Chapter 78…………………………………..
: The Wicked Witch
Illeon was imprisoned in a dark underground dungeon, lit only by torches mounted on the walls.
Heavy shackles bound his arms and legs.
Every movement sent pain through his bruised, battered face, and his brows knit tightly.
“I remember… getting knocked out after Dietrich beat me senseless…”
His gaze fell on the knight standing outside the iron bars.
It was Anderson, Dietrich’s lieutenant, a broad-shouldered man with greying hair.
“So—you mean to say you’re plotting rebellion?”
Anderson replied coolly:
“Rebellion? You murdered royalty and tried to pin all the blame on Duke Calypso. That’s treason.”
“…Ha! Hahaha!”
Illeon threw back his head and laughed.
“So, you even killed all my subordinates?”
“Not a single one of your men will remain in this land. Give it up. Your era is over.”
Illeon shook his head.
“Do you even know who it is you serve?”
Though his face was bruised and swollen, his pale blue eyes flashed strangely.
“That man is not of Avalon. He has no interest in rebellion. He only wants to burn Avalon to the ground.”
Anderson glared into the cell.
“I have followed His Grace for years. And you dare try to drive a wedge between us?”
“Drive a wedge? I only spoke the truth.”
“Do you know how many lives that vile tongue of yours has taken? I never trusted Duke Gredrick from the beginning.”
Anderson’s fury was plain.
“When you carried out your damned rituals at the grand temple, one of the children you used as a disposable vessel was my nephew. He was only seven. You brainwashed that boy and discarded him just to hear a prophecy!”
Illeon narrowed his eyes.
He had used and discarded so many for prophecies that he could not remember who was who. He had thought they were all orphans without ties, but apparently even lost children had been swept into his sacrifices.
Of course, it made little difference to him.
The grand temple had burned down, the altar for prophecies reduced to ashes.
“…Even among beasts, it is natural for the strong to hunt and devour the weak.”
His voice carried not a trace of guilt.
“And you would insult me, when I fed, clothed, and gave those lost children a place in the embrace of God?”
Anderson’s face twitched with rage at Illeon’s utter lack of remorse.
“I gave meaning to worthless lives. Surely, they were grateful to me as they died.”
Illeon twisted his lips in a smile.
“I’ll watch you meet your wretched end.”
“My subordinates are everywhere. Not just in the capital, but across all of Avalon.”
Illeon raised his chin proudly at Anderson’s grimace.
“Did you think an emperor like me would make no preparations at all?”
“…”
“Let’s see who truly meets a miserable end. You, a fool of a knight, who doesn’t even know who your master really is.”
Dark storm clouds spread across the sky, and raindrops began to fall.
Plip.
The rain quickly thickened until it poured down in torrents, blinding the crowd gathered before a great oak tree.
“The tears of God! God is weeping!”
A man, drenched and wild-eyed, shouted with madness.
“Spread the word! Our great God desires the witch of Avalon to be cast down!”
“It’s the witch! It’s all because of her!”
“Let us judge the witch with our own hands, the witch who devours men with her beauty!”
The man lifted his arms and cried out:
“Before more lives are lost, drag her from the palace and judge her!”
As soon as he spoke, a lightning bolt struck the mighty oak tree with a deafening crack.
The massive tree split cleanly in two.
Green leaves showered down onto the man’s body.
“Wha—?”
An old man gasped as the halved tree swayed—then toppled forward.
Crash!
The fallen trunk crushed the zealot who had been preaching most fiercely.
Blood streamed from beneath the tree, mingling with the rainwater.
“Kyahhh!”
“What—what is this?!”
Horrified screams erupted.
“He was struck dead by lightning in an instant!”
“This must be the witch’s curse…”
“We must tie her to the stake and burn her at once!”
Voices of outrage cut through the downpour.
As the frenzy swelled, a woman hesitated, frowning, then spoke carefully:
“…Couldn’t this mean she isn’t a witch at all? Perhaps this was God’s will.”
“What are you saying?”
“The man who accused her was the one struck down. Maybe God struck him to prove she isn’t a witch.”
All eyes turned to her.
She wore a maid’s uniform, hands clasped demurely—Lisa, the maid who had long served Hariel and silently suffered guilt for never helping Celia.
Hariel glared daggers at her, furious her maid would dare defend Celia.
Shoving Lisa’s shoulder, Hariel shouted:
“I saw it with my own eyes! My adopted daughter, Celia, performing wicked acts night after night!”
The crowd buzzed at her words.
Soaked to the bone, their eyes fixed on Hariel, hungry for more.
“Every night, she brings strange men, drains their energy, then discards them! Though she wasn’t my blood, I raised her well—yet she was a witch all along!”
Her lies spewed shamelessly.
“You mean to say you offered a witch in marriage to the public?! Then you, too, are in league with her!”
An elder in fine clothes denounced her.
“I knew nothing then! I am a victim as well! If I had known Celia was a witch, I never would have adopted her into my family!”
Hariel, still bitter from being cast out of Dietrich’s mansion like a stray dog, refused to return to her lands. Instead, she squandered money she had squeezed from Lisa in the capital, drowning her shame in indulgence.
When rumors of Celia being a witch spread, she seized the chance.
“I saw it too,” Gabriel, standing beside Hariel, added.
“My sister Celia bringing men into her room at night and draining their energy.”
“!”
“At first I didn’t believe it. I thought I was mistaken. But isn’t everything clear now? Three royals dead in succession, Duke Calypso stripped of his title and locked away—and he was her lover.”
Gabriel lowered her head theatrically, pretending to be stricken.
Her red dress clung wetly to her curvaceous body, drawing men’s restless gazes.
Her face was plain, but her voluptuous figure was alluring.
“I never thought Celia would do such things. We treated her so well, yet she deceived us and committed such vile acts…”
She pressed her hands to her face, shoulders trembling as though weeping.
“D-don’t cry!” someone shouted.
“We’ll defeat the witch! The wicked witch! Don’t weep!”
In truth, Gabriel wasn’t crying. She was laughing.
Her rain-slicked face glimmered with malice.
“Should we tie her to the stake and burn her? If she truly is a witch, wouldn’t she escape even from fire?”
Hariel’s suggestion made several men exchange glances.
They had no intention of killing Celia. Stirring up the witch frenzy was only to tear her from the palace and make her theirs.
“That’s… hmm…” one man hedged.
Hariel’s eyes flared.
“Then how else will you judge her? If she screams in agony, burned by the flames, it will prove she is human. We can free her then. It won’t be too late.”
At this, the majority nodded and cried out in agreement.
“We must deliver judgment with our own hands! Drag her from the palace, bind her to the stake, and burn her!”
Just then, heavy footsteps cut through the downpour.
Splash. Splash.
A man approached, face hidden by the shadow of a black umbrella.
Yet his towering frame radiated menace.
Each step made the armor he wore clink faintly.
Neither fast nor slow, his stride halted before the crowd.
“…And who, exactly, do you think you are to judge?”
His voice rumbled low, as if from the depths of the abyss.
The crowd fell silent, cowed by his presence.
