As Gentian said, they needed to get out of the forest first. As he supported her, Vienny shivered with a growing unease at the back of her mind.

No matter how she thought about it, the idea that Gentian had faced McClart and returned safely was hard for her to accept.

McClart had returned, found the scene of the crime and was now hot on her trail.

Whether he had stumbled upon her by chance, or whether it had all been planned from the start, one thing was certain – once he was on her trail, he was determined to catch her.

Remembering how Gentian had been followed before, she had a feeling there was more to this situation than met the eye.

“Is there a place nearby that you’ve scouted out?”

When Gentian asked, Vienny couldn’t just answer. She pressed her lips together and shook her head, causing Gentian to slip his arm under her armpits and lift her effortlessly.

“At this rate, we won’t make it in time. It’s better if I carry you and run.”

Vienny was about to protest and ask to be put down, but after hearing his reasoning, she relaxed and let him carry her. As her body pressed against his damp clothing, a slight chill ran through her.

Perhaps because of his wet clothes, Gentian’s body felt unusually cold, and even with their bodies pressed together, she felt more chilled than comforted. Vienny glanced at the rapidly passing scenery, her shoulders shrinking slightly.

The acacia grove was on the edge of Hellem Forest. Staying still wasn’t enough to calm her fears, so Vienny dug around and pulled out her map.

After leaving the grove, they would come to a large river that flowed into the sea. Originally, she and Gentian had planned to follow the riverbank downstream, but given the current situation, she wasn’t sure if that plan was still viable.

“Let’s cross the river first.”

“Do you think there will be a boat?”

“There is one hidden nearby. My comrades…”

Gentian started to explain, but suddenly trailed off. Vienny, cradled in his arms and looking up at him from below, noticed his jaw clenching.

He was clenching his teeth as if trying to suppress some emotion. Vienny instinctively knew it had something to do with her and held her breath.

Her eyes quickly scanned the map in her hand. The big river next to the grove. Not far from there was an old underground cave used by the witches.

Vienny had already confirmed that the place was empty. But she hadn’t told Gentian.

“My comrades used to use it.”

Pretending to be calm, Gentian adjusted his grip on Vienny. Silently she folded the map.

It had been a year since she had met Gentian. He had never been very good at controlling his expressions, and as straightforward as he was, his emotions often got the best of him.

There was only so much longer he could hold back his rising words. Once those unidentified emotions broke out, it was impossible to predict how his behaviour would change.

The only thing she was sure of was that it wouldn’t be positive.

***

“McClart, you’ve always been at the forefront of serving the will of the Divine.”

The High Priest looked genuinely sorry.

“I simply cannot understand. Was it really just a mistake?”

Knowing all of McClart’s previous successes, the High Priest couldn’t understand how the Great Witch had slipped from his grasp. After all, the Great Witch was a fragile being that McClart could easily subdue without even using his divine power.

Despite the High Priest’s repeated questioning, McClart remained silent throughout. His mind was consumed by the memory of the Great Witch slipping away before his eyes.

Her face, laughing so freely as she spoke of wanting to drown and die, was seared into his memory like a brand. That brazen display—casting her life away without a moment’s hesitation.

Even though he kept telling himself that she couldn’t have died, the fact that he hadn’t seen her safe with his own eyes made him feel uneasy. The High Priest, noting with displeasure McClart’s distracted demeanour, finally tried a softer approach and spoke to him gently.

“I know how unwavering your devotion is. In a month or so, the other priests will probably agree that sufficient punishment has been meted out. So this time, make sure you offer the right bloodline of the Great Witch to the Divine. Can you do that?”

It seemed that the High Priest also believed that the Great Witch wasn’t dead. Without a body, the possibility of her survival could not be ignored.

Blood trickled from McClart’s welted skin, reddened by the whip, and dripped onto the floor. He stared silently at the bloodstains spreading across the ground, then slowly lifted his expressionless face.

The High Priest, with his angelic face, looked at him expectantly, as if his submission was only natural.

“If she falls into my hands…”

His rarely heard voice was deep and resonant, his exhaustion giving it a metallic, even heavier tone.

“I will not give her up.”

The High Priest’s once friendly expression hardened in an instant.

“No matter what you order, it cannot be done.”

Something in McClart’s calm reply caused the gentle aura to vanish from the High Priest’s face. He stared at McClart coldly, frowning as he muttered.

“Foolish man.”

It was hard to believe that such harsh words came from the High Priest, who never lost his composure. McClart twisted his lips slightly at the sound, unsurprised.

Even that small movement caused his cracked lips to split, drawing blood. The metallic taste filled his mouth, leaving an unpleasant aftertaste.

“High Priest, you once told me, ‘It seems you cannot deny your blood, since we are interested in the same things.'”

There was a sickening metallic taste of blood in every word he spoke. But it wasn’t the blood he wanted.

“As you do, so do I, Father.”

The High Priest’s expression was blank. A heavy silence fell between them.

The suffocating tension was broken first by the High Priest, who looked down at McClart with a cold expression.

“I revoke your authority. It seems you need some time.”

His face was still icy, but his voice was kind and gentle. The High Priest reached out and gently stroked McClart’s head as he knelt before him.

“I will personally oversee your repentance period.”

There was even a hint of amusement in his voice. As soon as McClart registered this, a sensation of itch spread – not just from the bleeding wounds, but even from the long healed scars.

McClart clenched his jaw, determined to ignore the sensation. Through his indifferent gaze he saw the High Priest smiling cheerfully.

“May you strengthen your devotion with a reverent heart. I, too, hope that your prayers will reach the Divine.”

Had the High Priest’s words finally come true? McClart pondered, staring at the quiet riverbank, the smell of water lingering in the air.

A year ago, he spent his days consumed by emotions he couldn’t quite define—whether it was worry or anger, he couldn’t be sure. It had always been like that, at least until he received reports of the sudden appearance of crows.

He had seen the Great Witch fall, but without finding her body, his mood was often erratic. How had he felt after hearing of the crows’ sudden appearance?

Perhaps a fleeting sense of relief had been quickly overwhelmed by anger. He found the Great Witch’s behaviour infuriating – risking everything to escape only to move on, betraying her own kind instead of hiding quietly. It disgusted him.

He thought of her constantly, every day, replaying their encounters, desperately searching for any trace of her left behind, feeling self-loathing all the while.

His senses, completely bewitched, would find traces of her in even the smallest things. When he found the blood-stained fur blanket in his hands again, he had even felt joy.

She was alive, and that meant he still had a chance.

Surely this was a divine sign to get her back. But did the divine really mean the obsession that was now boiling inside him? Day after day, fear and despair alternated in their grip on him.

… If only he could feel pure hatred for her, how much easier it would have been.

“All is quiet.”

A soldier who had been watching from a distance approached McClart and whispered. McClart and his soldiers had surrounded Hellem Forest and set fires along the perimeter.

Wherever the Great Witch was hiding, she would eventually be forced to move towards the river to escape the advancing flames.

“Stand by.”

McClart watched the sky calmly. He saw flocks of birds scattering as the massive fire consumed the forest.

A few deer, fleeing the flames, ran into the soldiers and, startled, changed direction abruptly. Despite the commotion, there was no other sign of movement.

McClart glanced down at the map in his hand. The quickest route to the riverbank led directly to his current position.

But if she could make her way to the acacia grove at the edge of the forest, she might emerge further upstream. Had the Great Witch made it that far?

McClart looked at the sky again. The smoky air had turned the sky a deep crimson.

“You follow me, the rest stay here.”

He ordered the soldiers and then changed direction. Even though it was the quickest way out of the forest, he felt more comfortable moving along the river.

He had no intention of repeating the complacency of the past.

***

The air was thick and murky. Vienny gazed silently at the distant flames with a troubled expression, then looked up at the sky with worried eyes.

With the forest ablaze, it didn’t look like it would go out without rain. The cloudy weather gave her some hope that it might rain before the forest was completely consumed.

Although they had managed to avoid the immediate danger, the acrid smoke continued to close in, making it difficult to breathe. As Vienny coughed several times, Gentian remained alert, watching their surroundings.

When he went to look for the boat, Vienny had planned to scout out the witches’ hideout. But for some reason, after confirming that they were alone, Gentian approached Vienny with a serious expression on his face.

“En, I need to ask you something.”