"Mmm..."

A woman’s soft gasp.

Why did her chest feel so heavy, so tender, yet tightly bound—as if ropes squeezed her ribs, their rough fibers scraping both sides of her flesh?

Alandiye stirred awake from the darkness, the discomfort oddly not unbearable.

Gloom and chill surrounded her. She realized she was shackled to a massive crucifix-shaped rack. Nearby, dangling chains glinted with an eerie, unsettling sheen.

She lowered her head, checking herself—and froze. She wore a white, ruffled dress. Her chest swelled so high it blocked her view of what should have been a man’s body.

A shuddering breath tightened the ropes further.

She couldn’t see her face, but the curves beneath the dress, the softness against the wooden frame behind her—they painted a horrifying silhouette in her mind.

Why was her skin so yielding? Why did every touch feel alien, as if her body now thrummed with a forbidden, intoxicating warmth?

This flesh seemed cradled by the air and shadows—a stark contrast to Yedi’s rigid, disciplined existence.

"Wo—woman..."

Twenty years of pious celibacy crashed over her. Guilt seared her cheeks. She’d devoted herself to the Holy Lord, to the gods. As a Holy Temple Knight sworn to shun women, she’d... become one?

Worse, she wore heretical garb.

Captured. She remembered nothing. Before struggling free, she bowed her head in prayer. Even if she didn’t know her sin, feeling this woman’s body was blasphemy enough.

*Heh heh heh... How stubborn. Worried more about your gods than your fate, Yalan Yedi? Empire’s strongest Holy Temple Knight—or rather, what’s left of him.* A voice slithered through the dark, honeyed enough to tempt shadows themselves.

"Who!?" The feminine sensations clouded her judgment. Only after seconds did she recognize that voice.

"Victors forget so easily. But hatred? That brands the soul."

From the void, a woman materialized. Jet-black hair spilled over bare shoulders. A face crafted to fulfill every mortal fantasy. A body draped in scandalously tight black lace. And curling from her temples—two obsidian demon horns. She floated cross-legged, one porcelain thigh draped over the other, drifting toward Alandiye.

"Selys!" The name tore from Alandiye’s throat, laced with instinctive loathing. But her own voice—soft, trembling, undeniably feminine—made shame flood her veins. Bound like this, exposed before Selys as a woman... Why couldn’t she still be a man?!

Succubus Selys. One of the Seven Demon Lords she’d defeated years ago in the Holy Demon War. How had she returned?

Alandiye glared, but her narrowed eyes held more wounded pride than imperial steel.

"You! You trapped me here! You did this to me! What do you want?" Her voice—high, trembling—made her cringe. Yet she had to ask.

The Empire’s mightiest knight. Humanity’s strongest young man. How could he be... this? Only a succubus queen could wield such unnatural power.

How had she succeeded?

"Why not kill me? If you seek revenge—you had your chance!" Alandiye demanded, probing for answers while straining against the ropes.

They bit deeper, humming with magic. The more she struggled, the tighter they coiled. Her strength felt... diminished. Where was her muscle? Her power? Though still beyond ordinary knights, it meant nothing against Selys’s cursed restraints.

"Kill you?" Selys’s crimson eyes glowed, drowning souls in their depths. "For a boy who gave his life to gods—who values honor above breath—death would be mercy. It wouldn’t topple your Empire." She drifted closer. "But look at you now. Imagine your wretched future. This... is far sweeter than killing you."

Arguing with a succubus was folly. Outmaneuvering her, arrogance.

Alandiye bowed her head, whispering prayers.

"Almighty, all-knowing Holy Lord..."

This curse surpassed mortal power. But she was His ultimate devotee. His sword. Only sacred strength could break this spell. Only divine wrath could smite this demon.

Yet...

She prayed again. And again. Fervent. Unwavering. But the heavens stayed silent.

*Pfft.* Selys hadn’t interrupted—a red flag. Now, she covered her mouth, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

"What’s happening?!" Alandiye choked. She craved holy light to scourge this female shame—even divine punishment would be relief. But no answer came.

She wasn’t some common believer. She was the Empire’s strongest Holy Temple Knight. Blessed with Sacred Power to slay demon lords. The Sword of the Gods. She’d won the war, cutting down demon after demon.

*He* had.

Now, even the gods ignored her?

"Did you trap my soul in another woman’s body? Is this an illusion?" Alandiye pressed, testing the lie.

"No illusion. No other woman." Selys floated nearer. A scent washed over Alandiye—warm, dizzying, utterly addictive. Succubus allure.

Selys’s perfect fingers traced downward like black blades. Then—she pinched.

"Ah—!"

A woman’s cry escaped Alandiye. She clamped her lips shut. But when Selys squeezed again...

"Ahh...!"

Humiliation burned. She couldn’t bear Selys’s mocking, sultry gaze. Alandiye twisted her head away, wishing she were an ostrich—not this creature.

"Understand now?" Selys breathed against her ear, lush lips trembling with cruel delight. "This is your true body. You’re no longer Yalan Yedi, the Empire’s peerless knight. You’re Tiyi. A dark devotee. A human heretic. A Witch. Alandiye."

"Witch...?" Alandiye shuddered. Cold sweat slicked her skin. "What did you say?"

"I said," Selys purred, "you’re now a blushing, delicate little Witch, Alandiye."

That breath against her ear felt like a verdict—gentle yet devastating.

"Witch..."

"No! Lies! I’m not a woman! I’m no Witch!" Denied sacred power, Alandiye channeled raw will into the high-tier martial art *Body Assault Force*. Her frail form surged with strength. The rack shuddered. But the ropes held.

"Useless." Selys flicked her wrist. A blood-red magic circle flared behind her. From its ripples, she drew a tall mirror. She pushed it toward Alandiye.

In the gloom, the glass revealed: Alandiye in a blue-and-white Gothic corset dress. The skirt shamelessly split open down the front, white petal-edges tearing at her dignity like jagged teeth.

Beneath it—snow-pale, shapely legs sheathed in black thigh-high stockings. A scandalous, heretical outfit.

Her black hair fell in layered waves, one side braided with Eastern grace over a narrow shoulder. Beneath parted bangs, tear-streaked eyes stared back—angelic yet fallen. Golden irises, darkened by temptation, met her own in the mirror.

"No... I’m not... My heart never wavered. It doesn’t waver now..." Alandiye forced the words out. Her chest heaved. As a Holy Temple Knight sworn to truth, she couldn’t deny the body. But she’d never accept being a Witch. Never.

Witches...

Humanity’s plague-bringers. Sowers of disaster and deceit. After the Holy Demon War, they became humanity’s greatest internal threat. Empire armies, Sacred Temple Knights, nobles—all hunted them. Even a new Witch-Hunting Church had risen.

Witches were outcasts. Abandoned by gods. Spat upon by the world.

*He* was Yedi. The Empire’s first Holy Temple Knight. The man trusted by the Holy Lord, the Emperor, the Sacred Church!

How could he become... this?

"No! Impossible! Selys, your filthy tricks won’t break me! You may twist my body, but my will is iron! I’ll never betray my faith! I’ll never be—"

*Clang!*

Selys yanked a chain. Gears shrieked.

*Clatter-clatter!*

The shackles binding Alandiye’s legs snapped upward. Her thighs were wrenched over her shoulders, forcing her knees to her chest.

"Yah!"

"See for yourself," Selys hissed, gripping Alandiye’s slender ankle and angling the mirror. "Becoming a woman made you a liar too? This is your truth!"

On the inner curve of Alandiye’s left thigh—a flawless expanse of skin—bloomed a rose-red arcane mark. Delicate. Unblemished.

Alandiye went rigid.

She knew that symbol.

"The Witch Mark," Selys whispered, driving the knife deeper. "The heretic’s brand. The Witch’s seal. Little sister... imagine if the Empire learned their most revered Holy Temple Knight not only became a lewd, seductive woman—but bears a Witch Mark on her thigh. What would the people think?"

Alandiye’s mind went blank. Selys’s words faded. Memories surged—unbidden, unstoppable.

Once, Yedi was a down-on-his-luck noble youth who only wanted to coast through life. After his family’s destruction, his teacher saved him. He discovered a talent for swordsmanship and became a knight.

At a young age, Yedi rose to become the Empire’s strongest warrior, ranking as its top Holy Temple Knight.

After the Holy Demon War, he retired. He abandoned high office and riches, choosing instead to teach swordsmanship at the Imperial Sacred Academy.

He thought peace would finally return, far from strife.

But who could have known… As Selys said, what victors forget is a searing revenge for the defeated.

Selys hadn’t fled to the Abyss’s lower realms. She returned. She came for vengeance against him.

“How? I retired, but never slacked! My faith never wavered—I fear you not! I… ah!” Tiyi tried to strike back fiercely, but Selys’s grip turned it into a helpless whimper.

Her voice lost strength. “Why… how did you succeed? I’m not afraid, Selys. Your enchanting tricks… they don’t work on me!”

Asking this wasn’t pointless. She knew her body resisted poorly, but her fighting spirit never surrendered a single chance.

“Ah, the gods’ blessed strongest knight—how did I turn him into a weak woman? Why not ask your god?” Selys licked Tiyi’s earlobe. Tiyi’s legs trembled; the Witch Mark glowed brighter.

“True, as a boy, you were so strong. Many Holy Knights fell for me, but you stayed unmoved. I still feel your scars! Yet you had a hidden, fragile side, didn’t you?”

Heat from Selys’s lips crumbled Tiyi’s defenses, stirring recent memories…

“Yedi… you loved her, didn’t you?”

That night, Yedi knelt alone in the old temple on the academy’s desolate back mountain. He wanted no one to hear his confession to the Holy Lord.

Candlelight flickered. He prepared self-flagellation to atone, begging the Holy Lord’s mercy.

“That Lady Templar Knight… Qingruo.” Selys whispered into Tiyi’s ear, her hand stroking her cheek.

Self-blame from his past and heat on her face fused into double shame, nearly shattering Tiyi’s pride.

He’d been invincible. He won the Holy Demon War—why fear one Succubus?

But teaching at the Imperial Sacred Academy changed him because of one person.

Her.

Qingruo Redvini.

The young generation’s top genius, hailed as the Empire’s new Holy Temple Knight leader after Yedi’s retirement.

She was strong, perfect, disciplined. Something about her drew Yedi in.

The unshakable Yedi was unknowingly captivated while teaching her.

By the time he realized it, he was already trapped.

“How romantic! Teacher and student—the former strongest and current best. Both so devout, chaste, sworn to the gods as Holy Temple Knights!” Selys’s voice echoed around Tiyi, as if she were everywhere.

“Hehehe… Of all people, you loved her? That Lady Templar Knight with a will stronger than yours. She rivals my charm yet stays chaste, doomed to celibacy. Our hair’s so alike, isn’t it? You like long black hair, hmm? Join me, little sister—I do girls too…”

“Shut up! You despicable—”

Tiyi remembered everything. Her defiance weakened.

After loving his student Qingruo, his Sacred Power faded. The Holy Lord’s voice grew faint. He blamed himself, struggled, confessed—but his heart wouldn’t steady.

That night, the Succubus seized her chance…

When she woke, she was like this.

Once the Empire’s strongest Holy Temple Knight, the Holy Lord’s sword!

Now a Witch abandoned by gods, scorned by the world.

Once the most devout savior, now a heretic bringing calamity.

Somehow, the chains loosened.

Cold metal clinked. Stripped of divine favor, she sank under her weight, collapsing to her knees on the icy floor.

Was this demonic revenge—or her own fault?

She still feared no Succubus, but couldn’t forgive herself.

Dungeon candlelight flickered over her angelic face.

Shadows shifted beneath her hair, clouding her once-clear eyes.

She slowly lost consciousness…