After dismissing Euphemia, Cecile mulled it over. Relying solely on Euphemia didn’t feel secure enough.

To be safe, she needed another safeguard—someone to stop her from losing herself if the Authority’s power backfired.

An azure vortex swirled into existence. Cecile vanished from the throne.

...

In a sterile white room, the gurgle of bubbling potions, clinking glassware, and labored breathing blended together.

Inside a massive vat floated grotesque biological specimens—crystalline growths, shattered organs, and other bizarre, unidentifiable things.

Cecile knew they were just samples, yet standing among them still made her skin crawl.

Science had always been intimidating.

Before her, Abathur—fully clad in a hazard suit—was mixing a potion. Only when it reached the final simmering stage did she turn to Cecile.

"Witch. What do you need?"

"How is True Day Noah?"

"Stable. Recovering." Abathur’s voice was muffled through the suit.

"Notify me the moment she’s fully restored."

"Understood, Witch."

Cecile nodded, then recalled something else.

"Why did you request those corpses yesterday? Don’t tell me you’re conducting unethical experiments."

She still had moral lines she wouldn’t cross. Human experimentation was absolutely forbidden.

Who knew what this mad genius might attempt?

"Not unethical. Results. For you." Abathur gestured toward a sealed door.

After security verification, it hissed open.

Cecile froze.

Hundreds of cylindrical tanks held floating boys and girls.

"Abathur! I explicitly forbade this!" Cecile snapped, pointing at them.

"They were dead. Now alive." Abathur approached one tank.

Inside floated a petite girl with a slender frame and a ponytail.

"Wait—you mean these people are... What exactly have you created?!" Cecile’s eyes widened in realization.

"Life and death. Taboo... Price: gender reversal." Abathur’s voice grew fervent.

Cecile swayed slightly.

"You revived those killed by Annette yesterday?!"

"Not revival. Death is irreversible. Flaws remain." Abathur tapped the tank beside her.

"Memories fragmented. Bodies unstable. Easily... influenced."

"Why only a few? There were thirty or forty bodies."

"Weak souls dissipate. No soul, no vessel. Discarded."

Cecile understood now.

Abathur had cracked a forbidden life technique—snatching souls back from death’s edge before they scattered.

But the cost was severe: fragmented memories, unstable bodies, and minds easily manipulated.

"Was there a boy named Witt among them? Did you revive him?"

Abathur turned toward the ponytailed girl. "She is."

"If I release her now, would her first instinct be to kill me?" Cecile pressed curiously.

"Like a newborn. She understands nothing of this world."

"So... entering this world as innocently as a newborn," Cecile murmured, a smile playing on her lips.

She had a new idea.

"Can she be released now?"

"Yes."

"Then release her. I want to see what you’ve truly created."

A holographic interface materialized before Abathur. After rapid inputs, the nutrient fluid drained from the tank. Life-support tubes retracted.

*Whirr—* The glass lid slid open.

*Thud.* The girl collapsed onto the floor.

After a moment, she blinked open dazed eyes.

She pushed herself up, staring in confusion at the black-clad woman and the figure in the hazard suit behind her.

"..." Her mouth opened, but no words came.

Slowly, fragments surfaced.

She looked at the black-clad woman and whispered haltingly: "M...Ma..."

Then she frowned, rubbing her temples. Something felt wrong, but she couldn’t grasp what.

"Her memories are returning?"

"Forty percent retained. Twenty percent subconscious. Forty percent lost." Abathur observed Witt’s reaction.

"And if I altered her memories now?"

"Overwrite emerging memories. Reshape identity."

"Heh. I never expected such a delightful surprise from you..."

Cecile crouched, fingers threading through Witt’s soft hair.

"Next time you conduct such experiments, explain your purpose first. Or I’ll cut off all resources—and your funding."

"Understood, Witch."

...

[Age 0: You are born a girl. Your parents name you Witt Cardia.]

[Age 1: You speak your first words. Your parents are displeased—they wanted a son.]

[Age 5: You ask why you have nothing "down there." They say nothing. "You’ll understand when you grow up."]

[Age 6: Your parents enroll you as a boy in the monastery’s academy.]

[Age 9: Your disguise holds perfectly. You graduate after three years undetected.]

[Age 10: You feel out of place among village boys, but can’t pinpoint why.]

[Age 15: The world feels too big. You want to see it.]

[Age 16: You meet Annette Gore. She teaches you the truth—you’re a girl. You become inseparable. With her help, you join Demon Hunt to overthrow the Witches.]

[Age 17: Annette is captured by the Pride Witch. You lead comrades to rescue her. Ambushed by the Pride Witch, you prepare a suicide charge—when a blinding light descends from the sky. A golden-haired Radiant Knight lands before you.]

[Age 17: Awed by the Radiant Knight’s swordsmanship, you beg to become her disciple. You learn she serves the Luminous Cathedral—a secret faction rebelling against the Witches. You ally with her to save Annette.]

Witt opened her eyes. The lab lay in ruins, alchemical devices shattered across the floor.

She spotted the stiff-faced blonde girl beside her, threw her arms around the other’s arm, and gushed with starry-eyed admiration: "Master! You were amazing!"