Rewrite That Witch
CH329 · Rewrite
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Chapter 329: Clarion

Roland cleared his throat. “There’s something else.”

The warmth the banquet had built still lingered in the room, but something in his tone shifted the air. He told Tilly what the First Army had found in the Concealing Forest and behind the snow-capped mountain: the Devils encamped beyond the red fog’s edge, the ruins in the valley, the woman sealed inside what remained of a tower—frozen in time, unreachable, from a civilization four hundred years gone.

“I’d planned to send soldiers and witches to extract her,” he said. “The early snow changed that.”

Tilly had gone very still. “That the Devils’ army is this close to Border Town—and that someone from four hundred years ago is still alive inside those ruins—” She exhaled. “I’m beginning to believe everything you told me earlier.”

Anna looked at Roland across the table. He coughed twice.

“From what we observed,” he continued, “the Devils appear to have been behind the mountain for some time already. I believe the red fog limits their movement—they can’t push further toward the Four Kingdoms, not yet. So they shouldn’t pose an immediate threat to Border Town. Over the next two years I’ll establish a coastal watch to monitor them.” He paused. “As for the woman in the tower—she may know something important. About Taqila. About the true reason the Church’s Holy City fell.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Tilly said. “Is there a way to reach the ruins by air, and avoid the land route entirely? Ashes mentioned a tool driven by hot air.”

Roland looked at her for a moment. “You want to go to the ruins now. During the Months of Demons.”

“The hot air balloon holds ten people, perhaps fifteen in a larger model. I understand the risks—if you encounter Devils, the number of people matters less than their abilities.” She met his eyes steadily. “But Shavi and Ashes are here now. Shavi’s barrier has already stopped a charging sea monster. Ashes can suppress anything in close quarters. You said yourself the Devils fight by throwing spears from a distance, with the strength of an extraordinary—Shavi’s barrier can absorb several before it fails. And Sylvie’s Eye of Truth will show you the enemy before the enemy sees you. If you maintain an altitude of ten to fifteen meters, just above the tree-tops, you have the chance to land before they can form a response.” She spread her hands. “The Months of Demons is young. The beasts haven’t reached full power yet. If you’re ever going to attempt this, the window is now.”

Roland turned it over.

The last encounter had been an air battle, and it had not favored them. He was not naive about that. But Tilly’s logic was sound—the variables had changed. Nightingale and Ashes could handle a group of ten or so Devils if it came to close combat. Anna’s shield and Shavi’s barrier together made a double layer of protection. And Sylvie’s range of vision exceeded anything a Devil’s sentries could match.

He was quiet for a while. Then: “Are you absolutely certain you want to go?”

“I feel that this is an opportunity to unravel the mystery,” Tilly said. “The early start of the Months of Demons, the Sea Ghosts appearing in the Vortex Sea—something is wrong. I’ve had a bad feeling about it since before we landed.”

His own bad feeling met hers and confirmed it. The early arrival wasn’t weather. It was connected to something—the Devils, the Church, forces that had been moving longer than anyone here had been watching. The woman in the ruins might know the shape of it.

“Then we’ll need to discuss who comes,” he said.

“I don’t know which witches from Border Town you’ll send,” Tilly said, “but I will be going.”

She said it the way she said most things: simply, without decoration, as if the question of whether she’d go had never been open.

Far away, in Hermes.

Snowflakes turned in the grey air and fell into the river of black blood that ran along the foot of the wall—warm blood, cooling quickly, diluting as the snow melted into it. The blood had come from the demonic beasts. The soldiers of the God’s Punishment Army who lined the ramparts were all still standing.

Mayne and Tayfun climbed the steps to the wall’s upper passage after repelling the latest wave, moving with the unhurried economy of men who had done this many times before.

“Your Excellencies—sir!” The young soldiers of the Army of Judges who assisted the God’s Punishment Army struck their fists to their chests in salute. Most of them had young faces, and in their eyes two things lived side by side: fear and the particular brightness of people who have not yet been taught to suppress it.

“Some of them are still children,” Tayfun said, looking out over the open ground. He sighed. “When I was their age, I was milling flour for a noble household.”

“The God’s Punishment Army’s priority is the defense of the New Holy City,” Mayne said, “and the more experienced ranks of the Army of Judges are still occupied in Wolfsheart City, clearing out the last of the resistance there. What’s standing watch here are the recently promoted—they’ve never been on a real battlefield before the Months began.” He leaned against the cold stone of the parapet and looked down at the mound of carcasses at the base of the cliff. Ordinary beasts could not scale this wall. Only the mixed species presented real danger. “The snow came too early.”

Tayfun hesitated. “Is there anything in the Holy Book about a situation like this?”

“The Holy Book is written by men,” Mayne said. “Even the Pope’s vision has its blind spots. What it gives us is a direction—a bearing. From the pattern of beasts we’ve seen this season, I estimate approximately ten years remain.” He was quiet for a moment, watching the grey plain. “Two years to unify the Four Kingdoms. Eight years to build the God’s Punishment Army to full strength. If we can field more than ten thousand by then, and if we hold this plateau—Hermes’ walls, Hermes’ terrain—we have a chance of maintaining our position until the enemy’s momentum exhausts itself.”

“I’m old,” Tayfun said. “I won’t be there to see it.”

“Neither will many others who deserved to,” Mayne replied, without dismissiveness—the tone of a man who has made peace with a ledger he cannot balance. “Allan. Stone. Liji.”

“And Heather.”

“And Heather.” A pause. “But the mission will be carried forward. It always is.”

“Don’t say discouraging things.” The old man shook his head, then almost smiled. “Tell me—did Zero manage to get the formula for fierce snow powder? Has the Pivotal Secret Area begun testing?”

“Mortal toys.” Mayne’s voice was flat with contempt. “Snow powder is sufficient to clear a field of common beasts, but our real enemies are the Devils. In open terrain, its lethality drops significantly. To break their heavy armor you would need enormous quantities, and the only soldiers capable of carrying and throwing that volume are from the God’s Punishment Army—the very soldiers who don’t need it.” He shook his head. “Against the Devils, there are no tricks. Only direct confrontation.”

At that moment, from the watchtower to their left, a horn sounded.

One long note: a wave of demonic beasts incoming.

“Back to the cathedral,” Mayne said. “There’ll be another fight shortly.”

They turned. The horn sounded again.

Two long notes: the wave contained mixed species. Mayne felt his pace adjust without deciding to.

Then the third note came.

Not a clean sound—an oppressive, unbroken tone that rolled over the plateau and kept rolling, filling the air, refusing to resolve. The sound of a horn that had no precedent in either man’s memory.

Three blasts. Three.

Mayne looked at Tayfun. In the old man’s face he saw his own expression reflected back at him.

Three blasts meant existential threat. Three blasts meant that whatever was coming had never been seen before at Hermes—not even in the worst years, not even when the beasts had pushed to the cathedral’s outer steps. Three blasts was a sound Mayne had hoped never to hear.

He looked toward the plain.

In the black tide rolling across the frozen ground, two shapes rose above the rest. Enormous. Moving slowly because they were so large that slow was the only speed available to them: four thick tusks, four legs, two hands, bodies wrapped in pitch-black fur. One foot alone was the size of a large mixed-species wolf. Where they walked, the permafrost cracked; the lesser beasts that failed to scatter in time were simply pressed into the ground.

He knew their names from the Holy Book. Death’s Herald. Hell’s Nightmare. Devil’s Fangs. The texts had been clear about what they signified: these creatures did not appear until five years before the final disaster.

Why?

The question occupied every space in his mind simultaneously, leaving no room for anything else.

Why are they here now?

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