It took a full five days—and a massive meteor summoned from the heavens crashing down for good measure.
A series of apocalyptic phenomena followed, relentless as divine punishment.
Howling gales. Torrential rains.
Though few had died, the people’s initial fighting spirit had long been ground to dust by disaster after disaster.
Even with nobles and bishops desperately holding the line, morale crumbled as supplies dwindled.
The rebel army of the Holy Moon Kingdom finally broke, retreating in disarray.
Winnie spat dismissively at their fleeing backs.
"Tch! Just a bunch of worthless trash!"
They were nothing but rabble. Beneath her notice.
In her prime, she’d have crushed them all to dust without blinking.
"Let’s go, Imoxiu. Time to head back."
"Ah… y-yes, Winnie."
The moment they stepped into the castle, Cecile’s praise rang out.
"Well done, teacher."
"Cut the act, *Mother*," Winnie snapped. "*Teacher*? That’s what you used to call me." She refused the title now—it salted her wounds, reminding her she’d fallen from ruler to indentured servant. Worse, serving her own former student. The humiliation was… indescribable.
Cecile waved a hand. "Imoxiu, you’re dismissed. Go play."
"But, Mother, I—"
"Come see me later. Your teacher and I need privacy."
"Understood, Mother." Imoxiu knew better than to linger.
The doors shut. Only Cecile and Winnie remained in the hall.
"Explain yourself," Winnie demanded, glaring at Cecile descending from the throne. "And stop calling me ‘Mother’!"
"Explain what?" Cecile stopped before her. "Teacher, do you truly grasp that *Edwina von* is dead? Must I justify myself to a corpse?"
"I’m not dead, you treacherous brat!" Winnie snarled.
"Do you even know what Abathur tested on you?"
"That alchemist’s *Abathur*—so what? Whatever she did, I’m still breathing."
"Are you?" Cecile pressed gently. "Don’t you feel… missing something?"
Winnie frowned. "Missing? I lack nothing."
"I admit I’m a traitor, teacher. But would a student who mastered the *Authority of Arrogance* lie? I’d rather show raw truth to a bleeding wound than spin falsehoods."
Winnie’s frown deepened. She looked down, thinking hard.
Then—horror struck. She lunged, grabbing Cecile’s collar. "That alchemist stole my free will?!"
"*Bingo!*" Cecile snapped her fingers, grinning at Winnie’s livid face. "Sharp as ever, teacher…"
She’d handed Winnie to Abathur hoping for an "accident." Only the Angel’s Feather had finally given Abathur the tool she needed.
Cecile pried Winnie’s hands away. "Face reality. Edwina died when I took the Pride Witch’s mantle. You’re just *Winnie* now."
"You want me to…" Winnie bit her lip. She knew what Cecile demanded.
Losing free will meant life and death rested in another’s hands. Yet how? Even *she* couldn’t strip will so easily—not from a magic-less child, let alone unnoticed.
"Why not?" Cecile whispered in her ear. "A new identity. You’ll live freely. Just words. Just gestures. Harmless."
"I’ve done this once already…" Winnie’s face flushed. She jabbed a finger at Cecile. "I’d endure your mockery, call you ‘Mother’ forever—I’d *never* do *that* for a traitor like you!"
"Oh? How disappointing." Cecile turned away. "Abathur’s close to separating your will from mine. I’ll have to cancel her research."
A magical projection of Abathur’s lab flickered before them. Winnie glimpsed the familiar hazmat suit.
"W-wait! I’ll… consider it!"
Cecile smiled. "Three seconds. Three~"
"Two~"
"One~"
"I yield!" Winnie choked out.
Free will was everything. Without it, even suicide was impossible. And Cecile—she knew her traitorous student wouldn’t waste her on suicide runs. Not after all she’d done for her.
As Winnie moved to kneel, Cecile added softly: "Remember how *you* made *me* do it."
"Shut up, you brat…"
Winnie dropped to her knees, forehead pressed to Cecile’s foot.
"Pride Witch…" Her voice was a whisper.
"If I say I can’t hear you, I *can’t* hear you."
Humiliation flooded Winnie’s mind. She squeezed her eyes shut and shouted:
"**PRIDE WITCH! I BEG TO LEARN MAGIC FROM YOU—TO BECOME A WITCH AS POWERFUL AS YOU!**"
Begging her *student* to be her master… The shame burned. Especially when she’d *been* the Pride Witch herself.
"Good. Spirit."
Cecile dispelled Abathur’s projection.
In the lab, Abathur turned—but saw no one. A trick of the light, she decided, returning to her work.
"Good girl…" Cecile beamed, stroking Winnie’s hair. She held up a thick book.
"*Five Years of Basics, Three Years of Theory*."
"Your first lesson. Study hard. I’m being generous." Her smile turned serene. "After all—I suffered through it too."
