Yihan burst out of the Grand Theater with Lia, only to find chaos spilling into the streets. Shouts of “Witch inside! Run!” echoed everywhere. As a transmigrator, Yihan couldn’t fathom their visceral terror of witches—but the pandemonium made escape harder. Especially with that bloodthirsty Witch Hunter still hot on their heels.

He’d planned to flee Soul Valley Town by carriage, but panicked horses reared uncontrollably, even their drivers powerless to calm them. Head pounding, Yihan veered toward deserted alleyways, hoping the crowd would swallow their pursuers.

Lia’s condition was far worse. Her consciousness flickered—lucid one moment, fading the next. Crimson patterns bloomed across her pale skin, eerily vivid. Through their pressed bodies, Yihan felt her temperature swing wildly: scorching heat one second, icy chill the next.

He ran while calling her name, forcing her to stay awake.

"Hold on, Lia—we’re almost out!"

Sweat drenched Yihan’s brow. He didn’t dare glance back, terrified of seeing thick ice spears hurtling toward him.

This felt like being yanked mid-quest into another game instance—connected yet disorienting.

Lia was a witch. Undeniably. And if he wasn’t mistaken, the very Crimson Flame Witch who’d thrown Northern nations into turmoil.

If not for the alien landscape clashing with his memories, he’d have sworn this was a dream.

*What if I’m wrong?* The thought jolted him. *What if I’m not dreaming—but truly trapped here?*

He nearly tripped.

*When is "now"? Her first year as a witch? The Crimson Flame Witch’s past?*

Damn it all.

An ice spear whistled past his ear, detonating ahead into a delicate snow lotus. Shards littered the ground like shattered glass. Yihan skidded to a halt, chest heaving, eyes bloodshot.

Behind him, Witch Hunter Carola drifted closer. Her cloak snapped in the icy wind, revealing a slender frame. Her hood stayed low, silver mask glinting—a specter wrapped in frost.

Night had fallen. Fat snowflakes swirled as temperatures plummeted. For Carola, the storm was an ally.

From their earlier clash, Lia clearly couldn’t control her power. This fight was already decided.

But first, she needed to remove this nuisance.

Yihan glanced at the girl slumped on his shoulder. Semi-conscious, her plush lips moved soundlessly. He tightened his grip, straining to hear her muffled words.

"Hand her over." Carola stepped forward, palm outstretched.

"What will you do to her?" Yihan retreated, wary.

"Let her rest." Her reply was blunt.

Yihan almost laughed. *Rest?* Erasing a life so casually—it shattered his last illusions about Witch Hunters. No wonder the stout baker had trembled when Carola entered his shop. Who wouldn’t fear such ruthlessness?

He clung to hope. "Hunting witches is your duty, but must you be so rigid? Did you see her harm anyone? You were there—you saw how they treated her! Wouldn’t you rage? Wouldn’t you want to drive them off?"

Carola listened in silence. Unmoved.

"Look—she’s fighting her own power even now. She told us to run! I’ve known her longer than you. She’s kind. She never wanted this. Let’s help her while there’s still time!"

Yihan poured every ounce of persuasion into his words. Carola’s stillness only deepened his panic. Time was bleeding away. Lia could wake any second—alone, facing this killer.

He’d realized dream-time flowed like reality here. One real-world day meant one dream-day lost. Once he woke, sleep might not return in time. Abandoned or captured, Lia wouldn’t survive. He had to convince Carola *now*.

Finally, Carola’s shoulders slumped. A long sigh escaped her.

She lowered her sword. The wind whipped her cloak, making her seem weightless.

Yihan’s breath eased—until her next words froze his blood.

"I understand your heart. But you don’t understand witches." Her voice was glacial. Beneath the hood, storm-blue eyes held ancient blizzards. Pale skin glowed translucent. Wind lifted strands of navy hair like ship sails.

"If witches were truly kind, they wouldn’t be hunted across the continent. If they could control their power, we wouldn’t hunt them to extinction."

Her sword rose again. A fiercer ice storm erupted around her, coalescing overhead with crushing force.

*Damn it.* Yihan’s mind raced. *I’m a transmigrator—why is my power useless? Even teleportation would save us!*

Lia was a witch. So what? He wasn’t from this world. He couldn’t share their fear.

He only knew this girl fought to live. She dreamed of travel, saved coins carefully, met a harsh world with kindness. Like any girl her age—bright, beautiful, brimming with life—she deserved joy, not this hunted existence. No second chances. No mercy.

He hated this world. Hated its rules.

But as Carola’s blizzard roared, he stepped in front of Lia. *Let my power shield us. Let me wake up safe in bed.*

Pain seared through him. Then came Lia’s scream—a raw mix of fury and terror.

Flames detonated like combustion grenades. Snow-choked alleys became rivers of fire. Scorching heat surged toward the ice-encased Witch Hunter. Carola barely dodged, boots skidding on melting frost.

Her cloak ignited. Her silver mask clattered to the ground.

Beneath it lay a face of sacred beauty—unforgettable, heart-stopping.

As darkness swallowed Yihan, he saw her clearly.

His heart plummeted.

*Carola… it really is you…*