Fifteen minutes later, Cecile deliberately left the last drop of wine in her glass.

The girl beside the throne pocketed the final shard of glass and spoke: “Look up.”

Euphemia hesitated, then obediently raised her head.

“Open your mouth.”

A crimson thread dripped down. Rich, intoxicating sweetness exploded across her tongue.

For an instant, Euphemia’s chest felt ready to burst. Her breath came in ragged gasps.

A finger gently tilted her chin upward, locking her gaze with those vivid, taunting violet eyes.

“There we go~ That look. The one that hates me but can’t do a damn thing about it…”

Cecile drawled the words slowly, watching Euphemia’s composure fray at the edges before continuing: “Now. Let’s discuss your sister.”

“My sister?” The moment her sister was mentioned, half of Euphemia’s gathered resolve evaporated. Her hand slid away from her sword hilt.

Predicting this reaction, Cecile propped her head up lazily. “As payment for your loyalty, your sister will be transferred to my personal apothecary corps. The illness that baffles outsiders? To them, it’s a trivial joke.”

“I’ll grant you full access to visit her. The price you’ll pay afterward… you know it well. This is a fair trade. But before you see your sister, I expect you at my side first.”

Euphemia’s mind raced.

Compared to those so-called reputable apothecaries outside—whose skills were mediocre at best—Cecile’s personal corps, belonging to the Pride Witch herself, held real power. True masters of the craft weren’t within reach for commoners like her. Her sister’s incurable condition, diagnosed endlessly as hopeless, might finally find a cure here. Other rogue apothecaries’ potions always carried side effects; she’d never risk them on her sister.

Yet… that didn’t guarantee Cecile’s remedies were safe either.

Sensing her thoughts, Cecile murmured, “Do you truly want your sister to die before she turns eighteen?”

Euphemia froze. Shock ripped through her. Only after a long moment did she realize her wide-eyed stare, bowing her head sharply. “How… how do you know that?”

“Is there anything in this world I shouldn’t know?” Cecile scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself. A forged identity can’t hide a real illness.”

*In the game’s story, Euphemia’s sister never lived past eighteen. When grief shattered the girl, the protagonist slipped in, becoming her new pillar of support. As a player who’d cleared the game, how could she not know exactly how the hero won Euphemia’s loyalty?*

“Understood.”

Euphemia stopped overthinking. “I entrust my sister’s care to you… Pride Witch-sama…”

“*Sama*?”

Realizing her slip, Euphemia’s ears burned crimson. She bowed her head even lower.

“Master.”

Cecile’s hand stroked the girl’s hair.

“Good girl. Much better. I won’t tolerate another mistake.”

......

Euphemia left, outwardly unchanged.

But her heart was already tangled by Cecile’s words.

A loyalty oath could bind her for now—but true submission wouldn’t come from a single threat. To claim Euphemia fully, her sister True Dawn was a perfect bargaining chip. And other matters, too.

Cecile sifted through game memories, recalling pivotal moments that could sway Euphemia’s future.

A knock interrupted her thoughts. Aileen entered.

“Forgive the intrusion, Master. An urgent matter requires your immediate attention.”

“The Shengen Kingdom has rebelled, hasn’t it?”

Aileen blinked in surprise but bowed. “Yes. How shall we respond? Delegate to neighboring nations, or—”

“No need. I have someone for this.”

Cecile snapped her fingers. A distant *crack* echoed through the castle—like a cage shattering.

Blood mist swirled around her, carrying a child’s bright, chilling giggle.

A crimson-dressed, red-haired girl materialized in Cecile’s arms, sucking her own bloodstained thumb. Seeing Cecile, her face lit with greedy delight. She buried her face in Cecile’s robes, inhaling deeply, utterly content.

“Helena. Bring me the King of Shengen alive. The rest… are yours to handle.”

“Can I kill them? *All* of them?” Helena looked up, pale red eyes gleaming.

“Except the King.”

“Aww… why can’t I kill *him*?”

“I have questions for him first. Then he’s yours.”

“Hee-hee-hee! Deal, Mama~”

Helena cackled, pecked Cecile’s jaw, and poofed into crimson mist.

Only then did Head Maid Aileen dare lift her head. “Master… releasing Helena was unnecessary…”

As Cecile’s closest attendant, Aileen knew her secrets.

Like Helena von—the “daughter” who shared no blood with the Pride Witch. “Mother and child” was merely a facade. Helena was a construct, forged from dark magic and alchemy. Born only to kill, she was meant to spread catastrophe. Her creator, a black mage, had been slain by Cecile before Helena’s awakening.

The first face Helena saw was Cecile’s. That effortless arrogance captivated the blank-slate child. Now, she clung to Cecile with pathological obsession. Only Cecile’s commands mattered.

Beneath rivers of blood and mountains of bones, people called her the Pride Witch’s Butcher.

Cecile merely smiled. “You’re right. Helena handles… crude tasks. So *you’ll* manage the rebellion’s aftermath. Ensure the commoners notice no difference.”

“Master?” Aileen looked up, bewildered.

*This wasn’t the mistress she knew. Since when did the Pride Witch care about cleaning up after Helena’s rampages? “Commoners”? When had that word ever passed her lips? Ignoring their lives was standard practice for the Pride Witch…*

“Do it. Report back flawlessly.”

Chastened, Aileen bowed deeply. “Yes, Master. My apologies for overstepping.”

*The Pride Witch’s power would be eroded by the protagonist—but for now, her dominion remained vast. Even if seven-tenths of her territory was hollow, it still bowed to her name. She wasn’t without truly loyal followers. In the game’s story, they either died by her hand, were bound by restrictions, or chose neutrality. The traitors? Merely a matter of timing.*

*Aileen was the exception. Unwavering. Whether main story or side quests, she died for the Pride Witch—always. The only variable was *who* killed her: her mistress or the heroes. Usually the former. How else could the protagonist defeat a Pride Witch with allies? Without Aileen’s coordination, their forces crumbled swiftly.*

*Helena appeared mid-game—a sign of the next phase. Separated from Cecile, her power was crippled. She didn’t serve the Pride Witch; she *loved* her. Obsessively. Finishing the game revealed Helena’s true nature: a pure, deranged yandere.*

*Without plot armor—if Cecile hadn’t foolishly sent Helena alone against the entire hero party, wearing her down through attrition—Helena would have stood beside her until the end. With Helena’s strength, the Pride Witch was nearly invincible. She’d single-handedly pinned down the heroes at the battle’s start. Even when Euphemia, the Radiant Sword Saint, ascended to godhood, she could only match Helena to a draw. Few could rival the Sword Saint in raw combat. Losing such power pointlessly… Cecile mourned the waste.*

*This time, they’d fulfill their purpose. No meaningless deaths to plot armor. Figures like Helena, meant for late-game reveals, would be deployed now. Before the protagonist emerged, Cecile would crush the rebel factions they represented. One lone hero couldn’t stir waves afterward…*

*And if they tried? She’d snuff them out herself.*