Mirabel stood frozen in place, staring blankly at the scene before her.

Her lips were dry. Her mind had gone completely white. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest. She couldn’t take her eyes off the skull.

That person… Is that really him? Is that skull… my father?

Treason? Harboring a witch?

It couldn’t be.

There had to be a mistake.

Mirabel remembered that day as if it were yesterday. Just months ago, in this very place, he had coldly abandoned her. It was hard to believe that the same man who had sold her into slavery had ended up dead as a criminal.

She had always believed he had survived, selling her to save himself.

Her head spun, the confusion overwhelming.

Beside her, Karamie stroked her chin and voiced her thoughts in a serious tone.

"Hmm, if I were to sum it up, it seems his tail got stepped on. The knights must have found out about Mirabel’s existence."

Witches were passed down through the maternal line. Once the knights and clergy learned of the daughter between the couple, they pursued them to this very city.

"He sold you to the slave trader to save his own skin, to make a little profit on the side," Karamie continued.

Even though he had rid himself of the witch, his association with her was already known. So the knights came after him.

"The knights likely offered him a deal—turn you in, and they would spare his life. But he couldn’t, could he? You were already sold and far beyond the city by then."

Karamie’s voice flowed like water into Mirabel’s ears.

"But the knights probably thought he was deliberately hiding you. After all, who would believe a man would sell his own daughter into slavery?"

Could that be true?

"In the end, he couldn’t prove his innocence and was executed. He fell into his own trap. What a tragic irony."

Yes, that must be it. Karamie’s assessment was spot on. The man who had abandoned her was the one who met his demise.

“Haha…”

Mirabel smiled, but it was a strained, unnatural smile. It wasn’t a smile of satisfaction, more like a twitch, a spasm.

The man who had sold her had been executed and turned into a public spectacle. It should have been a satisfying story, one that set her free.

So why didn’t she feel relieved?

Is it because my target for revenge is gone?

Had she experienced the same hollow feeling Colton had warned her about?

No, it wasn’t quite that.

Her chest felt tight, constricted.

Why do I feel like this?

It felt like she was missing something important.

What was his face like the last time I saw him?

His pale complexion, as if he were being chased by ghosts. His rough hands as he handed her over to the slave trader. And his eyes…

“……”

She couldn’t quite remember.

"I went through all that suffering for revenge, and yet he died so peacefully on his own. He really did have his way until the end. But that’s fine. We’ve learned a new magic, haven’t we?"

Soul magic.

With it, she could still exact her revenge, completing what was left undone. Surely, if she could take revenge with her own hands, this heavy knot in her chest would unravel.

"Let’s start with the girl beside him. She was wrongfully killed, so it would be good to release her grudge, wouldn’t it?"

Mirabel nodded slowly, her head heavy as a stone, and moved the Celestial Oath toward the skull. She channeled her magic and cast the spell.

But nothing happened.

"Perhaps too much time has passed, and her soul has worn away. Or maybe she left this world because she had no lingering regrets."

Under normal circumstances, Mirabel would have been curious about how her master knew such details, but right now, her mind wasn’t drifting in that direction.

The man was next.

A creeping fear echoed in her heart—what if his soul didn’t appear either, just like the girl’s?

"Mirabel, let’s hear it directly from him. Why did he abandon you?"

Mirabel’s staff trembled as it shifted, and she cast the spell again.

Sssshhh…

This time, something happened.

A pale white light filled the square, and the skull shimmered. Wisps of white mist coiled like smoke, flowing down to the ground.

The fog gathered and condensed, becoming clearer and clearer until…

“Aah…”

Mirabel let out a soft gasp as the form of a man materialized.

It was an older man, with a gentle face, who slowly turned his head, looking around. Mirabel called out in a low voice.

“...Father?”

The man’s name was Harold.

At the sound of her voice, Harold’s gaze snapped to Mirabel, his eyes wide with shock.

“M-Mirabel? Is that really you? It can’t be… I sold you to the slave trader…”

Harold frantically looked around, realizing where he was. Even as a ghostly, translucent figure, he turned even paler.

“You… you…”

Harold stumbled forward, his footsteps so heavy it seemed as though they echoed through the square.

“You shouldn’t be here! You need to leave! Get out of here, now!”

He tried to push Mirabel away, but his hands passed right through her body, unable to touch her.

After several futile attempts, Harold looked down at his transparent hands.

“What… what is this…?”

Karamie stepped in.

“You’re dead, Harold. This form is nothing but a shadow created by your soul.”

“W-who are you? How do you know my name?”

“I’m Karamie, a slave trader. I’m Mirabel’s master now.”

“Slave trader? Mirabel’s… master? And I’m… dead?”

Harold was overwhelmed by the sudden flood of information, but only for a moment. His confusion faded quickly. He had more pressing concerns.

“That doesn’t matter. You’re not like the slave traders I remember, but as long as you’re not from the clergy… Karamie, was it? Please, take Mirabel and leave this city.”

“May I ask why?”

Harold hesitated.

“Is it because Mirabel is a witch?”

“H-how do you know?!”

Karamie simply shrugged in response.

Harold, realizing the gravity of the situation, knelt in front of Karamie, bowing low.

“Please, I beg of you. Don’t tell anyone she’s a witch! I’ll do anything…”

But what could a dead man do? There was nothing he could offer, no bargain to make. All he could do was plead, hoping his daughter would be spared.

The square fell silent, a heavy pressure filling the air, as though the weight of death itself had descended. The atmosphere was suffocating, and for a moment, it seemed as though the Reaper himself might appear.

Then Karamie’s casual, mocking laugh broke the tension.

“Haha, no need to worry about that. I take great care of my slaves. Especially someone as valuable as Mirabel.”

“...”

“But what’s strange is, Harold, you sold her to a slave trader. Yet, here you are, acting like a concerned father. Isn’t that odd, Mirabel?”

Mirabel flinched.

She felt it too—a strange discomfort that gnawed at her.

Her emotions were swirling, a storm of confusion and anger, and all she could do was grip her staff tightly. It was the only thing that brought her any comfort, though right now, it wasn’t helping much.

“I had no choice… there was no other way!”

Harold’s voice was hoarse as he shouted, his body pressed against the ground as he confessed the tragedy of that day.

“I had to send her far away, beyond the reach of the rumors. But the knights came for us… someone had to stall them…”

“So, you stayed behind to buy time?”

“…Yes. Even if it meant my death, I had to protect Mirabel. But I couldn’t just send her off alone. The wilderness beyond the city is filled with monsters—she wouldn’t have survived. I had to find someone to protect her, someone who would look after her. But no matter how hard I searched, I couldn’t find anyone suitable.”

“So, you chose a slave trader?”

Harold nodded heavily.

“Mirabel is cute and beautiful. A slave trader wouldn’t mistreat someone with that much value. At the very least, I knew her life would be spared.”

His judgment had been correct.

Mirabel, with her witch’s blood, radiated a beauty and mystery that couldn’t be concealed by status. It was a rare, captivating charm that had ensured her survival.

From Praxu, she had traveled by carriage for weeks to reach the capital of the Traul Kingdom, Calia.

She had been put up for auction at the kingdom’s largest slave market, and by then, she looked no different from a noble child.

Harold’s goal had been achieved.

By that time, however, the girl’s heart had been shattered beyond repair.

Karamie chuckled, her voice dripping with irony.

“Selling your daughter to a slave trader to protect her. It’s almost laughable. Even to me, a fellow slave trader, that’s absurd.”

Harold lifted his head, his eyes filled with desperation.

“You wouldn’t understand the heart of a parent! Do you know what it’s like to hand over your child to a slave trader, knowing it’s a death sentence? To just hope and pray that somehow, they survive?”

Harold’s grief poured out, but Karamie remained indifferent.

“What a touching story. It almost ruins the fun of revenge, doesn’t it, Mirabel?”

But Mirabel didn’t answer.

She couldn’t answer.

She stood like a statue, frozen in place.

This can’t be real. There must be some mistake. He sacrificed himself for me?

She had to know.

She wouldn’t believe it unless she saw it with her own eyes.

Mirabel cast another spell, one that would reveal the memories of the soul.

Harold’s memories began to play like a projection.

The scene unfolded before her.

Harold coldly handing her over to the slave trader as she cried and reached out for him. Her small hands grasped at the air, unable to reach.

And then, what happened afterward.

Harold being captured by the knights. Thrown into a dark dungeon. His fingernails torn off. His fingers broken. His skin seared with hot irons. Thrown into a pit full of snakes.

After enduring every imaginable torture, he was hanged, still conscious, before—

Thunk.

Karamie placed a hand over Mirabel’s eyes.

“That’s enough. It’s not good for your health.”

For the first time since they had met, Karamie’s voice was somber. Mirabel’s arm fell limp, her staff clattering to the ground, and the vision vanished.

Karamie’s hand was wet with warm tears.

Mirabel had seen it.

Her father, smiling as he watched her being taken away, the same smile she had seen every day.

Her father, tortured but never speaking a word.

And she finally understood.

The story that had been hidden from her all along.