed of,” Vienny’s quiet voice echoed.

“I’ve always wanted to drown,” she said.

In McClart’s tense gaze he saw Vienny smiling brightly. That innocent, pure smile seemed to grip his ankles, holding him in place and preventing him from moving.

And she didn’t miss that fleeting moment. With a light push, her body tipped backwards.

McClart kicked up quickly and reached for her, but the fluttering cloak slipped just out of his grasp. His expression twisted violently.

“Vienny…!”

Suddenly, a swarm of crows came from all directions, blurring his vision. Amidst the flurry of black feathers, he caught a glimpse of the cloak falling rapidly.

He focused his mind to burn the crows instantly, but the blue flames failed to reach a single bird. Gritting his teeth, McClart tried to concentrate once more.

Just as he heard the faint sound of something falling into the water, muffled by the rain, a few crows at the top were instantly engulfed in flames, blocking his view of the water’s surface.

The bird, writhing as it burned, fell, and at last his blurred vision cleared slightly. Beneath the foaming waterfall he saw the cloak he had failed to catch and the scattered black feathers, swept away by the current.

His blue eyes filled with fury. A piercing scream broke through the rain.

“Vienny!”

There was no answer.