Under the flickering candlelight, the dishes on the long table steamed with warmth.
Iserine’s gaze swept over the food.
In just a split second, she sensed something was wrong—her pupils shrank, and her expression grew dangerously cold.
Juliessa, who had looked embarrassed by Iserine’s brusqueness, squinted her eyes as well when she noticed the oddity in the meal.
Iserine’s right hand unconsciously moved toward the hem of her robe.
Hidden there was a magic wand—if she drew it now, the Village Chief before her would turn to dust.
But in the next moment, her right hand was gently held by Selis.
Startled, Iserine looked up to find Selis as calm and composed as ever.
With a mysterious smile to Iserine and Juliessa, Selis spoke in her usual gentle tone, “Since Village Chief Marco is being so hospitable, let’s not stand on ceremony. Iserine, eat a bit more. The rest… we’ll discuss tomorrow.”
At once, Iserine and Juliessa understood the deeper meaning behind her words.
They exchanged a glance, relaxing their tensed muscles ever so slightly, though vigilance remained deep in their eyes.
Without a word, they picked up their utensils and began to eat slowly, as if carrying out a mission. Across from them, Marco took in every detail, unable to contain the wild joy in his eyes.
As time passed, a strong drowsiness swept over the diners.
Juliessa was the first to succumb, swaying her head and supporting her forehead with a heavy, weary voice: “So… so sleepy…”
Marco immediately followed up, his tone filled with concern. “If you’re tired, rest for a while. Tomorrow, we can talk more about the Pure Heart.”
No sooner had he finished speaking than all three seemed unable to resist the drug’s effects, collapsing one after another onto the table and slipping into sleep.
As he looked at the unconscious trio, the warm smile vanished from Marco’s face, replaced by icy calculation.
He pulled out a string of talisman papers covered in magic runes and gave a deep command to the inner room, “Mrs. Marco, take them to the prison wagon and deliver them there. I need… to make proper preparations.”
A silent figure nodded in the shadows.
……
No telling how much time had passed before the violent jolting woke Iserine from her stupor.
A searing ache throbbed at the back of her neck. She snapped her eyes open, only to find herself not in a cozy wooden cottage, but staring at thick wooden bars.
In a single instant, she knew she was inside a swaying prison wagon!
A bitter wind slashed across her cheeks like a knife. Quickly scanning her surroundings, she found Selis and Juliessa.
They, too, were still unconscious. All three had heavy, icy metal shackles on their wrists.
“Lady Selis! Juliessa! Wake up!”
Iserine kept her voice low, calling anxiously as she nudged them with her shoulder.
Juliessa woke up first, gazing in confusion at the jolting snowy scenery and her restraints. Her voice was hoarse, “This… where are we?”
Selis awoke as well, and she and Iserine exchanged a silent look.
Without a word, Iserine rushed to the front of the prison wagon, gripping the bars tightly and fixing an icy gaze on the figure driving the cart.
“Marco! What did you do to us?!”
Marco didn’t look back, only let out a scornful snort. “What did I do? Hmph, just sending those who were destined to die to where they belong.”
His wife sat beside him, expressionless as she drove the wagon.
“Execution Ground?” Iserine’s brows drew together.
“No.”
Marco finally turned half his face, a twisted satisfaction on his lips.
“How could it be the Execution Ground? Fire Execution… that’s not what you deserve.”
“What do you mean?”
Marco didn’t answer.
Soon, the prison wagon came to a stop before an ancient, dilapidated building.
It was a Temple nearly choked by withered vines. The stone walls were mottled, weathered in many places, scarred by the passage of ages.
Marco was the first to enter the Temple, and his wife roughly dragged the three from the wagon, shoving them inside.
The moment they entered the grand hall, Juliessa’s mouth fell open.
In the center of the empty hall, a massive, crystal-like object hovered in the air, radiating a mesmerizing, pure energy.
Below it, a pool of clear spring water flowed through channels toward the village.
Iserine’s breath caught; she couldn’t help but exclaim, “Pure Heart?!”
“That’s right!”
Marco spread his arms wide, his voice echoing with fanatical devotion in the vast Temple.
“That is the very Pure Heart you’ve all dreamed of obtaining! But unfortunately, you’re only sacrifices now.”
His gaze swept across the three, growing cold and cruel.
Directly before the Pure Heart stood a Sacrificial Altar built of black stone, carved with intricate, sinister magic runes that shimmered with a faint, soul-devouring light.
“Sacrifices? What do you mean?!”
Juliessa struggled, her shackles rattling as unease surged in her heart.
Marco leisurely walked to the altar, gently stroking its surface while gazing at them with almost pitying eyes.
“Such a pity, Iserine. After all these years, you still don’t know the truth. And you, Juliessa, you were used by the previous Village Chief for so many years, and you still have no idea.”
He smiled, savoring his sense of control. “Since you won’t live much longer, I’ll be merciful and tell you the secret that only a Village Chief can know.”
He walked beneath the Pure Heart, staring greedily at the surging Holy Water.
“This heart is a relic of the age of gods. Its true name is long lost. ‘Pure Heart’—that was a name the First Village Chief gave it to conceal the truth.”
He paused, a strange smile curling his lips as he enunciated each word:
“In fact, it’s anything but pure.”
Marco opened his arms, facing the hovering Pure Heart. His face shone with near-mad devotion as his voice rang out excitedly through the Temple.
“As everyone knows, any water that flows through it is Holy Water! Drinking this Holy Water not only strengthens the body, but can extend your life by thirty years! That is a true miracle!”
“But as time passed, the divine power within faded. So, to preserve its effects, the wise First Village Chief invented the Sacrificial Ritual.”
He stressed the word “wise,” as if touting some great achievement.
“By sacrificing maidens under thirty to the Pure Heart, the lost divine power can be replenished.”
Suddenly he turned, eyes like a snake’s, fixed on Iserine and Juliessa.
“That’s why, for the villagers to live thirty years longer, every Village Chief is required to sacrifice his own daughter or granddaughter to the Pure Heart!”
Juliessa raised her head, face pale, but still managed a disdainful snort through her nose.
“Hmph, as if anyone would do something so cruel!”
She couldn’t believe any father or grandfather would be so heartless.
“You’re right, Juliessa!”
Marco clapped, a mocking sneer on his face.
“Other than a few idiot predecessors, later Village Chiefs secretly grabbed other people’s daughters as sacrifices, until Iserine’s equally foolish grandfather became Village Chief.”
“He refused to sacrifice another’s daughter and couldn’t bear to give up his own granddaughter, so he spread rumors that his granddaughter was a Witch and drove her out of the village. That way, the greedy Elders couldn’t catch you, nor could they force him to sacrifice you.”
He turned to Juliessa, eyes glinting with ridicule.
“And you, Juliessa, do you know why you were able to save Iserine so easily before her execution? It was nothing but a flaw he left on purpose!”
“You were lucky, really. If you had stayed here, you’d have been the next sacrifice.”
Juliessa stumbled back against the cold stone wall, muttering in disbelief, “How could this be…”
She had always thought herself the savior, never knowing she was just a pawn on the board—nearly a sacrifice herself.
Seeing her like this, Marco nodded in satisfaction, but when he looked at Iserine, her calm reaction made him raise his brow.
“Iserine, aren’t you surprised? Your grandfather did everything to help you survive, even if it meant branding you a Witch.”
Iserine looked up, her face utterly devoid of the gratitude or breakdown Marco expected. Instead, she was cold and calm, even mocking.
“Surprised? Why should I be?”
“Even if I’m not truly a Witch, all these years the name has caused me real pain. The previous Village Chief—I don’t hate him, but I don’t like him either.”
Marco froze, then shook his head with a bitter laugh. “I’m surprised. I didn’t expect you’d think that way.”
He waved a hand, as if bored of the conversation.
“Well, that’s enough. I’ve said what I had to say. Now, just behave and be sacrifices—offer your vibrant life to the Pure Heart.”
With a wave, Juliessa was forced onto the altar by Mrs. Marco.
Touching the runes on the altar, Marco chuckled, “Don’t worry. When we survive, it means you live on too. Your lives will be extended in us, and in the village’s prosperity!”
As the runes on the altar lit up, he turned to the Pure Heart, muttering with feverish excitement,
“Three sacrifices at once… The life force should overflow… perfect…”
“Is that so?”
A cold voice suddenly cut off his self-murmuring.
Iserine slowly raised her head, her shackled wrists twisting subtly as a menacing smirk played on her lips, “Marco, what if this day next year is the anniversary of your death?”
Marco’s eyes snapped wide, brows knitting. “What?”
He hadn’t even reacted when he turned to see Juliessa—who should have been pinned to the altar—standing up. Iserine, too, had broken her metal shackles and was walking toward him step by step.
“What? What’s going on? How… how can you move?!”
He remembered clearly—those shackles were made of metal, rumored to suppress magical power, perfect for restraining a Witch.
So how had Iserine broken free?!
Flexing her wrists, Iserine tossed the shattered shackles aside and spoke coldly,
“Did you really think a bit of cheap poison in the food would be enough to bring us down?”
“Such backward methods, unused for centuries, are only precious to you frogs at the bottom of a well, hiding in corners and thinking yourselves clever.”
“And as for these shackles… They can only hold back beginners under level 10. Hah, there’s no point explaining. After all, you don’t even understand what magical power is.”
Her words lashed at Marco’s pride, but what stung most was the look of condescending scorn in her eyes.
“Me—not understand? Hmph, anyone can brag! A Witch is all lies! If the shackles don’t work, the Pure Heart will!”
Backing up two steps, Marco stood before the Saint Pool.
He raised his hands. In the great hall, the magic surged at his command; the Saint Pool churned, and jets of water shot out, flying toward Iserine and Juliessa.
“Look! This is a miracle! This is a power you can never imagine—”
Before he could finish, Iserine waved her hand. The water jets vanished instantly, and the hall’s wild magic fell silent.
Marco was dumbstruck. All his life, the Pure Heart’s power had seemed unfathomable—enough to shatter anything. But in this moment, his worldview crumbled.
“These water jets… at best, they’re first-tier magic at level 30. But for me, they’re far too weak.”
Iserine’s voice echoed through the hall. Marco shuddered inside.
He desperately tried not to believe her words, but the truth was right before him: the power he’d always been so proud of was nothing to her.
Were they truly just frogs in a well?
Was the Pure Heart’s power so insignificant?
…No, impossible!
If the Pure Heart was so weak, why had they returned to take it?!
Lies. All lies!
They must be trying to seize the Pure Heart while he’s in despair!
Yes, that had to be it!
Having convinced himself, Marco summoned the water jets again, trying to shatter Iserine’s reality.
But in the next instant, Iserine appeared before him in a flash.
Smack—!
A crisp slap echoed through the great hall.
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