The crowd buzzed like an overflowing hive. The noise of countless voices blended into chaotic howls, like a kettle boiling over.
Like any civilized person, Grey wanted to look away.
But he kept staring.
His eyes stayed locked on the figure standing on the platform.
"Witch..." the thought flashed through his mind. "One day, I could be the one standing there, waiting for execution..."
Junior Grey's stories overlapped with his own knowledge of the Inquisition's history.
If witches were called "devil's accomplices" and "servants of the night," then he was the devil's very incarnation, the "harbinger of darkness."
Was there any doubt that the moment someone discovered his true identity, he would become the first person dragged to the gallows?
The same applied to Lily, who was a demon, the enemy of all mankind.
Not wanting to continue that train of thought, Grey dug through his memories, trying to recall everything he knew about the history of witches.
Junior had never gone into much detail, but he had said enough for Grey to understand the basics.
Women did not become witches by choice. They awakened.
Most often, only those whose souls had already been broken gained such power. Miserable, lonely, abandoned women who had lost all hope.
Women who had lost children. Been raped. Humiliated. Destroyed.
That kind of emotional devastation was the very trigger needed for a witch to awaken.
"Too dangerous to let live, too valuable to let go."
That was the Magic Empire's paradoxical truth.
For centuries, they hunted witches, yet never wiped them out completely. Their so-called greatness had been built on studying witchcraft, yet witches were still called "devil's servants" and relentlessly persecuted.
Women who awakened rarely managed to hide from the authorities for long. The moment their powers surfaced, they were forced to use them. Otherwise, they died.
And they died horribly.
If a witch suppressed her power for too long, mana would begin tearing her body apart from the inside. Common people called this horrifying phenomenon the "devil's bite" or "divine punishment," trying to explain something they did not understand.
But the truth was far simpler and far more mundane.
After awakening, a witch's body became a vessel where mana constantly accumulated. If that vessel was not emptied from time to time, the pressure kept rising... until one day, it simply could not endure anymore.
Neither Junior nor Senior had ever personally seen it happen, yet the stories alone were enough to rob someone of peaceful sleep for days.
It was horrifying.
The pain of the "bite" was impossible to truly compare to anything else. But the result... the result spoke for itself. A witch's body was literally torn apart from the inside as she slowly turned into a bloody mass of flesh.
And yet, this nightmare could be avoided.
A witch only needed to constantly use her abilities and empty the vessel inside her.
In turn, the powers witches possessed were highly specific. Unique to each individual.
According to Junior, who had studied under Aunt Albedo, they were somewhat similar to the abilities of beastfolk, only far more varied and unique to every single witch.
Some could transform into birds. Some awakened elemental magic and could pass themselves off as Roman legionnaires. Others received abilities that were practically useless: melting snow, magnetizing metal utensils, or simply sticking two objects together.
But there was one thing all witches shared.
As time passed, ancient knowledge began awakening deep within their subconscious, as if someone had opened the doors to a dusty old library hidden behind a rotten wall. Most often, it consisted of basic spells, runic symbols, formulas, and fragments of alchemical recipes.
To understand that knowledge and develop their power, witches needed constant practice.
And that practice was exactly what exposed them.
The moment a witch began using her abilities, her trail became far too obvious to the Inquisition hunters, who had spent centuries refining their methods of detection to the highest possible level.
All this practical knowledge had only become "available" recently, after the witches claimed the continent of Velnora, established a safe stronghold there, and finally gained the chance to live in relative peace.
Unlike Junior, who had lived at the edge of the world under the protection of his family, every witch existed in constant fear, wandering from place to place and fleeing endless persecution. They were like flies trapped inside a bottle, frantically searching for a way out without understanding where to go.
Under such conditions, it was simply impossible to understand the true nature of their own powers, let alone share knowledge with others.
Little by little, painfully slowly, the witches began to unite.
Scattered and lonely women found each other, forming secret associations and hidden societies that remained buried in the shadows for centuries. They survived, gathered strength, and collected fragments of knowledge, all for the sake of one day saving their lost sisters.
Only after countless generations of endless struggle did they finally manage to establish themselves on the barren continent of Velnora, where they slowly began to prosper. Cutting themselves off from the rest of the world, the witches created their own isolated culture, almost an entirely separate race that could now rival the very people who once oppressed them.
After enduring hardships like that... was it really surprising that every witch became greedy, distrustful, and dangerously cunning?
The world itself had never allowed them to be anything else.
While Grey replayed Junior's lecture in his mind, he continued watching the unfolding tragedy.
The information he had gathered allowed him to reach one conclusion: the witch had not ended up in Thorn's Cloaca by accident. From the looks of it, she had only awakened recently and tried to flee the hostile country.
She had almost succeeded... almost...
At the same time, swept up by the crowd's excitement, Sheryl raised her little fist in approval. Her lips had already parted to join the screaming mob when Lily grabbed her wrist and whispered something into her ear.
The rabbit girl froze for a moment, confused.
She did not understand why Grey and Lily looked so grim. Wasn't evil supposed to be punished? Wasn't it wonderful that the witch was about to be burned alive? She would never be able to hurt others again.
Then why did her friends look so depressed?
Of course, she did not know.
She could not know.
Unlike Grey and Lily, who had been familiar with the cruel truth of the world since childhood, Sheryl remained a blank sheet of paper. What could she possibly know after spending her entire life inside a slave camp?
She had grown up listening to terrifying stories about witches told by her mother, who had once heard them from her own. To little Sheryl, this felt like a real celebration, a bright festival where evil would be punished and good would triumph.
"Sheryl, you shouldn't believe everything you hear on the streets," Grey whispered as he took her hands. He leaned close to her ear, making sure nobody else could hear him. "You believe witches are evil, but have you ever seen any proof? Look closely at the woman on the platform. Do you really think she's a 'servant of the devil'? If..."
But the words that followed never left his mouth.
Suddenly, the stone tiles beneath their feet trembled slightly, and a vibration swept through the air.
Grey tensed up. His sharp hearing caught a piercing scream buried beneath the roar of the crowd.
"MOM! Please, no! Don't touch my mom!"
He spun around sharply.
His eyes landed on a skinny little girl with tangled chestnut hair and large tear-filled eyes of the same color.
She stood at the edge of the crowd, barely able to stay on her feet. Her fragile body was drowning in the sea of people, yet her gaze never left the woman on the platform for even a second. That single look held so many emotions that his eyes began to sting.
He simply could not ignore her.
She looked no older than ten or twelve, about the same age as him. Thin as if she had not eaten properly in a long time. Dressed in a worn and torn little dress. Small, ordinary... too ordinary. The kind of child people could easily walk past without noticing.
But now, ignoring her was impossible.
Without meaning to, Grey became a witness to the moment a fragile little heart slowly died.
Her endless eyes overflowed with too many emotions: fear, despair, helplessness, pain, regret. They flooded out of her so intensely that Grey felt as though he could physically touch them.
His soul tightened at the thought of what she was about to witness.
That little girl had to watch her own mother burn alive in the flames of the Inquisition.
Could there be a crueler form of torture?
He stopped thinking altogether. He simply did not dare to anymore.
Shoving through the crowd, he rushed toward the girl.
Before she could scream another word, Grey slipped behind her and pressed his palm over her mouth.
"Quiet. If you keep screaming, you'll burn together with her. You don't want your mother to die full of regrets, do you?" he whispered into her ear.
Only after embracing the girl did Grey realize what he was dealing with.
Her fragile body was so hot that he could feel the burning even through her clothes. Right now, a stream of shapeless mana was pouring into her body, tearing her apart from within. She was awakening, and the pain was just as agonizing as the "devil's bite."
But the girl barely noticed it.
Her entire mind and heart were fixed on the woman standing on the platform.
They tied her to the stake, drenched her in flammable oil, and piled dry branches around her feet.
Then they lit them.
Grey thought the girl would start struggling, turn away, or at least close her eyes.
Instead, she stubbornly kept staring.
He immediately covered her vision with his other hand and instantly felt moisture against his palm.
Silently, he looked toward the platform.
The executioner lowered the torch to the dry bundle of branches, and a soft crackling sound spread through the square as the thin twigs burst into flames. The air filled with the sharp smell of burning wood. A thin stream of smoke instantly turned into a thick dark pillar that stung the eyes.
The flames swallowed her clothes in an instant, scorching the thin fabric and exposing charred black edges.
A pillar of fire rose nearly three meters high, completely engulfing the woman's figure. Her body twisted violently, her hands helplessly searching for support while her legs trembled beneath her.
At first, she tried to endure it with clenched teeth.
But soon, the pain became unbearable.
A desperate scream tore from her throat, sharp and piercing enough to rip through the air itself.
"AAAAAAAAAAAH!"
The girl trembled in Grey's arms like a leaf in the wind.
It looked as though she was about to lose consciousness.
The pillar of fire reflected in Grey's pupils. The woman's shrieks rang in his ears. In his arms trembled an innocent little girl forced to watch her own mother burn alive.
Grey desperately wanted to feel something.
He wanted to feel compassion. Wanted his heart to twist with pity.
But all he felt was a faint sting of sadness.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
Perhaps even a little satisfaction at finding another potential ally.
It was as if all the emotions he should have felt had been forcibly cut away. Compassion, pity, grief... they now seemed like weak echoes from a past life. Barely noticeable reflexes that had almost stopped functioning.
Disgust at his own thoughts made him shudder.
Could he save the woman?
Of course not.
For heresy like that, his neck would end up in a noose before he even had time to blink. No token would save him.
The only thing he could do was take care of her daughter. Give her a normal life and protect her from persecution.
He would do it.
Not for the girl. Not for her mother.
But for the sake of his own humanity.
Just before the smoke completely swallowed the woman's face, Grey could have sworn he saw her turn her head toward him and give the faintest nod of gratitude.
A chill crawled down his spine.
"I hope I just imagined that..." he thought as he held the girl even tighter.
The crowd shouted for a little while longer before slowly beginning to disperse. Some people hurried to set up small stalls, hoping to profit from the gathering. Others were already lining up for the promised porridge.
Life returned to normal as if the execution had never happened.
Nothing unusual.
Laughter echoed everywhere, mixed with lively conversations and the cries of merchants calling out to customers.
"Bread and circuses..." flashed through Grey's mind.
He had no intention of staying here any longer. The place filled him with disgust.
Taking the limp girl by the hand, he led her back toward Sheryl and Lily. She no longer cried or spoke. She simply walked beside him like a shadow, staring at him with dull, lifeless eyes.
He did not ask for her name. Did not ask what she wanted.
He simply gave her time to be alone with herself.
Then quietly said,
"Let's go."
Sheryl silently stared at the ashes left behind by the fire. Her lips trembled slightly. Grey did not know what exactly Lily had whispered to her. Probably something that changed the way she saw things.
At last, they turned around and walked away.
They had come here cheerful and carefree.
Now they were returning silent and crushed, as if the entire city had become soaked in the stench of rot and sewage while they stood in that square.
Lily was the first to break the heavy silence.
"Alex... Who is this?" she asked uncertainly.
Grey raised a brow in surprise. Lily almost never called him by his fake name.
"Did she really regain even a shred of common sense? Or is she just being cautious because there's a stranger here?" he thought, but did not dare say it out loud.
He turned into a narrow alley, looked around, and made sure no one was nearby before finally introducing the girl to the others.
"I think she's the daughter of THAT woman..."
"Huh?" Lily could not keep her composure.
Sheryl quickly covered her mouth with her hand, as if only now realizing what she had done. She had truly been ready to celebrate her mother's death. Her long ears drooped, almost hiding her face completely.
Lily's lips parted, as if she was about to make another stupid joke, but Grey cut her off first. He looked at her without any expression.
"Don't even think about it, Lily. Not a single joke. Just stay quiet."
She snorted and shook her head.
"Who do you take me for? I can sense emotions better than anyone. Even if I don't show it," she said, throwing him a contemptuous glance.
Grey ignored her. It was easier that way.
"What's your name? Are you really her daughter? Don't worry, we don't hold any grudge against you or witches. We'll try to protect you," he said to the girl, hoping to get at least something out of her.
But the girl did not react at all, as if she hadn't heard him.
Grey let out a quiet sigh and decided to give her time.
He turned to Sheryl and Lily.
"Can you take her to Venus' Embrace? I have some things to finish before heading back. She won't cause any trouble. Only... I hope Madame won't throw her out. The girl is very talented. She'll be useful to us."
"Alright. Sheryl will take care of her," the rabbit girl immediately responded, seizing the chance to make up for her earlier mistake.
Lily, however, looked far more skeptical.
"You're planning something again, aren't you? Care to let us in on your 'great plans' since you're asking for help?"
"I'll explain when the time comes. Just help me, Lily. You know I wouldn't ask for something pointless," Grey said, spreading his hands slightly in helplessness. He had to admit the succubus was annoyingly perceptive, as if she could read him like an open book.
Lily narrowed her eyes, as though trying to peer into his thoughts, then sighed.
"Fine. But I want explanations. And the sooner, the better."
Grey thanked them both and turned away.
He really needed to hurry. Too many things were left to do today—before Junior took over his body again.