When the nightingale finished its song, the room fell silent again, with only the occasional crackle of the burning candle.
Roland God, with his serious demeanor, finally gained a general understanding of the Witch community.
Most witches awaken during the Dark Moon, the legendary day when the gates of hell open. Typically, adulthood marks the threshold for witchhood. Women who fail to awaken by eighteen are unlikely to become witches, while those who awaken before that age endure the torment of demonic possession on their annual awakening day.
This kind of pain is unimaginable for ordinary people. When Nightingale spoke of this part, her voice trembled. According to her personal experience, it felt as if something were about to burst through her body, with every blood vessel and tendon experiencing unbearable swelling and pain. In the end, blood would seep from the skin, and the eyeballs would protrude from the sockets...
If they can endure it, their bodies will gradually recover after resting for four to five days. However, those who cannot persist will die in this torment, with a deathly appearance that is unbearable to witness.
The Nightingale had witnessed the demise of her companions on multiple occasions. Their bodies, stripped of support, degenerated into swollen mass of flesh. Blood mixed with viscera gushed from their orifices, dissolving into black mist upon contact with air. When all remaining fluids had been expelled, only a layer of charred skin remained on the ground.
This is why witches are seen as incarnations of the Devil.
The sight would send ordinary people into a panic—let alone anyone who cared about the actual cause of death. With the Church's fueling of the fire, claiming that believing in the Devil was the fate awaiting them, witches gradually became the very embodiment of evil.
Regardless of outsiders 'opinions, this torment is real, and witches' generally short lives stem from this very reason. As time progresses, it becomes increasingly unbearable, leading many to choose to end their own lives.
The demonic entity's devouring phase at eighteen marks the most formidable challenge to overcome. In truth, the Witch's acquired Magic Power was never fully complete—only after reaching adulthood does it stabilize. Once stabilized, the Magic Power undergoes a dramatic enhancement, even spawning new branch abilities.
Unfortunately, the stabilization process is excruciatingly painful. The phage's Magic Power surpasses the limits of human endurance, causing many witches to perish at the age of adulthood.
After a long silence, Roland murmured, "The ancient texts state that witches can attain eternal peace only on the Sacred Mountain, free from the torment of demonic forces. Is this true?" "No one knows for sure, as the Sacred Mountain exists only in legends. But taking them to the Guild's camp would increase their chances of survival. If witches could live freely without concealment, the demonic forces would diminish significantly." Roland's mind was in turmoil. His plan required Anna and Nana's help, but the idea of subjecting them to such risks was unbearable. Finally, he said weakly, "Anna is downstairs. I'll call her over. If she agrees, take her with you. As for Nana, I'll meet her tomorrow." "Thank you for your understanding. I was right to trust you," Nightingale said, rising to greet him.
At this moment, Anna was still awake. When Roland came to call her, she was bent over the table, writing something. She looked surprised to see him. Upon hearing they were heading to Prince's room, Anna didn't ask a word and obediently followed them upstairs.
When the girl entered the room and found another person inside, she was genuinely startled. Roland took her hand and gave a brief introduction, after which the three of them sat around a round table. Nightingale repeated her earlier words: "...There are many others like you in the camp, all your companions." "That's probably the case, Miss Anna. Although I signed an employment contract with you, I must respect your opinion when it comes to matters potentially endangering your life. If you agree—" "I won't leave," Roland froze. "What did you say—" "I said I wouldn't leave," Anna cut off Roland abruptly. "I want to stay here." "Anna, I didn't lie to you," Nightingale frowned. "I can feel the surging Magic Power within you—it's nearing maturity. The Evil Demon's Moon in two months will be your coming-of-age day. Arriving at the camp a day earlier would grant you an extra day of safety." She ignored him and turned to look at Roland.
"Your Highness, do you remember asking me if you wanted to return to Teacher Karl's academy like Nana Wa and study with the other children?" Roland nodded.
"I didn't respond at the time. What you mentioned later—living like a normal person—was nothing to me," Anna's voice remained calm and composed. "All I wanted was to stay by Your Highness's side, and that was it." Roland had thought he understood Anna's thoughts, but now he realized he hadn't grasped a thing.
In the other's eyes, he sees no emotion. Neither dependence nor admiration—only an abyss of profound stillness.
He recalled the scene from their first meeting, with that same serene gaze.
The difference is that her face now radiates vitality, like a bud about to bloom. She still fears not death, but no longer anticipates it.
"The demon-feeding creature can't kill me," Anna said in a measured tone. "I'll defeat it." Nightingale closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "...Alright, I understand." "Then you'll leave alone?" Roland asked.
"No, I'll stay here too," she said, pulling up her hood and standing up. "The camp won't move until the Evil Moon ends." "Why?" Roland was taken aback. Was she going to spy on him all winter?
"I believe no fledgling that hasn't lived through adulthood can comprehend its peril. Having wrestled with death's edge multiple times and witnessed my companions 'demise, I'll at least be able to assist her when the day comes. If..." The Nightingale shrugged. "If she doesn't survive, I've handled funeral arrangements before." She approached the door, drew her dagger, and knelt before Roland again. "Then, farewell." With that, her figure dissipated into the darkness like mist, leaving no trace behind.
Is this the Nightingale's ability? Roland mused. Her silent vanishing technique was a natural-born assassin. The dagger-throwing move alone proved she had received proper training. Was the Witches Association merely gathering like-minded individuals while cultivating its own power? Or had she mastered these skills before joining the organization?
Roland had scant information about the organization, and his memory held no useful details. Yet he sensed a certainty: if he remained steadfast on the Witch farming path, he would inevitably face the organization again.
It's getting late. You should go back to bed soon," Roland said, patting the girl's head.
To his surprise, Anna pushed his hand aside and walked out of the room without a word.
The door was shut, the light trapped behind her, and shadows enveloped her. She leaned against the doorframe, her once calm eyes now like a lake, no longer serene.
She raised her head, shielding her face with her arm, and finally murmured in a barely audible voice.
"... fool ."