Annette Gohl.

One of the pillars of the Demon Hunt organization.

She was also the protagonist’s direct superior after he joined Demon Hunt.

Right now, Annette was far from that powerful position—just a minor leader within Demon Hunt.

Her rise came mainly after the Shengen Kingdom’s successful rebellion.

Cecile had already intercepted this event. It wouldn’t become Annette’s merit; instead, it would shame her.

Her future status in Demon Hunt would be suppressed.

Plus, Cecile had slightly weakened Demon Hunt’s influence in her territory.

This benefited her long-term plans.

Cecile knew Annette masterminded the Shengen Kingdom plot but hadn’t expected capturing her to be so easy.

Annette simply wasn’t mature enough yet, leaving too many flaws.

When the protagonist later met her, she’d be a seasoned Demon Hunt leader, handling major duties with skill.

Leaning against the wall, Cecile watched Annette sprawled on the floor, limbs bound by magical chains.

Seeing her stir awake, Cecile’s lips curled up slightly.

“Miss Annette, welcome to my home as a guest.”

That familiar, teasing voice made Annette shiver. She snapped her eyes open.

A trace of fear flickered unavoidably in them.

Sitting up, she saw the woman in a black gown leaning against the wall.

Her expression was like watching an ant struggle futilely in her palm.

Like staring at trash.

“Pride Witch…” Annette’s voice trembled.

Facing this near-legendary figure, memories of the tavern massacre surged—nausea, resentment, and terror flooding her.

But this alone would never make her submit.

As long as she lived, she’d never stop fighting.

“Good eyes. I like that stubbornness beneath the fear,” Cecile praised.

“Since you know who I am, Miss Annette, no beating around the bush. Tell me directly: who planned the United Kingdom scheme, and what exactly is it?”

Cecile knew the answers but needed Annette to speak them.

Such secrets could only be pried out after shattering her mental defenses.

This tested how well Annette grasped her situation—what she said, how she said it, and how much she revealed depended on her remaining will.

Annette froze inwardly but kept her face steady. “What United Kingdom scheme?”

The woman by the wall stepped closer.

Crouching, she lifted Annette’s chin with a whisper. “Miss Annette, my time is precious. I won’t listen to claims of ignorance.”

Fear had faded from the girl’s eyes; clarity had hardened her resolve.

Cecile decided it was time to deepen that fear.

Breaking someone required attacking both body and mind.

Implanting the concept of terror.

“But I don’t know—ugh!”

Cecile slammed Annette against the wall before she finished.

Pain flared in her chest as a black boot pressed down unceremoniously.

“Have you misunderstood? Here, you have no bargaining rights. I say you know—you know. No ‘not knowing’ exists.”

“I truly don’t know…”

*Crack!* The whip’s tear split the air like thunder.

Annette looked up to see a phantom thorned whip materialize in the witch’s hand.

The sudden brutality panicked her. She tried to retreat but chains held her fast. The wall blocked her back; the boot pinned her down.

Nowhere to run.

“No matter. I can wait for you to remember, Miss Annette.”

Cecile lashed down.

The pain struck her body but seared her soul. Annette turned deathly pale, every breath agony.

Cecile leaned close and smiled.

That wicked grin was pure demon.

Violent torture wouldn’t make this girl submit—it’d only fuel her defiance.

And that was exactly what Cecile wanted.

The stronger Annette’s will to kill her, the harder her eventual collapse.

The more she struggled, the deeper she’d sink.

When the web around her shattered, Cecile would plunge her into the Abyss of despair.

“Hurts, doesn’t it? I know. But you left me no choice, Miss Annette, forgetting everything.”

Cecile turned away; the whip vanished.

Cherish beauty? Spare me. Her role was always the villain—the one destined to fall. Whitewashing was pointless.

She’d never bother. The Pride Witch was a known evil.

No few good deeds could rewrite that. So why not embrace villainy fully?

“That lash was just a reminder. Three lashes daily from now on. No change until my next visit.”

Three lashes? Every day?!

Annette froze, head snapping up.

This pain—every single day? She’d die… she’d die! She really would!!!

This person was a demon… no, demon scum.

“Oh, relax. It hurts, but it’s not fatal. No one dies. Just enjoy it, Miss Annette.”

Cecile opened the door, paused, and glanced back.

“By the way, your companions know you’re locked here.”

Annette processed the words—and realized the trap.

The tavern contacts were dead; she should’ve been counted among them.

Why say her allies knew her location?

Cecile’s next words froze her like an ice cellar: “Your real value isn’t your answers—it’s luring those who’ll try to save you.”

She’d recruited Euphemia because the girl hadn’t met the protagonist or joined Demon Hunt yet. No firm convictions.

Plus, Cecile offered a fair trade: curing True Dawn’s illness.

An equal deal.

True Dawn, clearly, posed little threat following the current plot.

The sisters were early-game talents the protagonist could easily recruit.

But Annette was different.

As a Demon Hunt member, steeped in its anti-witch fervor, she burned with rebellion.

Recruiting her would be inviting a wolf indoors—a time bomb.

Better to exploit her against Demon Hunt.

Even with the protagonist’s elite team, Cecile knew who could be turned and who couldn’t.

Besides, she’d promised Helena a favorite toy.

“You… what will you do to them?” Annette guessed.

“An eye for an eye. A hundredfold repayment.”

Cecile stared coldly, voice flat.

“To target me, have you weighed your worth?”

“Then kill me—the mastermind behind Shengen’s rebellion! It’d be better!” Annette shouted.

“Death?” Cecile laughed, indifferent. “Death isn’t life’s end…”

“No suicide attempts. Or you’ll suffer far worse than living.”

She pointed up. “Before heaven, I’ll intercept your soul.”

Then down. “In hell, I’ll make devils sell it.”

“Even forbidden resurrection arts—I know them.”

“Let me be clear: those I want dead won’t live. Those I want alive won’t die.”

In this magical world, living was the greatest blessing.

Death didn’t end everything.

Cecile switched off the light and waved.

That unchanging smile lingered.

“Well then, good night, Miss Annette. May you have sweet dreams every night.”

The door closed.

Total darkness swallowed the girl.

Chill unease drove her to a corner, curled tight.

Fear and terror crept from the shadows.

Faint sobs echoed in the empty room…