Rewrite That Witch
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Chapter 1476: Reaching Straight to the Core

Of course, “he” could easily be an illusion, a puppet, or something else entirely. But it amounted to the same thing — Sky City had almost certainly been infiltrated by an Oracle long ago.

“That is a fortress of tens of thousands of people…” Rock murmured.

With an Oracle’s methods, destruction was easy enough — they could tear open rifts, trigger Erosion at will. But to infiltrate an organization of that scale, work beneath tens of thousands of unsuspecting people, and never once be detected — that suggested a power of a different order.

“I hope I’m wrong. But it’s the most coherent explanation.” Roland sighed.

The Dream World had its own laws — laws that limited how fully Oracles could express themselves. Whatever they wished to do required magic power. And the only places holding a significant supply of Fallen Evil cores were Prism City and Sky City.

In hindsight, it no longer looked like coincidence that the Oracles had first appeared beneath Prism City. Despite being alien intruders, they understood this world. Perhaps they had targeted the Association’s Headquarters immediately after Prism City’s fall. Perhaps the Oracles left behind had served two purposes — one, to hunt Zero, and the rest to draw attention, to misdirect.

“Worrying accomplishes nothing at this point. We’ll know once we get there.” Roland pressed a hand to Rock’s shoulder. “Do you remember what I said before? Two worlds are fighting against God. The Association has already given far more than its share to the Battle of Divine Will. It’s time I contributed something in return.”

“Mr. Roland…”

“Leave the rest to me.”

Under the Defender’s heavy gaze, Roland walked out of the main hall.

Fei Yuhan and Valkries were waiting outside.

Fei Yuhan’s presence made sense — wherever there was danger, someone of her caliber and temperament would be found. Valkries’s presence was more difficult to explain. He had not expected the Nightmare Lord to develop any attachment to the Dream World, much less any inclination to defend it. She could have found an inconspicuous corner and let the world pass by.

The Oracles’ repeated failures did not mean they were toothless. Even within the Dream World’s framework, they could kill a martial artist without apparent effort. And Valkries, without her magic stone, was no different from any ordinary martial artist. Sky City meant genuine danger.

“Don’t make that face,” Valkries said, cutting his thoughts short. “I simply want to see what this God and these Oracles you keep mentioning actually look like. If you were in my position, you would not be indifferent either.”

Roland shrugged. ”…Fair enough.”

The roar of a helicopter rose from the base some distance away. Time to move.

What followed was a day and a half of relentless motion.

Helicopter to the airport. Private charter to their destination. Then briefings, team assignments, and military helicopters to the war zone. It was the sort of logistics that governments mobilize when they accept they are dealing with a catastrophe.

The jam of evacuating vehicles began roughly a hundred kilometers out from Sky City. The refugees themselves moved with relative order — disaster-management troops had the situation from descending into rout — but order and calm were two different things.

Valkries spent the journey staring out the plane window. From the moment of takeoff she had maneuvered into a window seat. She watched the ground shrink below them with undisguised fascination.

“Apart from the noise, the speed is acceptable.” She turned from the glass and allowed herself a brief sigh. “Humans do have a singular talent for understanding the laws of a world.”

“You fly as well?” Fei Yuhan asked, curious.

“Most evolved demons, provided their size and magic power allow it, will choose to integrate a magic stone that enables faster movement — flight being one of those options.”

“So now you know what humanity is capable of.” Roland seized the moment.

“Unfortunately, there is no trace of magic power involved in this.” Valkries shrugged. “Which is precisely what interests me. Humans built a machine this intricate without using magic power at all. So: what would happen if magic power were added into the process?” She looked out the window again. “I have long wondered what separates God from everything else. Could it be that? Magic power is also one of the world’s laws, after all.”

Roland caught himself genuinely impressed. In fewer than six months in the Dream World, Valkries had naturally arrived at a framework that took scholars a lifetime to reach — the instinct to ask what the world’s rules could be, not just what they were. The old assumption that longevity was an obstacle to civilization was not necessarily true. It depended entirely on who the long-lived happened to be.

Around noon the next day, Sky City came into view on its mountain.

The city at the mountain’s foot was all smoke and irregular thunder — explosions, without the rhythm of artillery. Martial artists from around the world were already engaged. In contrast to the organized refugee columns, this was the actual front.

Roland’s mission was simple. It had been assigned with no ambiguity: reach the incident’s core. The Association’s Headquarters.

Helicopters deposited them at a staging point halfway up the mountain, where more than twenty martial artists from other branches had already assembled. Whether they had been briefed beforehand or simply possessed the discipline of veterans, no one engaged in idle talk or questioned his credentials. A brief exchange established their basic route and their division of labor. This team — unlike the first joint operation — was elite and tight-knit, each member economical in movement, each trusting the others without needing to be asked.

Sky City’s layout was the inverse of Prism City’s. Here, the Erosion had appeared in mid-air, and the Association had built a tower to contain it. But contingency passages ran from the tower’s peak down through the mountain, accessible from below — if you knew the route, you could climb without facing the Fallen Evils swarming the mountaintop.

Under their guide’s lead, the assault team met almost no resistance. The few Fallen Evils they encountered were dispatched quietly and quickly. Roland had nothing to do.

They reached the isolation room on the tower’s highest level — the core storage chamber. It was shaped like a drum, its metal walls holding every core the Headquarters had accumulated. A mobile platform stood in the center, flanked by two robotic arms for retrieving material. In the matter of impressive scale, Sky City rivaled Prism City without effort.

A figure stood on the platform.

When it turned, it was the President of the Martialist Association.

And then, at a pace the naked eye could track, the figure’s features rearranged themselves. Height shrank. The face reshaped. Within seconds, an unfamiliar woman stood where the President had been.

“I am Oracle Epsilon,” she said, perfectly level. “Roland. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Being expected was not a good sign. It meant they had walked into a prepared situation.

But Roland heard nothing — no movement behind him. No shift in posture, no drawn weapon.

He turned slightly, just enough to see.

There was nothing around him. Not a single person. He was entirely alone.

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