Cecile left Hawkwell Hospital.

Her heart still churned with unrest.

She’d never imagined True Dawn—the seemingly gentle, encouraging angel from the game—could have such a side.

It was almost impossible to accept.

The matter of the Luminous Cathedral would have to wait. With True Dawn’s true nature… it was slightly inconvenient.

But for Cecile, this was actually good news.

Such secrets couldn’t be shared—not even with True Dawn’s sister, Euphemia.

Now it belonged solely to them.

After all, even True Dawn wouldn’t let her sister know she devoured books too unspeakable to name.

True Dawn and Euphemia could be set aside for now.

Cecile had one urgent task left:

The Demon Hunt members who conspired with Ark to rebel.

By noon, news of Shengen Kingdom’s upper class being slaughtered should have spread.

The rats would start fleeing.

...

After a late breakfast bordering on lunch, the short-haired girl leisurely opened today’s newspaper.

She expected headlines announcing Shengen’s rebellion crushed and its annexation by another kingdom.

Instead, the front page jolted her:

*Shengen Royal Court Massacred. Nobility Wiped Out. King Missing.*

*Nobles Absent from Banquet Already Clash for Power.*

Her face darkened instantly. The morning’s good mood vanished.

Reading further—suspected Blood Clan involvement, withered corpses drained of blood—she hurled the paper aside.

She rushed to her bedroom, packing frantically.

Others might be confused, but she understood perfectly.

The Pride Witch had likely sent her own hands.

Only that explained bloodless bodies and no crime scene stains.

That terrifying, twisted taste…

But why would the Pride Witch intervene? She wasn’t even in Shengen.

Investigations confirmed no direct ties between Shengen and the Pride Witch—that’s why she’d contacted Ark to overthrow the Witch’s rule.

If captured by others, Ark might bargain. But the Pride Witch? He’d crack instantly and betray her.

She had to flee now. One misstep, and the Pride Witch’s hunters would trap her forever.

Grabbing two spare outfits and some coins, the short-haired girl bolted out.

Atop the highest clock tower, Cecile smiled the moment she spotted her. She pointed.

“Follow her. When she meets her allies, kill the others one by one before her eyes. Slowly. Don’t harm her.”

“Ooh! Leaving just one again… Why always one, Mama?” Helena leaned against Cecile, pouting.

“She’s your new toy. I’ll teach you how to play with her later.”

“My… toy? Helena’s…?” Helena’s eyes clouded with confusion.

“Don’t you always want a toy broken by despair? You’ll have one soon.”

“Yay! Mama’s the best!”

After a final, affectionate nuzzle, Helena dissolved into faint crimson mist, clinging to the short-haired girl’s shadow.

Both now wore their signature attire: black tailcoats and blood-red skirts.

...

Dusk fell.

The “Open” sign had just flipped at the Assassin’s Tavern when someone shoved past the waiter and burst inside.

“Watch where you’re—Annette?!”

“Well, what wind blows our little miss here?” Tavern owner Coen polished a glass, his welcoming smile turning bittersweet.

Relieved she’d come. Dreadful she’d come.

“Didn’t you read this morning’s paper?”

“Paper? I open at night. Who reads papers at dawn?”

Annette slumped at the bar, catching her breath before spilling the news.

“The Pride Witch knows about Shengen’s attempted rebellion and annexation by the United Kingdom. The entire upper echelon—including Ark—is dead. We must relocate immediately.”

“What?!” Coen froze, glass in hand, brows knotted, mustache twitching. “You’re certain? Martin! Fetch today’s paper!”

The waiter stepped forward with a stack of newspapers.

“Morning edition? Ah, here—urk!” A searing pain tore through his neck. Warmth gushed down his collar. He tried to scream.

Around him, every patron froze, staring.

*What are they looking at? What’s wrong with me?*

Neck burning, itching—Martin’s eyes widened as he collapsed.

As he hit the floor, a little girl’s gleeful laughter echoed through the tavern.

Crimson mist seeped from every corner, swallowing everyone inside.

“Run! Now!” Coen roared first, snatching a gun from under the counter.

He cocked it and fired.

Others scrambled for doors and windows—only to burst back inside from another exit.

Trapped.

Annette gritted her teeth. “She followed me. And set a barrier…”

“You break the barrier. I’ll handle her.” Coen vaulted over the counter, gun in one hand, knife in the other.

Only Annette, the sole mage here, could shatter the barrier.

“I’ll try…” Guilt gnawed at her. She’d led death here.

But survival came first. Or they’d all die.

As they spoke, Helena severed another head.

This time, she didn’t hide in the mist. She let them see her: a tiny girl wielding a Crimson Great Scythe too large for her frame.

A few nearest to her hesitated. Even knowing she was the Bloody Executioner, they were human—reluctant to strike a child.

Before they could speak, the scythe swept down.

It cleaved them—and their raised blades—in half.

Watching his men fall one by one, Coen finally bellowed in rage.

“Bastard! You whore-born monstrosity!”

*BANG! BANG! BANG!*

Three shots rang out. Coen’s gun—and his arm—clattered to the floor.

The red-skirted girl stood before him, though she’d been meters away seconds ago.

She stared at him like a corpse.

Her laughter had gone silent.

“You… don’t insult… my Mama!” Helena stomped down, crushing Coen’s right leg without mercy.

Agony bleached his face. Sweat poured. His body trembled—but no scream escaped.

He smirked through gritted teeth. “Heh… monster. You and your Mama… are both monsters…”

“DON’T INSULT MY MAMA!” Helena snarled.

She crushed his remaining leg, yanked his collar, and slammed him onto the floor.

*CRUNCH.*

Coen went still.

Helena slammed him twice more before discarding him like trash.

Her icy gaze swept over the survivors, paralyzed with terror.

Her playful mood vanished. Rage boiled in her chest.

At the barrier, Annette’s hands shook. Companions’ screams, pleas, and wet thuds of falling bodies filled her ears.

But breaking barriers demanded focus.

When the barrier shattered unexpectedly, she lowered her hands in confusion.

She’d only deciphered half the complex runes. This barrier was no ordinary mage’s work.

No time to wonder. Escape now.

She turned to call Coen—

Only to see the red-skirted girl perched on the counter, watching her like a lamb awaiting slaughter.

The tidy tavern lay in ruins. Bodies littered the floor. Coen… Coen lay limbless, broken.

The sight drained Annette’s face of color. Her legs gave way.

Tears streamed down her cheeks.

*All dead… because of my mistake…*

*Ding-ding~*

Wind chimes jingled. Annette numbly turned toward the door.

A tall woman in black lace entered, elegant as a thorned rose.

Her gaze swept the room, settled on Annette, and smiled.

“Good evening, Miss Annette Gore.”

“Our first meeting. I hope you’ll enjoy my gift.”