In the royal palace, in the outer courtyard, Alistair, Ephraim, and Arabella were still talking. Arabella was still in shock, struggling to accept Alistair's relationship with a witch, but she didn't say anything. They were just talking about meaningless things, wasting time until the king finished his meeting.
"I once killed a witch with a Rock," said Ephraim, trying to boast and act dominant.
"I killed a witch just by looking at her," said Alistair, leaving Ephraim stunned.
"Really?!"
"No, I'm just joking," said Alistair with an awkward smile, which made Ephraim relax a little and puff out his chest again to act arrogantly once more.
"But I beat you."
"…That's true…" Ephraim muttered in annoyance.
"What the hell are you two talking about?" asked Arabella nervously, looking at them as if they were idiots.
At that moment, the door opened, and a servant came out with a tense look on his face, catching everyone's attention as he bowed to them. Then he raised his head and said in a shaky, nervous voice:
"Sirs, the king summons you to attend his esteemed council."
Alistair and Ephraim glanced at each other, leaving Arabella feeling annoyed and left out. Then they followed the servant inside, who led them past the standing nobles who stared at them—especially at Alistair—with hatred.
Upon reaching the royal chamber door, the servant stopped and bowed to them one last time, signaling them to enter. Alistair pushed the door open without hesitation, and the three of them entered behind him.
On the platform, the king sat on his throne with expressions that seemed satisfied but mixed with tension. Below the platform, a long round table had recently been placed to the side, where the highest nobles—dukes, marquesses, and earls—sat. The advisor and the archbishop were also present, all looking toward the unwelcome guest, Alistair Crowley.
Arabella and Ephraim both bowed their heads in obedience, while Alistair continued to stare at the king as if he owned the place.
"Sir Alistair, we have discussed your proposal, and based on the voting law… everyone has rejected it!" said the king in a cold, sharp tone.
"An alliance with witches, what a ridiculous idea! They killed our sons and used them for sick experiments to develop their magic. Such a proposal is heresy!" said the advisor in an arrogant and angry tone.
"Didn't humans do the same to the witches they captured? We tortured them, burned them, and dissected them to understand how their magic worked. I think that's just equality," said Alistair in an indifferent tone, which made both Ephraim and Arabella's faces go pale.
"The witches started this war, and we don't intend to end it!" said the duke with a hostile tone.
"Sorry, but I don't think you were born when the war against the witches started. So how do you know who started it?"
"History said the witches began this hostility, isn't that enough proof?" said the duke in an uninterested, lazy tone. Of all of them, he seemed the least concerned about whether the alliance happened or not.
"And who believes history? Historians are human and capable of lying. What stops them from tarnishing the witches' reputation to portray their own kind as heroes?" said Alistair in a cold tone, which angered most of the council members. Questioning history was like questioning the royal family itself and calling them frauds.
"Are you saying the race chosen by the gods is a liar?" said the archbishop, slamming his hand on the table in annoyance, making both Arabella and Ephraim flinch in panic.
"Chosen by the gods? Pfft, what kind of nonsense is that? If humans were truly the favored of the gods, shouldn't they have wiped out the witches entirely to give humans some peace? At the very least, they would've gifted us power equal to that of the witches so we could defend ourselves—not give that majestic power to witches who already surpass us. In my opinion, it seems the witches are the chosen race, and humans are the heretics using gods as an excuse to fabricate a sense of superiority to comfort themselves."
"You heretic!" shouted the archbishop, rising from his seat in anger.
"How many times do you pray to your god daily for salvation and mercy, only for more humans to die each day? The truth is, more humans die daily by the hands of gods than witches kill in a year, and you still believe god is salvation. You just don't want to admit that god, to humans, is death itself," said Alistair in a heavy, solemn tone like iron, leaving the archbishop and the rest of the council speechless, reflecting on his words and realizing there was truth in them.
"…If god is death… and witches see me as the embodiment of death… then does that make me equal to god? Or in their eyes, have I already become a god?" Alistair thought to himself in silence.
"Everything you're saying is just your opinion. You have no evidence to support it… Anyway, the council has already rejected your proposal. You should leave before you're labeled a heretic and hunted down," said the marquess in a sharp, confident tone.
"…Ha… I wasn't trying to convince you of any nonsense. I was speaking to the king, and you all interrupted, so I simply answered your questions. The final decision lies with the king, of course. Who are you to decide what's best for the kingdom—especially in the presence of a noble and well-groomed king such as His Majesty?" said Alistair with a fake smile, trying to flatter—and it seemed he succeeded, as the king gave the council members sharp looks for interrupting him. Then he cleared his throat and said in a serious tone and confident smile:
"…Alistair's request will be approved!"
"W-What?!" said the archbishop in shock, but quickly fell silent when his eyes met the king's angry glare. The rest followed suit, nodding in agreement.
"Sir Alistair, prepare to depart. Soon, you will be sent to visit the rest of the witches not as a 'Harbinger of Purge' but as a 'Messenger of Peace,' to establish a peace treaty with the witches," said the king with a proud smile, proud of himself and his decision.
"Of course, Your Majesty," said Alistair, bowing obediently before Ephraim and Arabella bowed as well, then they left the hall.
"…I didn't expect you to be good at flattery," said Arabella in surprise.
"That wasn't flattery—that was ass-kissing!" said Ephraim, shocked at how easily Alistair convinced the king to agree to the alliance. Then he added,
"You should become a politician. It suits you more than being a witch slayer."
"…I'm no longer a slayer, I'm a messenger of peace now… Technically, doesn't that make me a higher rank than you two? Shouldn't you be bowing to me now?" Alistair joked.
"You've always been higher ranked than us," both Arabella and Ephraim thought the same thing.
"Anyway… You'll be leaving soon, so you'd better go and inform the Sun Witch," said Ephraim, which made Arabella cringe a little, but she said nothing. Alistair nodded in agreement.
"You're right… Well then, see you later."
Alistair began walking away, waving as he left Arabella and Ephraim behind, heading toward Agatha's cottage.
"My dream of becoming a peace bringer is getting closer!"
———
On the way, Alistair walked silently with his hands in his pockets, letting his guard down due to the happiness of having an excuse to see Agatha again. A light smile rested on his face as he looked down. That's when he raised his head. He felt the air around him had changed—sweeter and more stimulating, like a pink transparent mist surrounding him.
"Does love affect the mind so much that I'm seeing illusions?" Alistair thought to himself, mocking himself.
That's when he heard footsteps approaching. They were close—as if right by his ear—yet distant at the same time. Alistair raised his guard, looking to his right and then left, but no one was nearby.
"…Wait a moment… This mist… it's magic!" Alistair realized, but it was already too late. Aphrolite emerged from between the trees in front of him. She wasn't wearing her royal outfit—which had been torn during her fight with Agatha—but a long white soaked dress as if soaked in rain, clinging to her skin, emphasizing her curves.
"The queen?" said Alistair, his shoulders relaxing slightly. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, Aphrolite appeared in front of him, grabbing Alistair and pressing her finger under his chin—a threat that she could kill him in seconds.
"Oh Alistair, you don't think I'm guilty, do you?" said Aphrolite in a seductive tone. Alistair's eyes dulled, as if a veil had covered the truth from him, and he fell into Aphrolite's illusion. He showed no sign of resistance or caution.
Then, the queen held Alistair's cheeks, gripping him tightly and making him look into her pink eyes.
"Look into my eyes and tell me—will you do as I command, my dear?" the queen asked with a sly smile.
"…Yes…"
Aphrolite's smile widened, more wicked than before, stretching from ear to ear. Then she said in a sultry voice:
"A good answer, my dear. Now, if you do what I tell you, there will be a reward for you tonight. Do you understand?"
"…Yes…"
"Heheheh… My dear, kill the Sun Witch for me, will you?"
"…The Sun Witch…?"
"Huh?" Aphrolite let out a surprised hum. Questioning her command was a sign of resistance—even if small and barely noticeable—but she was surprised that a human like Alistair could resist, even a little.
"Yes… Kill Agatha Lovecroft for me… Expect a pleasant surprise if you bring me her head… You may even spend the night in a royal bed."
"…Alright…"
Aphrolite smiled in satisfaction, then let go of Alistair. She instantly vanished like smoke from sight, and the pink mist that had enveloped the area disappeared with her.
"Agatha… I must kill her for the queen…" Alistair whispered to himself, a faint pink glow flashing in his pupils.
Nearby, Aphrolite stood behind a few trees with her daughter Ivara, watching Alistair. Their wounds and clothes had been fully healed and renewed.
"Alistair is still just a human with a human's mind. Unlike Agatha, who is under celestial protection from the sun and other witches, he knows nothing of such things. It was so easy to make him fall in love with me — just by warping reality slightly to create a simple mid-level illusion," Aphrolite thought to herself, then turned to her daughter.
"Let us return to the palace, my dear," Aphrolite said as she ran her finger along Ivara's chin, causing her to follow the motion completely entranced. They began walking back to the palace.
A few minutes later, Alistair arrived at Agatha's cabin. He climbed the veranda and knocked twice on the door, waiting for an answer. He then heard footsteps and the creaking of wood with each step until the door opened to reveal Agatha standing there, her eyes tired and blackened.
"Alistair?"
Alistair remained silent, which made Agatha slightly puzzled, though she didn't suspect anything.
"Please, come in," Agatha said, gesturing for Alistair to enter, which he did. She closed the door behind him as soon as he entered.
She turned to face Alistair, but he was still silent. She was exhausted — her battle with Aphrolite had just ended — so she assumed he might want to be intimate with her as usual, though she wasn't in the right condition for that.
"Agatha... I have something to tell you," Alistair said in a cold tone, which made Agatha slightly uneasy.
"Alright…"
"Please, anything but ending this relationship," Agatha thought nervously.
"I succeeded in convincing the King to form an alliance with the witches," Alistair said with a kind smile on his face, causing Agatha's eyes to widen and a smile to spread across her face.
"T-That's wonderful news!"
"I know… but I will be sent as a peace envoy to announce this to the rest of the witches, so I'll be away for a while," Alistair said with a smile that seemed slightly sad, but Agatha hugged him tightly.
"Agatha?"
"It's okay… it's okay… Are you here just to tell me about your departure? You…" Agatha whispered, as if trying to calm herself. She stopped speaking, unable to admit that she found this act of his endearing — and that she truly loved him. It was no longer manipulation.
Then Agatha pulled away from Alistair's embrace, a few tears clinging to her eyes. She wiped them away and smiled — a smile drenched in love.
"Why don't you tell me more about this alliance… since I'm the first witch you're telling?"
"…You have confessed your sin…" Alistair said with a cold smile on his lips.
"S-Sin?" Agatha said in confusion, before her eyes widened in horror, realizing what he meant.
In the next second, it was as if the world had lost its sound. The only sound heard was that of black iron stakes appearing around Agatha — followed by the sound of them tearing through her flesh, stabbing her in the chest, and the thud of her body hitting the floor. Blood flooded the ground, and Agatha sank into a pool of it. She tried to lift her hand and activate her magic to return to life, but the flames wouldn't come. She realized… this was her end.
"...A…Alistair…" Agatha said with difficulty. Her eyes met Alistair's, and she noticed the faint pink glow in them — realizing Aphrolite had a hand in this.
The moment Alistair heard his name fall from Agatha's lips, the pink glow vanished from his eyes. Aphrolite's influence disappeared completely. And with it… he realized what he had done to Agatha.
"A-Agatha!" Alistair whispered in a trembling, broken voice. His entire body shivered as if drenched in cold water. He fell to his knees beside Agatha and grabbed one of the stakes. In a desperate attempt, he tried to pull it out, realizing this caused Agatha pain as she let out a moan.
"A-Agatha…" Tears poured from Alistair's eyes, his pupils shaking violently and splitting in half.
With the last of her strength, Agatha raised her hand and touched Alistair's cheek, covering it in her blood. She wiped away his tears with her thumb.
Alistair held her hand, feeling life leave her body. Her hand, cold as ice, lost all feeling.
"Alistair… I'm sorry…" Agatha whispered weakly, her voice closer to a breath than actual words.
"What are you apologizing for? I… I… I've… I'm sorry… I'm the one who's sorry… please…" Alistair said, his tears flowing harder.
"I… I was using you at first… I only wanted to manipulate you… I was lying from the beginning… about everything… but…"
Agatha coughed blood between her words. Alistair's tears fell on her face, warming her before the cold overtook her body completely.
"…I truly loved you in the end… I love you… I really love you…"
Alistair took in a sharp, tearful breath, clutching Agatha's cold hand with all his strength. Then he held her shoulders and pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly but gently.
"Agatha… Agatha… please…" Alistair pleaded between sobs and wails.
"What have I done?… What have I done?!... Agatha, the only one who ☐☐☐☐☐... I hurt her… the only one who believed in me… the only one who truly loved me…" Alistair thought to himself.
"Alistair… you… you won't love another woman after me, right?... I'd get jealous…" Agatha said. It was astonishing that she still had a sense of humor despite her condition.
"I won't."
"That's… wonderful… that's… warm, like you…"
The light disappeared from Agatha's eyes, and Alistair suddenly felt her grow light — as if hollow — and he understood what that meant. Agatha had passed away.
"No… no…!" Alistair said, resting his head against Agatha's dead neck, holding her tightly — but no matter how hard he shook her, she wouldn't move. She was dead. And he couldn't accept that truth.
Then, Agatha's body began slowly turning into black ash — a sight Alistair never thought he'd cry over. Every time a witch died, she turned to black ash and vanished, leaving nothing of the body. It had always brought him comfort after killing witches — but not today. Not now.
"No… no…" Despite Alistair's pleas, the disintegration didn't stop. Her body quickly turned to ash, falling apart and slipping through his fingers, vanishing with the breeze. Alistair sat there, staring at the ground where Agatha had lain dead — only her pool of blood remained, a sign of the sin he had committed.
"…What have I done…?" Alistair whispered, his eyes wide with terror. He began touching his own face, making sure this wasn't a dream. But it was real. Tears streamed from Alistair's eyes again the moment his mind accepted reality — and broke under its weight. Immediately, Alistair remembered who was responsible.
"That damned queen…!"
A smile formed on Alistair's face as he began laughing hysterically while crying, slamming his hand into the ground with force.
"I will kill her… I'll kill her and everything that follows her…"