The Speedrun Manual of Miss Witch - Chapter 54

Avena listened to Ciel’s account, her gaze fixed on the items laid out before her.

The Radiance Bishop’s letter, Sherlon’s research notes, the church’s bishop insignia…

One by one, Avena verified their authenticity.

She watched as Ciel methodically packed everything back into her satchel, then took a deep breath. “Your intelligence network… is absurd…”

She had indeed been waiting here for Sherlon—he had claimed to have made progress in investigating dehydration syndrome.

Knock, knock, knock—

A knock came at the door of the reception room.

Ciel’s pupils contracted.

Sherlon? Already?

She had rushed here in reality, swiftly presenting evidence, even redeeming the research notes, all to ensure Avena fully believed her.

If they couldn’t ambush Sherlon the moment he entered, they’d be forced into a full-blown confrontation—and Ciel would be exposed to unknown pathogens.

Because Sherlon would definitely become suspicious upon seeing her here.

Avena and Ciel exchanged glances. Both knew exactly who had arrived.

Sherlon.

Ciel pressed her lips together briefly, then quickly reached up and mussed her own hair, loosening her collar slightly.

Then, without hesitation, she reached over and tousled Avena’s hair as well. She pulled off her gloves, yanked open Avena’s collar, and finally, lowered her head and bit into Avena’s neck.

“Mmnh…”

Though Avena had remained expressionless throughout Ciel’s abrupt actions, the sudden bite caught her off guard, making her let out a soft whimper.

She immediately realized how ridiculous that sound had been. Sherlon had definitely heard it from outside the door.

Avena’s face turned crimson in an instant. This was the most humiliating thing she had ever experienced. Worse still, she found that she couldn’t muster even the slightest resentment toward Ciel.

Did that mean… she liked being treated this way?

Avena felt as though her brain wasn’t processing things at its usual speed.

“Keep him here. Come find me later—second-floor study.” Ciel leaned in and whispered softly into Avena’s flushed ear.

With that, she slung her satchel over her shoulder, adjusting her clothes in a deliberately hurried manner, and briskly made her way to the door.

Ciel pulled the door open.

Sherlon, who had been slightly leaning forward, eavesdropping with curiosity, immediately straightened his posture. Pretending not to notice anything, he cast a fleeting glance at Ciel—only to see her fumbling with her clothes in a flustered manner. As she passed him, she hunched slightly and murmured a barely audible “Excuse me” before hurrying toward the second-floor study.

Wait… wasn’t that Avena’s assistant?

He had just seen her at the police station today.

Why was she at Avena’s house?

A sliver of suspicion flickered in Sherlon’s mind. Beneath his mask, his face tensed.

Stepping into the reception room, the first thing he saw was Avena, her face still flushed, fumbling to fasten her collar.

The bright red bite mark on her pale neck was very noticeable.

Uh…

That’s not a spot she could bite herself, right?

In that moment, Sherlon seemed to understand something.

The noble lady, always indifferent to everything, perpetually cold-faced toward everyone—turns out, she had a “companion.”

No wonder she had never joined any church or followed the path her family had planned for her.

But it didn’t matter. After tonight, Avena would cease to exist in this world.

Feigning politeness, he turned slightly, facing away from Avena as he chuckled, “Apologies, Miss Roswell. It seems I arrived at an inconvenient time.”

Avena had just barely managed to calm her heartbeat when she heard Sherlon’s remark. Her lips pressed tightly together.

Ciel had been right. This man deserved to die.

“Apologies, Mr. Sherlon. Please wait here for a moment while I go upstairs to freshen up.” Avena passed by Sherlon and stepped out of the reception room.

“Of course, take your time.” Sherlon turned slightly aside to give her space, his hand resting on the doorknob. “I’m in no rush—oh, and please convey my apologies to Miss Ciel.”

With gentlemanly grace, Sherlon watched as Avena ascended the stairs before slowly shutting the door behind her.

Perfect. Now that she was gone, planting the pathogens would be much easier.

Once everything was in place, Sherlon sat down and took a deep breath.

Thinking back to the moment he had instinctively tensed upon seeing that red-haired girl, he removed his silver raven mask and let out a chuckle.

Had he really become this paranoid?

Wary of a mere red-haired girl who wasn’t even a transcendent…?

Besides, that girl had traces of dehydration syndrome.

Once he fully assimilated his potion, he wouldn’t have to live with such constant fear. He could leave this country, join that secret cult, devote himself to studying viruses, and seek the next-tier potion formula and ritual.

He could already envision it—liberation from this identity, a life free of constraints.

No more endless patient consultations, no more anxiety over failing the “Newborn” ritual. He had found a new path to rebirth.

As for the common folk?

They should feel honored to be part of his grand ritual, to become the foundation of his eternal power.

My potion is weak? My virus is feeble? Nonsense.

The insignificant, mediocre “Plague Doctor” Sherlon would disappear, and the formidable “Source of Cholera” would descend upon Ansu.

Sherlon closed his eyes and tilted his head back slightly, already picturing the moment of his triumph.

No one would suspect that the orchestrator of the ritual had been someone as unremarkable as him.

So what if some mysterious organization had noticed traces of his work?

At the upcoming church gathering, he would simply have his unsuspecting student step into the sewers.

Boom—just like that, it would all be over.

That sealed artifact he had stumbled upon had truly been a stroke of luck.

BOOOOM!!!!

The brick wall behind him exploded inward as an enormous, nearly two-meter-tall silver-armored knight barreled through it like an unstoppable force.

Sherlon hadn’t even had time to react before he was slammed into with the force of a speeding steam locomotive. His body was hurled across the room, crashing violently through another wall, leaving a massive hole.

His internal organs ruptured, blood spewing from his mouth. He lay there, dazed, staring up at the silver knight pinning him down, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

What… was that?

From the corner of his eye, he saw a pale-faced, red-haired girl standing nearby. In her hands, she held an intricately designed, bladed flintlock pistol.

Her thumb slowly pulled back the hammer, the green vines etched into the gun’s body extending into her arm.

“I remember lying just like this before, pointing a gun, pulling the trigger,” the girl said with a soft smile. “Except back then, I was the one who died.”

“Now, it’s your turn.”

Hiss—

A crimson bullet erupted from the barrel as she squeezed the trigger, embedding itself directly into Sherlon’s forehead.

Dark red blood and brain matter mixed together, trickling down his brow and onto the floor. His wide, terrified eyes remained locked in an expression of disbelief and confusion as the last breath left his body.

A single blood-red laurel sprouted from his forehead, growing upward, slowly stretching toward the ceiling…