Helena and Imoxiu’s duel unfolded exactly as Cecile had foreseen. Helena, with her superhuman physique and crimson mist abilities, emerged as the elder sister.

No matter how gifted Imoxiu was in magic, she couldn’t casually unleash forbidden spells with single-syllable incantations like Cecile. Trapped in close combat, Helena constantly closed the distance, forcing Imoxiu into direct clashes with her Great Scythe. There was barely time to chant spells.

Short bursts were manageable—but prolonged fighting clearly favored Helena, the close-quarters specialist. This left Imoxiu deeply sullen after becoming the younger sister. She struggled to accept an alchemical creation as her elder, even if Cecile demanded it.

The victorious Helena wasted no time. Slipping an arm around Imoxiu’s shoulders, she grinned triumphantly. "Call me ‘Sister.’ Now."

Imoxiu frowned slightly, turning her head away to mutter, "I won’t call a monster ‘Sister’."

A sudden chill cut through her words, making her shiver. Slowly, mechanically, she tilted her head up.

Cecile’s smile had turned icy.

"Mom..."

"Accept defeat gracefully, Imoxiu. Reneging is shameful. You’re both my daughters—neither of you is a monster." Cecile patted their heads gently. "Apologize to your sister."

Imoxiu pressed her lips tight, her face flushing crimson. She lowered her head, hesitating. She’d just earned her mother’s affection—she couldn’t lose it. But... apologizing to a *monster*? Really?

Her cheeks burned hotter. When Cecile remained silent, Imoxiu knew the apology was inevitable. She took Helena’s hand.

It was cold, lifeless, smooth as polished jade.

"Sorry—" "Sorr—"

Biting her lip, Imoxiu drew a deep breath. She seized both of Helena’s hands, pulling them close. Lifting her head, face flushed, she met Helena’s confused crimson eyes squarely. "I’m sorry, Sister! I shouldn’t have called you a monster. You *are* my sister."

Helena chuckled carelessly, childlike. "I *am* a monster. Everyone thinks so—even I do. But I don’t care. As long as Mom needs me, I’ll do anything."

She didn’t understand why Cecile had freed her from that cramped, dark cage. She’d expected only to kill a few targets, vent her rage, then return to confinement. Yet here she remained—free. Even cherished.

She was content. Truly.

Yes, she knew what she was.

So what? She didn’t need thoughts. Didn’t need a mind. Being Mom’s pure killing tool was enough. It was her purpose since birth.

Helena cared nothing for herself, or others. Only for how Cecile treated her.

Cecile was her everything.

A gentle push from behind guided her into an embrace with the violet-haired girl before her. Cecile’s familiar, tender voice whispered in her ear: "Never say that again. Outside, you’ll be known as my daughters. ‘Monster’ doesn’t define you."

"Yes, Mom..." they chorused.

Outside the window, Aileen watched the tender scene in silence.

Her master had changed. The old Cecile would’ve scorned such theatrics. The title "daughter" was unheard of. Yet this emotionally manipulative master unsettled her more. Unpredictable. Impossible to read.

Only when Cecile rose did Aileen knock.

"Pardon the intrusion, Master."

"Were they notified?"

"Yes. As instructed, all six Witch Heirs have been summoned for the formal council."

"Then we have time before they arrive."

A black top hat materialized in Cecile’s hand. She placed it atop her head.

A massive blood-red gate erupted before her, reeking of unbearable corruption.

"From today, you’ll train Imoxiu to be a worthy Witch Heir. I trust no one else."

Aileen froze. That gate led straight to Hell.

"Master, you’re—"

"Paying an old friend a visit." Her voice was glacial, devoid of mercy.

No one struck at her and walked away unscathed. Kindness only bred contempt among Hell’s devils.

But most importantly, Cecile needed Imoxiu to understand: she was no longer the neglected, unloved heir. She had a protector now.

A love-starved child, suddenly drenched in affection, would weep from being so moved.

*Am I a little wicked for using that?*

Sensing Helena’s intent to follow, Cecile pressed a hand firmly on her head. "Filthy places like this? I’ll handle it alone."

Every second in Hell eroded the mind. Even Helena risked corruption. Cecile wouldn’t gamble needlessly.

...

The Pride Witch’s power wasn’t confined to one world. Her might was legend.

Hell knew this too.

Deep within a crimson castle forged from molten rock and skulls, a pair of scarlet eyes snapped open on the throne.

Black hair spilled over curved horns. A gauzy veil clung to her form, revealing more than it hid—showcasing flawless, arrogant curves.

Those blood-red eyes fixed on the palace gates.

**CRASH!** The doors exploded inward.

In strode the infuriating black-clad Pride Witch.

"Cecile. So eager to die? Must you break my gates every visit?"

"Apologies. Got carried away..." Cecile shrugged offhandedly. "You know why I’m here."

"How would I know your business in Hell? I read mortal hearts—but yours?"

"Fair point..." Cecile nodded. "I have a meeting soon. Let’s be blunt."

Her gaze turned razor-sharp, piercing the Overlord of Hell like a blade. An aura of icy arrogance pressed down, suffocating.

"You manipulated my heir into betraying me. Give me a satisfying explanation."