The night was deep and still, a crimson moon hanging high in the sky.
For all those weary from a long day, the night meant the end, but for Alice, the night was just beginning.
The young sorceress closed the doors and windows of her room, drew the curtains, and then took off her robe-like garment, lying down on the soft, clean bed.
Wrapping her smooth body in a thin summer blanket, she turned and pulled two small vials from under her pillow, holding them up to the light.
Inside the sealed, transparent vials were several strands of a woman's long hair and a few drops of dark red blood.
"Lady Beatrice, Triss..."
she murmured for a moment, then released one of the vials, holding only the body of the other, before quietly closing her eyes.
She was going to enter a dream, to retrieve crucial information from the memories of these two women.
Hair and blood can help her locate her target's dream, serving as a beacon. Her dream-entering magic, learned from the Nightmare, is similar to, yet different from, the extraordinary abilities possessed by the "Nightmares" of this world, but both are equally useful credentials in the dream world.
Alice's primary target is naturally Lady Beatrice.
She has repeatedly encountered one of the high-ranking members of the Witch Cult, the mysterious witch known as the "Lady of Mourning," and harbors a secret buried deep within her heart—a secret that seems to be related to a witch whose original form was female…
Any one of these points would be enough to pique Alice's interest in this Witch of Pleasure. Unfortunately, she didn't have much time to question her, and there was also the "witch" Triss, tormented by false pain, to deal with. She could only choose to suppress the matter for now, leaving the follow-up work to be resolved in the dream.
Now, she will lurk on the edge of the dream world, waiting for her marked prey to fall asleep, so she can find the answers within their dreams.
Alice wore a faint smile, her breath long and deep, as if she were waking from a beautiful dream.
Meanwhile, far away at the remote Rieslan Manor, the witches' gathering had long since ended. Those with alluring bodies and captivating beauty either chose to continue indulging in the night's pleasures or to let the fires within them cool and withdraw from their indulgence—it was all up to them.
Removing her clothes, Lady Beatrice let herself sink into the bathtub filled with hot water and rose petals, sighing wearily.
Several unexpected events had occurred tonight.
The uninvited guest who had nearly disrupted the normal order of the banquet, Claire Sybri, was undoubtedly a rather troublesome variable.
In Lady Beatrice's eyes, Claire was a powerful "Pleasure Witch" about to ascend to Sequence 5, who had come to her gathering to obtain the corresponding potion recipe and the ritual conditions required for her ascension.
This was evident from the horrific state Claire had left on the witch Triss—Claire clearly understood the meaning of "pain."
To Mrs. Beatrice's surprise, despite Triss's extreme trauma—her body covered in scratches and blood—her mental state was noticeably better than before. She no longer muttered in anguish, clutching her head, nor did she exhibit any sudden, uncontrollable emotional outbursts.
The signs of her impending loss of control had subsided considerably…
Mrs. Beatrice was both astonished and disgusted. She had seen many people who enjoyed masochism, but she had never heard of anyone recovering from such a twisted pleasure.
Naturally, Triss seemed to have developed an unusual dependence on the witch Claire…
Since regaining her senses, she had wanted to know Claire's whereabouts, even though she had already left, and she could only come to Mrs. Beatrice for help.
"Next month, if you have the chance, you might see her here again,"
Mrs. Beatrice said, effectively silencing Triss's further questions and concealing the fact that she herself knew nothing about Claire.
Logically, Claire should have been able to obtain information about her advancement from the cult member who had nurtured her into a witch, but she chose a more roundabout approach.
This was strange and unusual.
She should still report this witch's situation and ask the Lady of Mourning to confirm her identity…
The beautiful witch, who had been planning her recent activities, gradually felt drowsy under the influence of hot water and perfume. Her head, with its loose, slightly curly black hair, began to nod, as if trying to resist the invasion of sleep.
However, in the end, she still fell asleep in her weariness, silently sliding into the abyss of dreams.
…
Beatrice, who wasn't yet "Lady Beatrice," was a child from the slums of Enmat Port.
His slightly curly black hair was somewhat yellowed due to malnutrition. He was thin but agile. He began stealing when he was only about seven or eight years old, occasionally pretending to be a disabled beggar. He had become tainted by sin at a young age, using its fruits to fill his stomach.
Like many single women with children in the slums, his mother worked the lowest and dirtiest profession, barely enough to feed herself, let alone him and his sister, who was three to five years younger than him.
He'd heard that his mother had once enjoyed a period of prosperity, being fortunate enough to live in a sleek, large house for a time, where she could leisurely bask in the afternoon sun in a garden with a deck chair; but this didn't last long. He was too young then to remember this most cherished memory for his mother.
In short, from his earliest memories, he, his mother, and his sister lived in a cramped and filthy rented room in the slums, watching different men climb onto the only bed in the house, rock it for a few minutes or less, then drop a few coins and leave.
The stench emanating from his mother grew increasingly unbearable, and gradually, the men who used to appear every day stopped coming.
His mother seemed to have repeatedly urged him to persuade the guests to stay, but he refused. Instead, he smeared mud on himself and his sister, making them look like two mud monkeys, and huddled in the corner of the room furthest from the bed.
One day, he returned from a burglary with his sister, only to find that the woman who should have been called his mother had never gotten out of bed again.
He was not yet ten years old that year and did not know who his and his sister's fathers were.
He abandoned his previous name and chose a new one, also thinking of a new name for his sister. The older brother, Pierre
, and his younger sister, Beatrice, began their new life.
The scene shifts.
Pierre and Beatrice had grown considerably, appearing to be teenagers.
They were the most despised and scorned pickpockets and thugs in the area, having joined an underground gang at a young age, engaging in fights, theft, intimidation, and almost every kind of evil except murder and arson.
However, their fortunes soon changed.
An organization calling itself the Gnostic approached the siblings and opened a strange and mysterious door for them.
Extraordinary abilities beyond the level of mortals, the extraordinary, the "apprentice" and the "assassin"...
both Pierre and Beatrice have their hands stained with blood in order to complete the trials of the Gnostic Order.
This was their first murder, but certainly not their last.
The brother and sister ultimately chose the same potion, "Assassin."
In a distorted, illusory vision, amidst the agonizing pain of needles piercing their minds, they clasped each other's hands and stepped into the world of the Extraordinary.
The scene shifts again.
The sister, Beatrice, possessed a greater talent for potion-making than he did.
But it was he who learned the secret from his superiors—the power of potions wasn't about control, but about digestion; digestion itself was the feedback of the role.But it didn't matter; he shared this secret with his sister, Beatrice.
They advanced to "Instigator" almost simultaneously.
After becoming "Instigators," the opportunities for the brother and sister to participate in missions together became even fewer.
Fortunately, their last mission before advancement could be completed collaboratively.
Pierre and Beatrice infiltrated a traveling circus, arriving with the circus in a secluded mountain village.
Exploiting the villagers' ignorance, they instigated conflict, fueling discord between the circus and the villagers. They sabotaged the carriages and used explosives to destroy the only road connecting the mountain village to the outside world, creating widespread panic.
An unimaginable conflict erupted between the villagers, whose total population was no more than thirty, and a dozen or so circus members.
And this was just the beginning. A bloody nightmare and terror spread like a plague. Within ten days, no other living beings remained in the mountain village,
except for the two instigators.
As a reward for passing the trial, they returned to the bustling city and were led underground to meet with higher-ups.
But all they were presented with was a potion.
Only one person could advance to Sequence 7 and become a "witch."
"Didn't you hear the mission requirements properly?" The woman in black robes let out a strange, shrill laugh before the terrified group. "Except for the ascendants, everyone else was to die in that mountain village tragedy. Now, two of you have returned, and we're one life short of completing the objective... You should know what to do, right?"
Pierre and Beatrice were brought onto a stage resembling an underground boxing ring.
They had to end this utterly ridiculous fight before the "witch's" potion wore off.
Otherwise, their mission would fail, and the brother and sister would be considered useless expendable pawns, discarded.
Beatrice would rather die herself or die with him than consider turning her sword against her brother Pierre.
But he didn't see it that way.
He felt they were like two dogs chained under the lights, barking ridiculously and pathetically, entertaining the women in black robes watching the fight.
They sat in the audience, casting amused glances from all directions and laughing.
"The boy's name is Pierre? Sounds good, but now you can start thinking about his name after he becomes a witch."
"Hurry up and end your sister's suffering, or you'll both die! Oh dear, how pitiful! Hehehe, or maybe you're actually planning to commit suicide together?"
"If you don't act soon, that potion will 'go bad,' which is pointless... Letting your sister drink the potion is fine, it'll just be another insane monster in the future, and besides, she might not even live that long."
"Haven't you started yet? Hasn't he made up his mind? He's so slow! I've already prepared my fake crying, don't waste other people's precious time."
"..."
Kill her.
All the women were laughing and shouting, urging him to kill his sister quickly.
It was simple; just raise the dagger in your hand, forcefully tear open a gash in her neck, and life would flow away like water, just like those they had killed before.
But...
Why had they come to this?
To survive… they had to constantly discard external things, even their most cherished possessions?
No, this wasn't right—
after an unknown silence, Beatrice raised her head, surveyed her surroundings, taking in the shadows of those black-robed figures, and finally revealed a cold, resolute smile.
"Don't even think about it… I won't let you have your way."
She pointed the sharp end of her cold blade at herself, then plunged it down, tearing a gaping wound.
No one cheered or applauded this touching display of sibling love and self-sacrifice.
Boos rose, and the witches sighed in disappointment.
Only the distraught Pierre remained, walking slowly to the bottle of witch's potion, drinking it down with tears in her eyes.
From that day forward, there was no longer a Pierre; in memory of her deceased "sister," she changed her name to Beatrice.
The scene gradually faded to black.
When her vision cleared, she, now "Beatles," was kneeling before a woman with a beautiful figure. The woman's black robe seemed slightly rotten and worn at the edges, and she was speaking in a singing voice.
Beatles faithfully and devoutly memorized every word she said.
"You've done well, but you must still proceed with caution. Your brother created a glimmer of hope for you at the last moment, allowing you to survive by using his identity... No, Beatrice is dead, and you must remember who you are."
"I can help you, but only to a limited extent. Even if you can deceive most of those present, you cannot deceive that being."He abhors witches whose original gender is female, so you absolutely cannot advance to Sequence 5 'Pain,' that would attract His attention..."
"The currently confirmed safe threshold is Sequence 6 'Pleasure.' Until you receive... His protection, you can only reach the level of 'Pleasure' at most."
"I need you to do some things for me, some dirty little things that are inconvenient for me to do personally..."
"When the time is right, you will see what I promised... Until then, stifle your resentment, suppress your anger..."
"We are twisted, pathetic, insignificant reptiles, warped from the very beginning, never even qualified to climb the chessboard and become pawns... Remember this, and struggle with all your might."
—And then came the events that the current "Beatles" experienced.
She laughed, she succumbed, she wept, she suffered. She became increasingly unlike herself, yet at the same time, she became more acutely aware of who she truly was.
Sometime during this time, the observers hidden in the shadows had quietly departed, leaving only this revolving dream to continue its performance, its fragmented scenes shifting constantly.
"Hoo..."
Alice opened her eyes, returning from the quagmire of the witch's memories to reality.
As expected, Beatrice's memories did contain useful information, intelligence worth considering.
However, it wasn't enough.
Aside from learning about the other witches' inexplicable malice towards her and the nameless "He's" aversion to witches who were actually women, the other information was too ambiguous and vague, only adding to the speculation.
After spending a few minutes calming her emotions from observing someone else's dream, Alice tossed aside the small glass bottle she had been holding.
She turned over, picked up another transparent bottle she had previously released, and closed her eyes thoughtfully.
It was said that Triss's mental state wasn't very good, and there was a risk of her losing control... So her dream was likely a chaotic, illogical patchwork of fragments, and rashly entering it might even lead to unforeseen dangers. She
needed to try a different approach.
Alice thought for a moment and decided to first check the situation outside the other's dream before making a decision.
But when she followed the beacon's directions and approached the edge of the witch Triss's dream, she couldn't help but be dumbfounded.
This...this isn't right. Why is she...no, the "Triss" in his dream is a man...why is "Claire" in his dream?!
And, and, this is quite indescribable...
In his dream, "Claire" is holding a long whip with dangerous barbs, her heels treading on his blood-stained chest...From any angle, "Claire" looks like a thoroughly wicked woman.
But "Triss" seems to have a contradictory expression of both pain and fascination...
Alice was unusually stunned for a full half minute, a dangerous thought gradually surfacing in her mind:
Should she kill her now to silence her?