Rewrite That Witch
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Chapter 1356: Creator’s Promise

“Hey. Roland.”

“Roland, stop spacing out!”

“Uncle, come and help — she needs you!”

Two voices, in turns, pulled him back.

He blinked. The pillar of light, the snowflakes — gone without a seam, and the wrecked bridge was around him again. Zero and Valkries were in the rubble nearby, working at something with their hands. From their faces the crisis was not over.

Right. It returned to him in a rush. The call from Fei Yuhan, the crack, the Oracle — he killed the Oracle and the light took him, and then — the genius Martial Artist. The one at the Martialist Association who had struck him as different. Where was—

Could it be that the her they were calling out about was—

His expression went still.

He stopped running the vision through his mind and moved toward them. What he found made him go silent.

In a shallow depression in the bridge surface lay a young woman in pieces. Her limbs — every one but the left arm — had been driven past the point of broken into something that no longer had a shape a limb should have. Her body was covered in wounds. The clothing had soaked through long ago, stiffening at the edges. Half her spine had been twisted outward and punctured through the skin.

He had seen battlefields. He had never seen this.

And from what remained of her face, he recognized her as Fei Yuhan.

She was barely alive. The word barely did real work in that sentence.

He knelt, completely without a plan. Save her? Even if he had a full surgical team, it would not be possible to wrap internal organs back into place, let alone stop bleeding from wounds distributed across the entire body. There was no single uninjured location. Her bodily functions had dissolved into nothing; she was running on the last of her Force of Nature, burning it to keep a thread of consciousness attached.

That thread was thinning.

To remain aware through injuries like this required a quality of will that most Martial Artists never found. Even very few who had come close to this kind of damage could hold on. She was doing it, and it was costing her everything.

“Master became like this because she protected me.” Zero was crying, the sound small and choked.

“She’s about to die.” Valkries spoke with the matter-of-factness of someone who had watched people die in every conceivable way. “Even a Grand Lord with wounds like these can only delay the inevitable in the Red Mist Pond. Your medical science here doesn’t approach that level. She has magic power, yes — but magic power cannot reverse this. The reason she’s still here is because she is a true warrior.”

“You’re finally… here.” Fei Yuhan’s eyes opened slowly. Her voice had the stripped quality of someone paring every syllable down to its necessary weight. “Should I call you… Master Creator?”

There was humor in it. Her expression looked like someone who had no pressing concerns.

Roland went still for a moment.

“I — you—”

“I apologize for eavesdropping on your conversation.” She moved one eye toward Valkries — the only motion she had left. “But if we could do it again, I would still do this. Zero—” she stopped. The words were costing breath she didn’t have. “Is she unhurt?”

“Master, I’m fine,” Zero managed, and then couldn’t speak anymore.

“This world… is still here, isn’t it?” Fei Yuhan let out a shallow breath. “Then in some sense, I’ve done my duty in protecting it.”

“So you already knew this world was a Dream World—” Valkries frowned.

“You may have many worlds. I have one.” The words came slower now, with pauses in between that were too long. “And protecting this world is a Martial Artist’s purpose.” She gathered herself for a few more seconds. “Let me say one thing, Master Creator. Since you created this world, you must have some trust in the people in it, don’t you?”

“Trust… in everyone?”

“I know it sounds absurd. But if you brought forward some evidence, the Association’s leadership is less rigid than you think. We may not be able to accomplish much — we can’t match the Oracles, I know that — but we can lessen your load. Wouldn’t it be a little easier to protect this world if you weren’t alone?”

The strength of the masses.

It landed in him like a sudden recognition of something he had already known.

That’s right. I am the Creator of this world. But I am not an omnipotent God. There are things I cannot do alone. But others can.

What might be possible if everyone worked together, he could not yet say. Only that he did not know the ceiling.

“The last thing I want to say—” Fei Yuhan’s voice was falling now, syllables separating from one another. “Thank you. For creating this world. Even if it is only a dream—”

“It isn’t a Dream World.” Roland cut across her. “It’s a world that exists in the Realm of Mind. It will always continue to exist.”

The faintest movement crossed her lips. I knew you would say that.

“And whatever evidence I provide, I alone am not enough to convince anyone. The world won’t believe a stranger who claims to be its creator. But if the genius Martial Artist vouches for it — that might be a different matter entirely.”

Her lips moved again, barely: Are you consoling me?

“I’m not consoling you. I’m stating a fact as a Creator.” He stood up. “Now listen carefully — this is not the time to give up. You talked about trust. Trust me. This is not irreversible.” He held her gaze. “Because I am a Creator—”

He disconnected.

Roland sat up from the recliner.

Outside the window, snowflakes drifted through noon light. Nightingale materialized in the room before he finished blinking, positioned where she had been holding watch.

“You’re awake early. Is something wrong?”

It was only his second entry into the Dream World since losing consciousness. He normally slept from one to four; it was not yet time.

“I’m fine.” He looked toward the door. “Tell Scroll and Honey to come to the castle immediately. I have an urgent task for them.”

Nightingale ran her inspection without rushing — temperature, pulse, the quiet measuring-up she applied to everything she didn’t trust. When she was satisfied, she nodded once and stepped into the Mist.

Roland returned to his desk, took out pen and paper, and began to write.

The logic was already laid out in his head. Leaving the Dream World paused time there — her last breath would not end as long as he stayed away. That was the most critical element; it meant the preparation window was open.

The mechanism to save her rested on Nana’s new ability: the power to attach healing properties to physical objects. Given enough of the enchanted sutures, they could arrest the collapse of her body.

The second piece was Scroll’s territory. Roland could not bring objects into the Dream World himself — but Scroll’s Archives could. If the witches’ abilities reached into the Dream World, Nana’s enchanted objects ought to operate there as well.

But those two alone were insufficient.

The objects needed to reach the bridge in the shortest possible time. And Nana’s sutures could pull Fei Yuhan back from the edge — but broken limbs and shattered organs required professional equipment and a professional surgeon.

Both worlds. Both of them working together, and only that.

Only then could something like this work.

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