Alistair left the royal hall after his conversation with the king. As soon as he closed the door behind him and turned forward, he noticed the number of nobles present there. Some glared at him with envy, jealousy, and annoyance, while others approached him out of curiosity to ask what had happened. It was an annoying situation for someone who had spent his life alone, hunting witches.
At that moment, both Ephraim and Arabella pushed their way toward Alistair through the crowd, shoving aside anyone who got in their way, like personal guards of a celebrity. They even cleared a path for Alistair to exit—and he did.
Outside, Ephraim took a deep breath of fresh air after such a suffocating setting, and once he noticed their behavior, he stood straight, cleared his throat, and turned to Alistair.
"S-So, how did it go with His Majesty?" Ephraim asked in a tense tone.
"He agreed. There will be a discussion with the council, but technically, he agreed. What is the council's opinion in front of His Majesty anyway?" Alistair answered confidently.
"Don't leave me out of this. Include me in the conversation so I can understand," Arabella said in confusion and astonishment, lost between Alistair's nonsense and her fiancé.
Alistair and Ephraim looked at each other tensely. A silent conversation passed between them on whether or not to tell Arabella, and it ended with Ephraim sighing and giving in.
"You tell her," Alistair said, which made Ephraim glare at him in annoyance before turning to Arabella, who had seen what happened, drowning in confusion, and said:
"Alistair got married to a witch."
"Y-You lunatic! Ease into the topic!" Alistair shouted angrily, hitting Ephraim on the shoulder.
"Shut up. If it bothers you that much, you should've told her yourself. Don't blame me," Ephraim retorted lazily.
Meanwhile, Arabella stood frozen, eyes wide in shock as if she had seen the wonders of the world and discovered the secrets of the universe. She stared at Alistair blankly, the color draining from her face.
"…You're joking, right?" Arabella said, making Ephraim shiver at the cold tone that pierced her voice.
"N-No, I just spoke with the king about establishing peace with the witches, and it seems he agreed," Alistair said in an indifferent tone.
"You… you are truly a heretic!" Arabella said, shocked, covering her mouth with her hands.
"The royal family was never a divine family or one chosen by a god. It's just a family that rules a kingdom. So even if I go against the witch-slaying traditions, that doesn't make me a heretic, just a revolutionary."
"Hey, Alistair, shut up…" Ephraim whispered tensely, lightly tapping Alistair's shoulder.
"Fine…"
"I can't believe that 'The Herlad of Purge,' the one about whom books were written claiming he killed hundreds of witches considered as disastrous threats to humanity… the one who was said to hate witches so much he would sacrifice himself to erase them from the earth… ends up with a witch! Not just dating! But married! When did this happen?! How did I not know?!"
"U-Uh, it happened yesterday, during the raid. I met Agatha, and we ended up doing… a lot of things together," Alistair said in an embarrassed, awkward tone.
"Agatha? That's her name?! You're calling a witch by her name?! Is this relationship really serious? A-Are you not going to reconsider? Y-You might regret it later!" Arabella said nervously, worried—anyone would worry for a friend in a relationship like Alistair's.
"I won't regret it. Even if she's using me, I don't care. I ☐☐☐☐☐ Agatha, and I will never regret that!" Alistair said confidently, refusing to back down, which left Arabella stunned. She decided to stop bothering him about it, rubbing her elbow awkwardly and looking away as she said in a shaky voice:
"Alright then… I won't bother you about this anymore."
"Good!"
———
In Agatha's cottage, inside one of the rooms, magical books and papers inscribed with spells and potion recipes lay scattered on the table. In the middle of the room stood a fountain that stood out sharply as the only item that looked luxurious in the whole house. It was gold-colored with blue sky-like engravings, depicting images of kneeling, reverent figures before a crow flying in the sky near a sun whose flames had grown so intense they burned the earth. In the fountain, water appeared still but reflected what was happening with Alistair—and Agatha, who stood nearby, had been watching everything unfold.
"…I ☐☐☐☐☐ Agatha, and I will never regret that…"
Agatha's cheeks reddened slightly, a lightness filled her knees, and a great weakness made her legs tremble. She felt a bit dizzy, even biting her finger to regain consciousness.
"That idiot…!"
"No, Agatha, focus! You must not allow yourself to fall in love with a human! You're only using him!… That's right… I'm just using him… I… I'm just using him…!" Agatha thought to herself in embarrassment and shame, trying to fake strength and indifference, but every time Alistair's face flashed in her mind, she couldn't deny she was smiling.
"M-Maybe… maybe I'll allow myself to enjoy this—" Agatha thought, when she suddenly heard a knock at her cottage door.
"Alistair?" she whispered softly, then looked at the fountain water—but Alistair was still at the royal palace.
Agatha remained silent for a moment, then began walking slowly, a sharp gaze on her face as she approached the door cautiously. She grabbed the handle slowly and found, on the other side, Princess Ivara standing with a wide smile on her face—or as she was known, the Companion Witch, 'The Witch of Seduction.'
Agatha sighed in relief, her stiff shoulders relaxing, and she asked curiously:
"Princess Ivara? What are you doing here?"
"I'm just here to visit my favorite witch… and I brought a guest too!" Ivara replied with an ever-widening, mischievous smile.
"A guest?"
Then, behind Ivara, the queen appeared—dressed in her royal white robe embroidered with faint pink threads, with eyes as pink as her daughter's, and expressions even more seductive and feminine than hers.
"The Witch of Love?!" Agatha thought nervously to herself.
"Hello, Agatha, we meet again after such a long absence," said the queen in a sultry, alluring tone.
"H-Hello, Lady Aphrolite," Agatha said awkwardly. The queen Aphrolite then entered, pushing Agatha aside with her shoulder like the queen she embodied, followed by Ivara with an arrogant smile. Agatha then closed the door and entered as well.
She was about to gesture for the queen and her daughter to sit, but they had already sat without permission—and why would a queen need someone's permission to sit in the first place? She even gestured for Agatha to sit with a gentle but commanding tone:
"Sit."
Agatha swallowed nervously, realizing that ever since their eyes met, whatever came from this conversation—it wouldn't be good at all. She sat on one of the old couches, facing Ivara and Aphrolite.
"Let's skip the pleasantries and get straight to the point. I was really looking forward to seeing the kingdom fall at the hands of the great Witch of the Sun—whether it was the sun itself falling on everyone's heads or the flames ending us. But I never expected, in any of the hundred scenarios I envisioned in my plan, that you would marry a witch-killer capable of eradicating our kind from the planet!" Her voice, though angry and loud, still carried a sweet, playful tone—like a child throwing a bomb. The Witch of Love really did have strong effects.
"H-How did you know I married Alistair?" Agatha asked nervously.
"It doesn't matter how I know. What matters is that you're a disgrace to the rest of the witches. Despite bearing grand titles due to your achievements as a supernatural catastrophe, how dare you marry someone like the herlad of Purge?"
"What's wrong with her? Is she into me or something?… At first, all I wanted was to control Alistair and seduce him with my body to sway him to my side. It was really easy—too easy. I was so happy that night I kept recalling everything that happened. But then… he came knocking on my door at night saying he snuck out of the palace during a banquet to see me. I really thought I had succeeded in making him fall in love with me… but… I think the opposite happened… Seeing him defend me against Ephraim made me realize something new—something called regret. How could I toy with the feelings of a man who would risk his life to protect me? Then he told me he loved me… not just that, but he defends our relationship… even if I'm manipulating him, he loves me… I…" Agatha thought silently, then raised her head to meet the queen's sharp, feminine eyes.
"I… I love Alistair so much!" Agatha said with an innocent smile on her face. The queen's eyes sharpened, and in a single moment, she raised her hand and pointed her finger at Agatha.
"Kill yourself!"
"Huh?" Agatha muttered in confusion, but before she realized it, she lost all sensation in her body. Without hesitation, without uttering a word, Agatha raised her hands to her neck. She gripped it tightly, her fingers digging into her skin, then began to squeeze. Bones cracked. Veins tore. Then, blood burst from her neck like a fountain, splashing the couch and the wall—a red warmth over cold skin.
With steady hands, she tore her head completely from her body. Nerves severed. Vertebrae pulled out one by one. Her head rested in her hands, eyes half-open. The body went limp and slid sideways, writhing over a wide pool of blood, gasping one last time… then went still.
Ivara looked away in disgust. Even a witch like her still wasn't used to such scenes, while Aphrolite sat staring at the pool of blood and the dead body drowning in it as if nothing had happened.
"Another legend died just like that—because of love."
Aphrolite clicked her tongue before rising from her seat, dusting off her clothes from the dust stuck to the couch, then turned to her daughter with a firm look.
"Let's go!"
"Y-Yes!" Ivara said, nervous and embarrassed—her mother was truly so beautiful even her own daughter wasn't immune.
Then, Ivara rose and followed her mother out of the house. As soon as she opened the door and raised her gaze from the ground, she was shocked to see the sun itself before her, with an eye at its center weeping lava, its scorching rays, its brilliant yellow light, and its colossal size like that of a building.
"W-What is that?!" Ivara screamed in terror, shielding her eyes with her hand from the intense brightness.
Aphrolite stood frozen, trembling at the sight. That's when she saw a shadow flying in front of the massive sun, appearing like a tiny ant but with a tremendous presence. With her pointed hat and straw broom, she flew like a true lady, one leg over the other, her eyes blazing—Agatha, the Witch of the Sun. Though she had just died, it seemed she was still alive.
Aphrolite smiled in a mix of chill and ecstasy as Agatha stuck out her tongue, revealing a magical tattoo: a sun with an all-seeing eye at its center, glowing gold like the sun itself.
"That damned woman…!"