The chief wasted no time, lifting her torch in a bid to eliminate Nicole without delay. However, she made a spectacle of it, hoisting the torch and declaring proudly, “Expel the evil spirit, and accumulate great virtue!"

Down beneath, the witches mimicked the chief loudly, like puppets with no thoughts of their own.

The chief was pleased. This was her desired outcome with devoted followers who would help perpetuate the witch clan.

Originally, the chief had placed her hopes on Emerie to assume her responsibilities eventually. Yet, it was now evident that Emerie's faith wasn't deep enough. Luckily, Emerie wouldn't make it with her serious injuries. Emerie had effectively killed herself.

This was a relief to the chief. After all, it spared her from having to intervene.

Just as the chief was about to lower the torch onto the lotus platform, a sudden "whoosh" broke the silence.

An arrow sliced through the air. It hit the chief's shoulder, and blood began to stain her robe.

The assembled witches gasped, their expressions filled with shock as the chief staggered, her complexion ashen.

Before anyone could grasp what was happening, another arrow hit the chief's knee.

“Ah!" the chief screamed in pain, collapsing to the ground.

The frightened witches looked around frantically for the attacker.

Soon, they spotted a senior man in gray perched on a tree branch, his homemade bow trained on the chief. His voice, though aged, carried powerfully as he yelled, “Old witch, give me back my son's life!"

With that, the senior man released another arrow, which struck the chief directly in the heart. The chief's hand shook as she toppled forward, her torch setting her robe alight.

The chief weakly reached for a vial of life-prolonging pills tied at her waist. Her fingers trembled as she managed to open the vial and scoop out the pills. Just as she was about to pop them into her mouth, a flying kick sent the pills scattering across the ground!

The chief, overwhelmed with fury and desperation, wanted to curse and fight back but found herself too weak. All she could do was send a hateful glare toward the one who had disrupted her last hope, stunned to see it was Emerie, covered in blood.

Emerie, the one the chief once fully trusted and never expected to turn against her.

Emerie's neck was wrapped in a makeshift bandage fashioned from a piece of cloth Nicole had torn off in urgency. Blood continued to seep through. Her forceful kick had worsened her bleeding.

Now too weak to speak, Emerie had exhausted her strength. She collapsed to her knees, communicating with the chief through gestures she knew would be understood. “You lied to me! You lied to me! You deserve to die!"

The chief, sprawled on the ground, was shaking uncontrollably. Struck by three arrows and engulfed in flames, her chances of survival were zero. The horror of bleeding and burning simultaneously was unbearable.

Emerie clutched a porcelain vial and dragged herself toward Roscoe.