* * *

He couldn’t sleep until late at night. Every time he closed his eyes, he feared he would find himself back in that windowless cell.

It wasn’t fear that kept his eyes open; it was a deep-seated fatigue. It had taken far too long to return.

McClart looked down at the map, lost in somewhat sentimental thoughts. A year ago, he had been dragged to the High Temple in the capital for an ideological examination because of what had happened.

As if that weren’t enough, he was punished for letting the Great Witch escape, and his activities as a heretic inquisitor were suspended. It was also revealed that the newborn he had captured had none of the Great Witch’s power.

The High Priest was furious and treated McClart with contempt. Under the guise of proving his devotion, McClart was made to spill blood daily. New scars now covered his torso, which had been largely unblemished in recent years.

During this time, he couldn’t help but find it a little absurd that his own blood had a rancid smell, and even more ridiculous that he was concentrating on such trivial thoughts.

The period of forced confinement for repentance was mostly filled with anger. He couldn’t tell whether the sharp point of that emotion was directed at himself or the Great Witch. All he knew was that it grew sharper and more refined with time.

Had the demons not caused chaos in Tempe, and had the cries of the faithful for McClart’s return not grown louder, he might have been imprisoned for much longer.

In an act of mercy, the High Priest decided to give McClart another chance. Perhaps he felt that a year would be enough time for McClart to regain his devotion.

In many ways, it was more than enough time for McClart. More than enough – it was too much.

By now, nearly two-thirds of Tempe had been burned and reduced to ashes, and smoke rising from various places had become a common sight. This was due to the ongoing battles between the Demons and the Inquisitors.

Occasionally, amid the chaos, they would discover hidden witches. And each time, these witches were massacred on the spot.

By now, most of the purification was complete. All that remained were the pesky demons, who attacked like mayflies, and a handful of witches, if that. Soon the name Tempe might disappear from the map completely.

The map in front of him was tattered and covered with various markings. Unlike McClart, who had only swept the necessary areas based on intelligence, the Inquisitors who succeeded him had burned the entire country as they advanced.

Their intention was to purify slowly but thoroughly. After all, with half the country already burned by McClart, it shouldn’t have been too difficult to finish the job.

By the end of the year, there was little left of Tempe, which stretched from the Teike Plains to the sea beyond. The fact that the area near Teike Plains was still intact came as no surprise to McClart.

He knew full well that it wasn’t the result of the Inquisitors who had succeeded him doing a good job. The reason Tempe was in such a state was simple – it was because the Great Witch’s treacheries were still ongoing.

McClart ran his finger over the name of a place he hadn’t forgotten once in the past year: Teike Plains.

And the name of the Great Witch followed, of course. He silently rolled the letters in his mouth and felt the saliva begin to gather.

Leaving the map behind, he stepped out of the tent. He took a deep breath of the familiar air and looked up at the pitch-black night sky.

The moonlight, hidden behind the clouds, came out faintly, casting an eerie glow. An owl’s hoot could be heard somewhere nearby.

Staring at the moon, he turned his head in the direction of the sound. A sudden burst of blue flame erupted between the branches near the camp.

Caught in the flames, the owl flapped its wings in panic before plummeting to the ground. McClart, hands clasped behind his back, watched the owl’s red eyes as it writhed on the ground and let out a cold breath.

Whether the other person had seen him or not didn’t matter. While everyone else assumed the Great Witch was dead, McClart never believed it.

After hearing stories of a flock of crows circling ominously over Tempe, he was certain she had survived. And now she had gone so far as to inform him personally of her survival.

He had always assumed she was alive, but to actually see proof filled him with a strange sense of satisfaction, mixed with a pang of cynicism. McClart waited for the owl’s breathing to stop completely before turning away.

The conclusion he had reached after a year of stewing in anger was simple: one stupid mistake was more than enough.

* * *

As a result of jumping off the waterfall a year ago, Vienny had permanently lost the use of her right ankle. She had endured a lot of discomfort over the past year, but today she found it particularly frustrating – probably because she was running away.

It would have been nice if she could ride a horse. Then again, she realised that it might make her more noticeable.

Because of her small stature, Vienny rarely attracted attention when she walked carefully. In that sense, Gentian, despite his slender frame, was tall and made for a rather conspicuous companion.

“Let’s split up.”

“How far do you think you’ll get on that leg? Don’t be stubborn. If you get caught, it’ll be trouble for us too.”

“Trouble” had several meanings. It wasn’t just her safety he was worried about, but everything she knew and her abilities.

If she could locate the camps of the heretic inquisitors, it meant they could do the same in reverse. Vienny understood the implication, but Gentian still felt like an annoying companion.

Vienny shot him a displeased look, but reluctantly began to move again. Since the magic used by the demons clashed with the holy power of the heretic inquisitors, he might be useful if they encountered danger.

She wanted to stay in areas where the chance of encountering an inquisitor was low, but still.

“By the way, En, are you sure this map is marked correctly?”

Gentian asked, tilting his head as he examined it. He pointed to a spot on the map.

“This looks strange. If we keep going this way, we’ll end up at the sea. There’s nowhere else to go.”

“I have a place in mind near there.”

“And if they follow us that far?”

“If they make it that far, it means Tempe is already burnt to the ground. Running wouldn’t make sense then.”

Vienny’s voice was unusually calm, but Gentian, concentrating on the map, didn’t notice her tone. He thought about the feeling of unease a few times, but finally found nothing out of the ordinary, so he folded the map in half.

“Is that so?”

Leaving Gentian behind, Vienny continued to walk diligently. She moved slowly, so she had to keep a steady pace – almost twice as fast as others – to reach her destination on time.

Just when it seemed she would never tire, Vienny suddenly spotted a patch of grass and crouched down.

She bit down gently on her ring finger, drawing a little blood, and let her hand hang down. After a moment, a small squirrel darted out of the seemingly empty grass.

Sniffing the air, the squirrel approached her ring finger and began to lap up the blood.

“Ugh, what are you doing?”

Gentian covered his mouth with his arm, clearly disgusted. Ignoring him, Vienny stood up after the squirrel had drunk enough of her blood.

“Just in case.”

She pulled out a handkerchief and wrapped it loosely around her finger, then walked on as if nothing had happened.

Gentian looked at her with an incredulous expression, puzzled by her indifference. But soon he nodded, seeming to understand.

“Well, if it were me, I’d be afraid to see his face again after a year. You must be terrified.”

Murmuring to himself, Gentian continued in a serious tone.

“If you need help, let me know. He’s my enemy too.”

Vienny looked at him briefly in response to his surprisingly generous offer. Her red eyes were unreadable, revealing nothing of her thoughts.

With her pale complexion, her dark hair hanging down, and those red eyes, she looked almost ghostly. Gentian couldn’t help but stare, though he found her eyes a little unsettling.

To be honest, despite the harsh conditions, Vienny would be quite attractive if she took care of herself. She was pretty as she was, and with a little effort she could be stunning. There was something about her unique, melancholy aura that never failed to attract his attention.

Not that it really mattered.

From the moment he had rescued her from the water’s edge, Gentian had been plagued by a restless feeling, like the buzzing of a green apple on his tongue. He kept reminding himself of his situation and his fallen comrades, trying to keep his emotions in check – but matters of the heart rarely cooperated.

As Gentian tried to calm his foolishly racing heart, Vienny looked at him with the same thought she always had.

With every emotion clearly visible on his face, it was clear that Gentian had a long way to go before he could be considered mature. In many ways, he was the exact opposite of someone she once knew.

“Just stay with me until we cross the plains. We’ll part ways at Hellem Forest.”

Gentian clicked his tongue at her blunt words and unfolded the map. If they only travelled as far as Hellem Forest, it would only be a day or two more at the most.

“You’re stubborn, you know that?”

“You have your own comrades. Go back to them.”

“After a year together, you’re one of us too, you know.”

He probably had no idea how naive and foolish his words sounded. Instead of answering, Vienny took the map from his hand.