Chapter 5: Before the Training
Funis parted the translucent black veil and, by candlelight, saw in the full-length mirror a young girl radiant like a diamond.
The girl wore a silk-white nightdress, holding a fluffy pillow, sitting duck-style at the edge of the bed. Her expression was gloomy and melancholic, yet even so, she still looked like a dazzling, pitiable gem. The shadows between her brows couldn’t dim her innate brilliance.
Day Three.
This was the third day since Funis’s first failed suicide attempt.
It was also the third day since she had been abducted and turned into a girl.
At first, Funis couldn’t accept that her “little brother” had vanished. But after being confined for three days, she gradually adapted and finally accepted the fact that her gender had changed.
The fragile, glass-like girl in the mirror was herself.
She was Funis. Witch Funis.
Funis touched the little horn at the side of her head. These tiny horns were as clear as crystal, reflecting the silver of her hair in the candlelight—brilliant and glimmering.
And also itchy.
Naturally, Chescia hadn’t granted Funis’s request.
But afterward, she also didn’t immediately begin the so-called “training.” Instead, she locked Funis in this windowless, sealed room, using three days of isolation to let her “calm down.”
Funis had no means to escape and knew that reckless death would only lead to the loss of her memories, so she simply sat on the bed, staring dazedly into the mirror.
After watching herself in the mirror for three sleepless days, she fully understood that her current self was breathtakingly beautiful.
She also clearly realized that she was no longer a normal human.
Three days without eating, drinking, or sleeping—she felt no hunger or fatigue. Not even a healthy adult male could manage that, let alone a delicate girl who appeared only twelve years old.
The horns on her head weren’t decorations. She now belonged to another race. Demon blood flowed through her veins.
She hated this version of herself.
She had once followed the light of Archangel Raguel, upholding harmony and justice as an Enforcer. Now she had fallen into madness, bearing horns in a state of utter disgrace. The contrast in identities left Funis reeling.
And yet, she couldn’t even bring herself to kill this self.
All she could do was sit here and wait—Wait for that black-haired, red-eyed wicked witch to appear before her again, Wait to hear the witch declare what would happen to her next.
Of course, she wasn’t looking forward to this so-called “training.”
Absolutely not…
While she was caught in her thoughts, the lock clicked.
Funis turned her head and met the gaze of the girl who entered. She didn’t flinch or panic. She merely remained silent, calmly.
Veil and headpiece gathered her long hair, concealing her horns. Her figure was graceful and elegant.
Chescia wore the same style of silk nightdress as Funis, just in a different color. The contrast between her snowy shoulders and her dark clothes and hair was striking. Her slender legs were wrapped in black over-the-knee stockings, the gap between her skirt’s hem and the tight stocking tops forming an enticing absolute territory.
Though Funis still intensely hated and resented her, she had to admit—As a centuries-old beauty, Chescia was flawless in appearance: her face delicate, figure elegant, attire refined and noble. There was nothing to criticize.
And now she slowly walked to the bedside with a stack of girls’ clothing in her arms, her gaze fixed on Funis the entire time—Eyes cold, but tinged with something like affection.
So contradictory.
To Funis now, Chescia was a bundle of contradictions.
Funis had seen how Chescia treated other enemies—Cold as ice, expressionless like a killing machine, emotionless like a doll built solely for slaughter.
But Chescia treated her differently.
Emotions—human emotions—kept appearing on a face that should have been frozen still.
But Funis didn’t know what made her so special—Special enough to catch this centuries-old witch’s attention.
“Were you waiting for me?” Chescia asked.
“I can only wait for you,” Funis replied.
Chescia pressed her lips together. After a moment’s hesitation, she set the snow-white dress and stockings at the bedside and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Before the training begins, ask me one question,” said the red-eyed witch. She adjusted the loose strap on Funis’s shoulder and smoothed out her wrinkled skirt. “Is there anything you want to know?”
Funis looked at Chescia with confusion.
And caution.
“Knowing a bit more about your current situation might put you at ease,” Chescia said coolly, tilting Funis’s chin up. “I won’t allow you to keep frowning, always thinking about running away or dying.”
As if she’d given up on something deep down, Funis showed little reaction to Chescia’s words or actions.
“Then as you wish, Miss Witch.” This was her new way of addressing Chescia. Funis’s voice was faint. “I want to know how I became a witch. And about the two horns on my head… they’re beautiful, but I don’t like them.”
“Do you know what a witch truly is?” Chescia asked in return.
“Women who fall willingly into depravity to gain power. Lunatics. Perverts,” Funis answered coldly, showing no mercy even to herself.
“As I thought. The Church only ever tells you that much,” Chescia said, shaking her head. “The Enforcers of the Temperance Court fight tirelessly, risking their lives against deranged witches, but can’t even receive a single truth in return. How pitiful.”
“Then tell me—what are witches really?” Funis frowned upon hearing the Church belittled.
Chescia’s gaze toward Funis held pity. It made Funis shiver.
“To start with, no woman in her right mind would willingly become a witch,” Chescia said coldly, as if mocking Funis’s ignorance. “Because there’s not the slightest benefit to becoming one.”
Funis froze. “What do you mean? But… but you…”
“If I weren’t a witch, perhaps the Third Sequence wouldn’t have been my limit. Those whispers still torment me.” Chescia said this lightly.
A Third Sequence Transcendent—Such a staggering existence.
If the Church and the world learned the truth of the Blood Witch’s power, the delicate balance between the Kingdom of Correnzo on the archipelago, the other continental kingdoms, and the Kabbalah Papal States would surely collapse.
A third weight would be added to the scale—One belonging solely to Chescia, the Blood Witch.
She alone could stand against any nation.
Funis had always thought Chescia’s strength came from being a witch—That she had sacrificed her mind, descended into corruption, and earned the right to ascend.
But now Chescia was telling her—That being a witch had hindered her ascent?
“Witches were created. Born of greed,” Chescia said softly, revealing the truth.
“To gain prophecy, humans in the past offered a girl to those unseen, chaotic whisperers. They made her dream. They made her mutter. They drove her to madness. And through her voice, they glimpsed the future—”
She continued.
“That girl…was the very first witch.”