"Wasn't she getting better just now? What's wrong again? What kind of medicine are you using?"

"That's impossible, let me have a look... Tsk, why don't we use Divine Art to suspend her life for now, and I'll investigate further."

"This is a witch, what life can Divine Art suspend here?! Suspend or end life?!"

The distant and near voices woke up Catherine from her disorientation, but she couldn't make a sound.

She only felt like she was floating in mid-air, with her whole body plummeting towards the sky.

The turbulent mana slowly crystallized her blood and organs, these tiny crystals congealed within Catherine's flesh, draining every last shred of her vitality.

Even the witch's formidable vitality and constitution couldn't stop the life force leaking from her body.

"Hey, could it be that the blood-sucking vine absorbed your blood and got transferred into this witch's body, so that's why it's working?"

"The blood types might not even be the same, stop coming up with ridiculous ideas. How about trying oral blood intake? It might not be the blood issue but rather a mana issue; it's just uncertain if there's time."

"Didn't you say last time that using the back door for medication absorption is twice as efficient as orally? We could do an enema, and to increase efficiency further, maybe one drop of essence for ten drops of blood..."

Upon hearing this, even with her hazy consciousness, Catherine used all her strength to stop them from saying the word enema: "No, don't..."

Unsure if the healer heard her clearly, Catherine once again lost the ability to speak.

It was her first time praying to the Saint Master, hoping the healer would hear her words clearly.

However, amidst her blurry consciousness, she heard the young man reprimanding the Witch Doctor with a scolding tone, somewhat easing Catherine's mind.

After waiting for who knows how long, perhaps a second or maybe an hour, she couldn't feel the passage of time anymore, merely kept her eyes shut quietly.

Then, a drop of warm liquid flowed in through her lips.

With that single drop of iron-scented liquid, Catherine felt her body, which was nearing death, regain a few strands of vitality.

Her previously depleted organs began functioning again, crystallized blood liquefied, circulating throughout her body once more with her heart's pounding beats.

Catherine greedily lifted her chin, drawing the bleeding finger into her mouth with her plump, pale lips.

Her warm tongue greedily licked at the finger, relishing the salty taste on it.

As one drop after another of blood flowed into her mouth, the rampant mana raging inside her miraculously began to restore its order.

All the chaotic power was channeled into the few remaining blood-sucking vines sprawled on her body.

When the blood-sucking vines fell from Catherine, the previous pallor on her face finally saw traces of rosy flush.

The finger with the peculiar blood pulled away from her mouth, leaving a long trail of saliva before retreating.

Deprived of the filled sensation, Catherine felt disappointed as she noticed several Witch Doctors and sisters surrounding her, starting to clean her wounds.

Lastly, they poured a bowl of garlic-scented potion down her throat.

Catherine's consciousness fell into darkness once more.

......

"Catherine, Catherine?"

Who, who is calling me, Catherine suddenly lifted her head.

"Catherine, run quickly, Catherine—"

Her mother, in a hemp dress, was being pinned down on a table by several runaway soldiers, crying out in despair.

This was the day they broke into her family's small courtyard.

This scene, repeatedly appeared in her dreams, made Catherine numbly reach out her hand, and weeds emerged from the tiled floor, strangling the soldiers to death.

However, only when her body uncontrollably rushed to her mother's embrace did she feel the evident stiffness and coldness of her mother's body at that time.

"Sorry, mom, sorry to you, sorry..."

Her mother's soft whispers sounded in her ears, and as her embrace opened, they were in the deep forest outside the city.

Bears, wolves, and even stray dogs surrounded her, and her only food were a few pieces of black bread in her backpack.

She wandered through the forest, scratched by branches, bitten by wild dogs, until she finished her bread with only a few copper coins left, which only exchanged for a cup of water.

Until she met a group of escaping refugees, these kind refugee families accepted her, letting her follow them and sharing their begged food with her.

Looking at each of these friendly faces, Catherine genuinely didn't know how to react, having already known her ultimate fate.

"Get lost, witch, get lost! The likes of you deserve hell!"

"Catch her, catch her, she's a witch, you know. Anyone who catches a live one could at least become a knight."

The familiar vagrants raised their torches high, while Catherine ran through the bushes, pursued relentlessly by demon hunters like specters on the snowy ground.

Until she saw a cliff and leaped off, tumbling into an icy lake, shivering as she clambered out and managed to save her life.

When she looked up again, Catherine's emotions finally showed a ripple.

A middle-aged priest in a black monk's robe, with graying hair at the temples, held an oil lamp and sat by a campfire, smiling as he extended a small box toward her.

"Would you like a cookie?"

"Teacher—" All her grievances seemed to dissolve into tears as Catherine rushed forward with short steps, but she only embraced empty air.

Only a wisp of dissipating smoke.

The scenes that followed sped up: Juanuo's face, Moliat's face, Mitney's face, Carl's face, Qianqian's face, Fredian's face flashed before her one by one.

"Catherine, Catherine, stop reading, you're ruining your eyes." It was Moliat's voice.

"Catherine, oh, I remember your father, Meiford Megedi, are you his illegitimate daughter? Just took over his commerce association?" It was Fredian's voice.

"Damn it, she cheated, how does she have so many saffron flowers?" It was Mitney's voice breaking when he was still Catherine's competitor.

"Greetings to you, I am Carl, Knight Commander of the Kush Black Riders, Carl!" That was when Carl, a greenhorn, joined the Meigedi Commerce Association under Juanuo's introduction.

Countless voices gathered at her ears, so near, yet so far. The scenes of memories in the dream changed ever faster, finally freezing on one last image.

That was the night she went to visit Juanuo, when she was still far from realizing how cruel what had to be done was.

On that last night, leaving the cell behind, she finally heard clearly the last words Juanuo said behind her back.

"I have taught you all I could. I am old, the rest you must do yourself."

At the moment Catherine turned her head, orphan Catherine's grandfather Juanuo, who picked scraps, leapt into the Church's burning pyre.

In that raging fire, she did not receive the rescue from Moliat; held by the maids, Catherine could only stifle her tears, watching as that mentor-father figure was burned alive.

"No, no—Teacher, Teacher... Teacher?"

Tears streamed from her eyes as Catherine abruptly reached out, but she only grasped the floral curtain in front of her.

The wind outside the window swayed the curtain back and forth, the closed window panes banged against the window frame from the wind, the clamorous noise outside gradually becoming clearer.

In her blurred vision, the colorful stained glass's clear multicolored glow turned into blurs of yellow, green, white, and blue beams, crowding before her eyes.

Supporting herself on the soft velvet mattress, Catherine merely sat up and felt a dizzying sense of powerlessness.

Amidst the dizziness, Catherine pushed aside the curtain blocking her view.

Beside the white wood four-poster bed, a priest in a black monk's robe sat on a peach wood chair with a straw cushion, a book on his lap, intermittently picking up a piece of cookie to eat.

For a brief instant, Catherine thought she was still in Blago Monastery, having just awakened from a nap.

And the teacher sat by the window, quietly reading 'The Trials of a Nun,' a book he found at the market.

No slaughter or flames, no betrayal or scheming, only that sun-drenched afternoon where no trivial matters occupied the mind.

As if everything she experienced before was just an illusion of that afternoon.

The black figure before her resembled the monk Juanuo in her memory, while she seemed to be that little girl again.

Catherine frantically grabbed the glasses from the bedside, placing them on eyes blurred by tears, and lunged toward the silhouette in the light.

"Teacher—"

The soft embrace slammed into his chest, a pair of white arms wrapped around his neck, startling Horn to the point that cookie crumbs almost sprayed from his nose.

Holding the soft waist in his arms, Horn was at a loss for a full three seconds before he reluctantly patted Catherine's back, pushing away this overly enthusiastic witch Catherine he was meeting for the first time.

"Catherine Aunt, there's something wrong with your glasses' prescription, I'm not old Juanuo."

"You, you are—who are you?" Rubbing her eyes, Catherine let go, as if still in a dream, sitting dazedly on Horn's lap. "What did you call me?"

"Called you Aunt, you are a whole cycle older than me." Horn placed the book aside, almost cheek to cheek as he began introducing himself. "I've long heard of the great name of Meigedi Rose, and am honored to meet you today. I am Horn Gallar, the one featured in the Church's propaganda—"

"Demon Horn?" Catherine still bewildered, woodenly clasped her rose nail polished hand around Horn's fingers wrapped in bandages.

"It's Holy Grandson, Horn," Horn corrected her.

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