Cecile had long been troubled by how to introduce the Luminous Cathedral to the world.

It couldn’t be too abrupt, nor could the Cathedral appear weak or insignificant.

Abathur’s forbidden life-revival technique—resurrecting Witt—gave Cecile the perfect opportunity.

A chance for other anti-witch organizations to acknowledge the Cathedral’s existence, while drawing closer to Demon Hunt, the most powerful faction.

Only by getting close enough could Cecile find a way to swallow Demon Hunt whole.

Violence would never destroy Demon Hunt. It would only make them multiply and hide deeper—like time bombs waiting to explode.

True unification was the only honorable path.

Just as the so-called "alliance of kingdoms" let Shengen Kingdom merge with others to evade taxes owed to the Pride Witch, those funds would instead strengthen their own nation.

By absorbing Demon Hunt into the Luminous Cathedral under its anti-witch banner, its destruction would be seamless. Natural.

She would annihilate Demon Hunt openly, right before everyone’s eyes.

"Pride Witch..." Annette gritted her teeth, glaring at the woman before her.

This very person had reduced her to this state.

"Hush." Cecile gently wrapped an arm around Annette’s slender waist, pressing a finger to her lips with a soft laugh. "Miss Annette, such words won’t do here. I am the Pope of the Luminous Cathedral."

She glanced toward the door.

"You wouldn’t want Witt and the others to die again because you shouted ‘Pride Witch,’ would you? Frankly, pulling them back from death’s door cost me dearly. Don’t you owe me something for that?"

"You demon! I have nothing to say to you—*mmph!*" Annette’s eyes flew wide.

Her foggy mind snapped clear in an instant.

She stared in shock at Cecile’s face mere inches from her own.

The softness of lips and the suffocating warmth in her mouth left her reeling.

The other woman held her captive, forcing her into a dance.

She’d been kissed.

*Forced* kissed!

By a woman! By the Pride Witch she’d sworn to kill!

Beside them, Euphemia watched, stunned. She reached out to pull them apart—then let her hand drop.

*She actually did it?!*

Was this why they called her the Pride Witch? Something Euphemia could never even imagine doing, Cecile had accomplished effortlessly.

Unbelievable. Astonishing.

Yet... why did Euphemia feel a faint pang of loss watching them?

"You’ve never kissed anyone before, have you?" Cecile murmured, smiling down at the black-haired girl limp in her arms. "Then your first kiss belongs to no one but me—Cecile."

Annette lifted her tear-streaked face, trembling with shame and fury. "You! You... *you!*"

Words failed her. How could language capture this woman’s utter wickedness?

She’d slaughtered an entire tavern just to capture Annette.

Tortured her after taking her prisoner.

Forced her to kill her best friend and comrades with her own hands...

And now, she’d stolen Annette’s first kiss with smug arrogance.

*Was she even human?!*

Tears Annette thought long dried welled up again.

"Crying? So moved by a single kiss from me? How fragile." Cecile’s tone held no warmth.

"Bastard!" Annette slammed her fist against Cecile’s chest, then buried her face there, sobbing uncontrollably.

Cecile simply held her, stroking the girl’s long hair in silence until the tears subsided.

Annette finally pulled away. "Pride Witch... what do you want from me? Just let me go! I’m done... I won’t fight you anymore. I swear it! Let me take Witt and leave—"

She couldn’t bear to kill her comrades again. Or watch them die helplessly.

"Let you go? I can release you forever right now. Just walk out that door." Cecile pointed behind her. "Euphemia and I won’t stop you. Leave Demon Hunt, and I’ll never touch you again."

Annette turned toward the heavy church doors.

"But," Cecile added softly, "don’t you want them restored? Do you want Witt to remain a girl forever?"

Annette whirled back, eyes brimming with helpless despair. "What do you *want* from me, Pride Witch...?"

Cecile tilted her head. "Perhaps a new name? ‘Ceci’ sounds nicer, don’t you think?"

"Ceci..." Annette repeated flatly.

"You saw it yourself. I can kill them—I can bring them back. I can change their genders—I can change them back. But this request has a condition..."

"Ceci! I agree! Whatever it is!" Annette’s voice cracked. She felt herself unraveling.

*Again. Again. AGAIN!*

She couldn’t endure another word.

Cecile extended her hand, palm facing down.

"You suffered at the Pride Witch’s hands. She killed your friends. Made you torture them. Forced you to kill them."

"But what does that have to do with me—a stranger you’ve just met?"

"You shout at me on our first meeting."

"Ceci, I agree."

"You show me no respect. You don’t see me as a friend. You won’t even call me ‘Pope’."

Annette stared at the outstretched hand.

Slowly, stiffly, she tried to kneel on one knee—but her legs refused to bend.

After ten agonizing seconds, she collapsed to both knees before Cecile. Trembling with utter reluctance, she grasped the pale hand and pressed her lips to its back for a full minute.

"Papal Majesty."

A satisfied smile curved Cecile’s lips.

She cast a healing spell over Annette, erasing every wound without a trace.

"You may return to Demon Hunt tomorrow. To restore Witt and the others? Simple. Maintain good relations between Demon Hunt and the Luminous Cathedral. Keep us as allies. Remember—we are also a force against witches."

She watched them leave, then closed the cathedral doors.

Euphemia finally spoke. "Master... why let Annette go? If she retaliates, the Cathedral will fall!"

Cecile shook her head. "Witt is leverage. Annette won’t reveal the Cathedral’s secrets to Demon Hunt’s leaders... And I trust her."

She glanced at her hand, smiling faintly. "She won’t retaliate. She has no reason to."

"Why?"

"It’s complicated. I won’t explain."

A complex mechanism—one Cecile happened to wield perfectly against Annette.

"And, Master," Euphemia placed a hand on her hip, frowning slightly, "could you explain why you *forced* a kiss on her?"

"Hm?" A teleportation vortex opened before Cecile. "A whim."

She stepped through, cutting off further questions.

Euphemia’s muffled protests faded behind her.

*What she couldn’t hear didn’t exist.*