Rewrite That Witch
CH1319 · Rewrite
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Chapter 1319: Free Will

Back in her sanatorium room, Fei Yuhan locked the door from the inside and took out the recording device from the decorative flap.

It was roughly the size of a grain of rice and could not produce sound on its own. She needed to insert it into a special reader. After she transferred the data onto her laptop, she found the audio file recorded closest to the moment Valkries had left the arena and pressed play.

Bzzt… Bzzt…

“We meet once more, Miss Valkries.” Roland’s voice came through clearly.

Here it comes.

Fei Yuhan turned up the corner of her mouth and put on a kettle.

She intended to enjoy, thoroughly, the results of a long campaign.

Before she managed a single sip, the steaming tea had gone cold.

She had held a premonition for some time—but what she heard far exceeded everything she had imagined.

When she pressed the stop button, Fei Yuhan discovered her fingertip was trembling.

For a long-famous martial artist, that counted as losing control of her own body.

She finally understood why a hunter like Roland had cracked his wine glass at the party that evening. If this touched the secrets of gods, it would have been extraordinary if he hadn’t been shaken.

The Dream World manufactured. Civilizations locked in a war of survival. The continuous thread connecting two worlds. A guardian traversing the Realm of Mind. Was there anything more unbelievable?

Roland and Valkries had chosen to speak in a café, which had initially disappointed her. But the content of their conversation was so staggering that by the time she finished listening she understood: even if these things were declared formally, with all appropriate gravity, most people would hear them as the rambling of the disturbed.

Even so, she did not think what the two had said was false. If Roland had begun performing the moment she started watching him, that coincidence would be too extraordinary to credit.

If this world truly had been built by humans—then she was in all likelihood the first person to discover the truth beneath the surface.

“Ha…” Fei Yuhan laughed softly.

This feeling was so satisfying.

As for the Oracle’s question—fiction or reality—it did not concern her at all. No one knew better than herself that she was a living, breathing person. Her gestures, her actions, every thought that arose in her mind—all of it came from her own will. This moment was no different: she had taken the initiative; she had pried into strangers’ secrets by choice.

So what if Roland was one of the creators of the world? If planets were assembled from cosmic energy and elementary particles, replacing one with a person changed very little in principle.

Fei Yuhan let her weight settle into the back of the chair and let her body hum with this pleasure she had not felt in some time.

Only after a long while did the excitement ease, slowly, back into stillness.

In theory, she should report the intelligence to the Martialist Association—the gods’ design to destroy the world, the true nature of the Fallen Evils. But given how vast the scope was, given how thoroughly it would rewrite history, she decided to observe a little longer first.

After all, outside of the conversation between the two, she had no solid evidence in her hands. She could not rule out entirely that they were both afflicted with some acute delusional condition. She had heard of urban legends: that from the second year of junior high school onward, certain people could develop telepathy and resonate with others of their kind. The probability was very low, but it was not zero, and guarding against it cost nothing.

The fact that Valkries had now formally established a means of communication with Roland meant that the chances of intercepting their secrets would only increase.

What interested Fei Yuhan most, at this particular moment, was the world the two had originally come from.

For instance: the women who called Roland “His Majesty.”

If they could enter the Dream World, could she look at what their world looked like from the inside?

Take a look at this supposed… reality.

“Where did you disappear to?” Garcia glared at Roland with visible displeasure. “What happened to your promise to watch the competition with Zero?”

“Sorry—I had to report some things to the Association. I didn’t have a choice.” Roland rubbed the back of his head. He was in the wrong here; he admitted it without resistance. To keep the appearances of his and Valkries’ departures separate, he had deliberately lingered at the restaurant until the evening rush had fully set in—which meant Garcia and Zero had waited at the arena gate for an extra half hour.

“If I didn’t still have patrol duty, I would have left you both ages ago,” Garcia said irritably. “Take the little girl out for a proper meal to make it up to her.”

She ruffled Zero’s hair. Zero nodded and trotted to Roland’s side, then turned back and gave Garcia a small bow. “Thank you, Big Sister!”

“If he mistreats you, tell me.”

“Okay.”

This one, Roland thought, watching Zero perform perfect docility for a stranger. She has more nerve than I gave her credit for. Outwardly he said, brightly, “Leave it to me. Do you want us to bring anything back for you?”

“No need.” Garcia waved him off with large generosity. “You two go first. I’m heading back to the arena.”

“Sorry to trouble you today.” After he bade farewell to Garcia, Roland shrugged toward Zero. “Come on, there’s a shopping mall up ahead. Eat whatever you want.”

“‘Kay,” Zero said, without enthusiasm.

Strange. She would usually seize an offer like that. Roland watched her sideways as they walked. “What’s the matter? Was the competition boring?”

“No. It was much better than watching on TV.”

“Good. Once the holidays are over, I’ll take you to a few more live matches. I’m a member of the Association—tickets shouldn’t be difficult.”

They crossed at the lights and joined the pedestrian current along the main street. The snow underfoot had been packed and melted by the foot traffic into something colorless and compressed; it announced itself only in small crackles beneath each step. But fresh snow was falling from the night sky overhead, stained brilliant colors by the neon signs ceaselessly cycling. At this rate the city would wake tomorrow to a white plain.

Slowly, Zero fell a half-step behind.

Roland felt the corner of his coat catch on something.

He stopped and turned.

The little girl stood with her head down, one hand gripping the hem of his coat.

She said nothing.

“What’s wrong?” Roland hesitated. “I know I was wrong not to stay with you, but work—”

Zero shook her head. “I don’t want to go back.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to go back to my hometown, Uncle.” She raised her face. Her lip was caught between her teeth. “Can I stay at your place for the two-month holiday? I’ll find a way to pay rent—I’ve put grocery money together before, I know how, I’ll be faster this time, I promise I’ll pay on time, every time. I—”

Roland could not speak for a moment.

The memory of glancing at the writing in her diary came back to him. He felt, quite suddenly, that he was in the wrong.

It was no secret that Zero’s family was estranged. He could read it in her daily habits, in what she spent on food and clothing: her family was in all likelihood very hard on her. But Roland had never intervened, had never deliberately tried to sustain the relationship between them.

Because she was the other creator of this world.

To keep the Dream World running as it had always run, maintaining inertia was unambiguously the safest strategy. That was why he had not immediately brought Zero into the Association after she awakened.

Will disrupting the current situation increase the odds of awakening her other side? If she reverts to a Pure Witch, what changes would occur to this world?

He had been guarding against exactly this for a long time.

But he had overlooked the feelings of Zero, a fifteen-year-old girl.

“Do you really believe this world is fictional?” When Lan had asked him that, he had said no. And yet the way he had been treating Zero contradicted the answer.

“I… can’t…?” The courage the girl had managed to gather slowly drained out of her voice, leaving it smaller and smaller.

“You should know I’m not actually your legal guardian. If I let you stay in the apartment, a day or two would be fine—but after a while your family would certainly come to the door. When that happened, no matter how unwilling you were, there would be no way to continue. And I would find myself in considerable trouble.”

The light in Zero’s eyes went dim.

“But there is a way around all of that.” Roland crouched down and brushed the snow from her shoulders.

“Really?” Her head swung up.

“You would only need to join the Martialist Association. The Association is a legal hosting facility for Awakened at all times. As long as you choose to stay, no one can force you to change your mind—even if you’re underage.” Roland smiled. “It is the privilege of a martial artist. So—would you like to become one?”

“I—”

“That said, even if you join, you still have to attend school.” He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t imagine you can simply drop out because of this. And don’t worry about competitions. If you don’t want to fight, you don’t have to.”

That last part seemed to lift something from her shoulders. Zero breathed in deeply and nodded with force. “Then I’ll join.”

“All right. When we get back, I’ll fill out the application. After that, you can live wherever you like.”

“Can I live in 0825?”

Roland extended his hand. “Of course.”

The inertia had been broken.

What came next—no one could say.

But whatever it was, it would be the consequence of a choice made freely.

Under the snow, the two of them dissolved into the river of pedestrians and walked toward the city square burning bright in the night.

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