CH328 · Rewrite
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Chapter 328: Formal Talk

After Tilly left, Roland breathed.

Not a sigh—more the release of a pressure he’d been maintaining at a constant level for the past hour. Conversing seriously with an intelligent person while producing a careful version of the truth was its own kind of labor. Maintaining the right expression on top of it was simply harder.

He was grateful for Nightingale’s timing. Her report that the witches from Sleeping Island had assembled in the hall had given him a natural moment to close the conversation before any of its load-bearing joints could be tested further.

“No particular emotion, facing your sister who turned out to be a witch?” Nightingale materialized from the corner she’d been occupying, stepped forward, and settled onto the edge of the desk with the easy confidence of someone who has long since decided that furniture is neutral territory. She looked down at him.

He rolled his eyes. “Sustained pressure also counts as a special feeling.”

“I expected something more touching. A reunion.”

“We weren’t close, growing up.” He set his empty cup aside. “I bullied her when we were young. Later we drifted into the kind of distance that feels permanent. It was genuinely unexpected—not bad, but unexpected—that she came at all.”

“Oh?” Nightingale tilted her head in a way that meant she’d noticed something. “You seem oddly trusting of her, though, for someone you were estranged from. Letting her meet with you alone, without—”

Because I didn’t want you watching me lie. He decided, again, that this was not something he needed to say aloud. He refilled his cup and leaned back, taking a slow mouthful.

“You’ll understand later.”

She leaned forward and touched his lips with one finger—not a gesture of affection, exactly; more the gesture of someone marking a point. “You’ll tell me everything, won’t you?”

”…Yes.”

“I’ll take that as a promise.” She smiled once, and disappeared.

Roland tilted back in his chair and ran through the conversation again, checking for weak places.

He had given Tilly what he thought of as the most sustainable explanation available to him. Decades of a previous life had made him instinctively wary of the kinds of lies that people construct when they’re frightened—the ones built out of plausible details, childhood embarrassments recalled as modest confessions, accidentally-discovered ancient texts. Those collapsed. The more specific they were, the more efficiently they collapsed under continued questioning. And Tilly was not a person who would stop asking.

So he had told the truth wherever the truth was survivable, and called the inexplicable parts what they were: inexplicable. A set of memories that appeared and could not be sourced. It sounded extraordinary, but it was harder to disprove than a story with moving parts.

The alternative—that she was looking at someone from a completely different world—carried too many unpredictable consequences. Even if she believed it, he couldn’t be certain she would accept the result. A sincere stranger in her brother’s body was a different proposition than a brother who had changed.

As for Tilly: she was smart enough to have worked through the same calculation from her side. The only possession-type ability in the Witch Alliance’s inventory was one that Sylvie had already ruled out. Replacement and control both required proximity, and the God’s Stone made that difficult. She had no framework for what had actually happened, which meant she would file it under strange but unresolved and watch for additional evidence—the rational thing to do. And his long-term goal was not to end her suspicion but to replace it, over months, with data.

The winter would give him the time to show her what the Western Region could become. That was enough for now.


That evening they held a grand banquet in the castle hall.

Roland had specified the menu with some care: the familiar staples—pepper steak, fried egg, white bread—but also the things that would be unfamiliar to anyone arriving from Sleeping Island or the Fjords. Fried bird-kiss mushrooms in their own fragrance. Steamed dumplings. Ice cream, which tended to produce a particular kind of disbelief in first-time recipients. He introduced the sampler platter as a deliberate tactic: small cuts from the main dishes arranged on large china plates and finished with a drizzle of soy paste—not because it changed the food, but because it made people reach for it, which was half the point of a banquet.

Candles lit the table. Cups crossed under the light. The hall filled with the kind of warmth that comes from food and noise together, and by the time the platters were cleared the atmosphere had done most of the necessary social work on its own.

The formal discussion followed in the living room before the fireplace.

Roland and the Witch Alliance took one side of a long row of seats. Tilly and her witches from Sleeping Island took the other. Maggie, whose position in this conversation was sufficiently complicated, had solved the problem by turning into a pigeon and settling on the chandelier above them, where she sat with the studied neutrality of a bird.

Tilly opened. “I intend to help Border Town resist the demonic beast attacks, and to return the first batch of five witches as I promised.” She gave a summary of Sleeping Island’s current situation: Silver Moon Bay would send a group of ordinary settlers to the island in spring, which meant Lotus and Honey were needed immediately to prepare housing and food. “I know this isn’t ideal timing.”

Roland felt the headache forming before she finished.

Against the demonic beasts, the First Army was sufficient. Witches were indispensable for construction. The path through the mountain hadn’t been opened yet, the dock was half-built, and the latest wave of refugees needed shelter before the winter deepened. Losing two of his most capable builders now was bad arithmetic.

“Could they delay by half a month?” he asked.

Tilly shook her head—reluctantly, he thought. “I wish I could say yes. But we encountered Sea Ghosts in the southern part of the Vortex Sea. Fish-type demonic beasts, far outside their usual range. I believe the early start of the Months of Demons is behind it. The legends say the longer it runs, the more dangerous the beasts become—so the journey needs to happen as soon as possible, while the sea is still manageable.”

“They’re not suited for combat.”

“I know. That’s also why Breeze will escort the ship—her ability is effective against enemies with lesser intelligence. And we’re not going back the same way. We’ll sail north along the coastline to Port of Clear Water, then take the trade route to Sleeping Island. The messenger birds report that route is still clear.”

Roland made one more effort. “Besides Lotus and Honey—could the other three stay? They’re halfway through the Primary Education curriculum. Leaving now means starting over.”

Tilly’s composure cracked, briefly. She laughed—a genuine one, the sound of someone who has caught an argument in the middle of constructing itself. “Puff— it really does seem you are quite attached to them.”

He had no response to that.

“I’d like to know your specific plans for Candle and Evelyn,” she said, recovering.

“Candle’s ability can cure metal parts—which significantly improves the efficiency of mechanical operations. Evelyn’s—” he paused “—brewing. Wine has a great many applications beyond drinking.”

Tilly considered this. “On Sleeping Island, they’ve always worried that their abilities were too narrow to be truly useful. And they’ve faced”—she didn’t finish the sentence, but her meaning was clear enough—“certain treatment because of it. I’m glad to hear you see them as indispensable. Every witch has something irreplaceable in her.” She looked along the row at Evelyn, Candle, and Sylvie. “What do you think?”

“I want to follow you, Lady Tilly,” Sylvie said immediately.

Candle touched her own head, as if checking something. “I’m willing to go anywhere.”

Evelyn was quiet for a moment before she spoke. “If you need me, Lady Tilly, I will go back to Sleeping Island.” A pause. “Otherwise, I would like to stay. There are still so many things I hope to learn from Teacher Scroll.”

“Don’t be nervous.” Tilly shook her head. “I’m not forcing a choice. It isn’t a question with only two answers. I want to know how you feel about living here—that’s all. You can return to Sleeping Island whenever you want. The same is true for Lotus and Honey; this isn’t forever. I even hope, someday, to bring the witches of Border Town to visit Sleeping Island.” She looked across at Roland. “Whether north or south—in the future, all witches should be free to live where they choose. Don’t you think so, Elder Brother?”

Roland stilled.

Elder Brother. He hadn’t heard her say it. Even within the Fourth Prince’s memories, that particular form of address had faded out well over a decade ago.

He smiled. “There will definitely be a day like that.”

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