Rewrite That Witch
CH1389 · Rewrite
☕ Support

Chapter 1389: Mystical Secrets

“Core?”

Hackzord crouched beside the wreckage and picked up a loose piece of metal. What he held looked simple enough at first glance — a battered, irregular lump — but the more he turned it, the more he found hidden inside: nested chambers within chambers, a hundred interlocking parts concealed beneath the bumpy outer shell. He selected a cylinder at random and found it more intricate than any flintlock he had ever dismantled. “You mean to say—”

“Those iron birds require that thing to fly,” Nassaupelle confirmed.

“Wait.” Hackzord set the cylinder down. “You’re telling me that those things — the ones that outrun Bogle Beasts — are kept aloft by a pile of dead metal?”

He had faced the iron birds himself. He knew the secret was not in the wings: the wings barely moved. What kept them in the air were the blades mounted at the front, spinning so fast they became a blur and a roar. A windmill, in some sense — yet no wind was required to start it. He had assumed a magic power seal. A sealed energy system, like the kind that released power from God’s Stones. There was no other rational answer. Iron birds flew without Witches. Something had to explain it.

And now Nassaupelle was pointing at a bucket full of charred metal.

“Inconceivable, isn’t it?” Mask brightened at once — the change was instant, almost grotesque, as though a lamp had been lit behind his eyes. He thrust a blackened finger into the iron bucket and fished something out. “Want to try it yourself?”

Hackzord looked at the finger, stained to the second knuckle. “Would you like a broken one in exchange?”

“Ahem.” Nassaupelle withdrew the finger and placed it between his lips. “Some things leave a stronger impression when personally experienced. This portion here is charred, and there’s a faint fragrance. I believe it’s a vessel for holding fire.”

“Fire cannot move an iron bird.”

“That depends entirely on what fire.” Mask gestured with his free hand, voice climbing. “You’ve seen how the lowlifes use their fire forks — I’ve taken them apart and studied them. Combustion at an extreme rate produces something like an explosion. If that force can drive a bolt from an iron crossbow, why not drive a set of blades?”

“The explosion from a fire fork is instantaneous,” Hackzord said. “By your own logic, incendiary material would need to be fed into that bucket continuously, and the reaction would need to occur thousands of times a second to achieve the rotational speed of those blades. In theory, it is impossible.”

“That,” Nassaupelle admitted cheerfully, “is exactly what I haven’t figured out yet. Which is why I brought these lowlifes over — to hear their thoughts.” He glanced at the human noble cowering against the far wall. “Who knew that their stupidity runs as deep as an Inferior Demon’s? I assumed they were hiding something from me. After applying a few methods, I realized they are genuinely ignorant. Can you believe it?” He spread his hands wide. “The very race that built this thing. The principle is right in front of them and they call it a cheap trick of a depraved Witch. In my agitation, I used perhaps a little too much strength—”

“My — my lord…” The noble’s face had gone the color of old bone. He pressed himself harder against the wall and began to shake.

“I can now understand why you don’t treat humans as lowlifes,” Mask continued, pivoting to Hackzord without missing a step. “But this particular group you’ve brought back? The lowest of the low. Tell me — the iron birds and fire forks, they come from Graycastle, yes? Could you capture a few Graycastle smiths? I want to examine whether their brain composition differs. If it does, merging with a human brain might not be entirely without merit—”

“Enough!” Hackzord’s voice cut across the cave. “I did not come here to listen to your fantasies. When we claim their legacy shard, every question you have will answer itself. What matters is winning this war. There is one week before the Deity of Gods crosses into human territory, and I will not have you complicating my position.” He let the words sit for a moment, then added each one with deliberate weight: “Do not — ever — touch — the humans.”

A pause. Then Nassaupelle spread both arms in a gesture of wide surrender. ”…Of course.”

Hackzord held his gaze for a long moment before turning, pulling the surviving noble to his feet, and walking out.

The laughter started behind him before he reached the far end of the bridge.

Hackzord walked faster. He did not look back.

“You aren’t so great yourself, Hackzord.”

The voice drifted across the chasm of writhing Inferior Demons, unhurried, almost fond.

“The key to unraveling everything is the mystical secret — but you have no interest in it whatsoever.” A pause, the rustle of a new mask being drawn from robes. “Magic power is not the only force regulating this world, much less the Battle of Divine Will. Even if we claim everything from the legacy shard, not everyone can reach the peak together. That is why I am here, creating Symbiotic Demons — and you are out there, busy on the battlefield. You haven’t the faintest idea what meaning these metal objects carry.”

The Senior Lord Nassaupelle turned back to the scattered remnants of the iron bird and fell quiet for a moment.

The humans’ use of combustion to propel a physical object had illuminated something he had not expected to find. It was a conversion of energy. He had witnessed stable energy become unstable countless times, had built his entire art around that exchange. But violent conversion — combustion, explosion — being harnessed for stable mechanical output? That was something else entirely. There had to be an intrinsic connection between fire and flight, a single underlying principle that made the conversion reversible.

If reversible — were they the same thing at their root?

And what of magic power?

The race had never thought to ask. Magic power simply was. But what if it was also a form of energy conversion? If the power sustaining the Deity of Gods could be redirected into explosive force — how much force would that release?

It was as though a door had opened at the end of a corridor Nassaupelle had never known existed.

If I can grasp this mystical secret — Sky Lord, no, even the King himself — will be nothing.

Knowledge. Knowledge is the most powerful force in the world.

I want to know. I want to uncover the mystical secrets of the humans.

Nassaupelle threw back his head and laughed — sharp, uncontrolled, a sound that had nothing human in it and nothing demon either.

Hackzord was already halfway across the suspension bridge when the laughter reached him. He walked faster still.

On his shoulder, the noble had been weeping since the door.

“My lord — it was fortunate you came when you did.” The man’s voice was a wet, trembling thing. “The others — they had holes drilled into their heads by that monster. I was going to be next—”

“I know.” Hackzord set him down on the far side of the bridge, where the stone was solid underfoot and the smell of the pit no longer reached. “Rest easy. It’s over.”

He kept his hand on the noble’s collar.

“Wait — my lord — Sky Lord, what are you—” The noble looked down. The chasm yawned below them, filled with the writhing mass of Inferior Demons, and his voice climbed into a shriek. “No — no, please—”

Hackzord released him.

The scream lasted until it didn’t.

Below, the Inferior Demons surged toward the sound and the warmth, swaying with what passed for excitement in creatures that had no other expression.

What Hackzord required was a stable and controllable workforce. After what the noble had witnessed in Nassaupelle’s laboratory — the experimental field, the masks, the drilled skulls — the man was no longer capable of being that. He would have talked. One way or another, he would have talked.

Hackzord did not linger on the choice. It was already made.

He found the temporary human quarters without difficulty. Marwayne came forward to meet him at once, his manner carefully assembled into something that looked like calm.

“My lord… the men who were taken — what became of them?”

“I investigated the matter personally.” Hackzord kept his voice measured. “They were detained on suspicion of secret contact with Graycastle. The intelligence reached me late because the relevant department failed to pass it along in time. But I arrived before anything irreversible was done — by your customs, what they’ve committed is not a capital offense. They’ve been confined to Sky City. After the war concludes, they may purchase their freedom or negotiate other terms. As for the rest of your people here — they passed the security review. There will be no further incidents.”

Marwayne exhaled slowly. “I see… so that was the reason. Thank you, my lord. Thank you for your concern.”

“Think nothing of it. So long as all of you fulfill the duties I have assigned, there will be a place for you in whatever world comes after.”

“Of course, of course.” Marwayne reached into his robe and produced a folded letter. “Ah — one more thing, my lord. While you were in the inner city, someone passed this to me. They said it was addressed specifically to you. There may have been a mistake, but since it had already arrived — I thought it best to put it in your hands.”

“Oh?”

Hackzord broke the seal.

His pupils contracted at the first line.

Discussion

Suggest a change