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Chapter 398: Puzzle

“Don’t assume that.” Agatha shook her head. “Based on what we observed during the second Battle of the Divine Will, if demons were deliberately investigating a human settlement, they wouldn’t do it this carelessly.”

“What do you mean?” Roland asked.

“Reconnaissance of that type was conducted in formation—two or even three full platoons, riders on demonic beasts, operating as a coordinated unit under the protection of Spear-wielding Demons. To neutralize them, the Union would deploy flying witches to cut off their retreat and commit at least twice the demon count in Blessed Warriors for a frontal engagement. And as the war progressed, the recon units grew—Fearsome Demons, Flying Demons, increasingly dangerous configurations.” She paused. “Sending two ordinary Mad Demons, unescorted, carrying nothing but Lightning-Stones, makes no tactical sense if the objective was deliberate surveillance of Border Town.”

“Maybe they didn’t think we warranted a larger force,” Ashes suggested. “Two scouts for a minor border settlement.”

“That doesn’t track either.” Agatha turned the idea over and found it wanting. “During the Union’s era, every town near the border, however small, had witches defending it. The demons have no way of knowing how much has changed in four hundred years. If anything, they’d default to their established protocols and send a significant force—not risk a critical intelligence mission on a pair of soldiers who couldn’t even carry spare weapons.”

“So you think they weren’t here deliberately.” Roland let himself settle into the possibility. “Found us by accident.”

“Most likely.” Agatha’s frown deepened, as if something at the edge of the idea was bothering her. “The demons probably had no idea the town existed. What’s more likely: they were scouting the surrounding terrain as a routine security measure around their own position. They expected to find wildlife, maybe demonic beasts. Nothing that would require heavy armament.” She looked up. “That’s why they carried Lightning-Stones for personal protection and nothing else. No Stones of Unifying Strength, no formation weapons.”

“Wait.” Roland felt it before he could articulate it. “You’re saying there are demon camps nearby.”

“Of course.” Agatha said it as if the conclusion were self-evident. “Why else would they be out this way? They’ve established strongholds somewhere on the Fertile Plains, and from there they range into the Barbarian Land—” She stopped. “I keep forgetting. You call it the Four Kingdoms now.”

Hell. The word arrived without ceremony in the back of Roland’s mind. A demon camp within range of the town. If those scouts had made it back—if more came to find them—

“Is it like the camps behind the snow-capped mountains?” he asked.

“Similar. Each camp during the war had several Red Mist storage towers, each guarded by a hundred to two hundred demons.” Agatha nodded slowly. “But the Bloody Moon hasn’t risen yet—they can’t have constructed a full Towering Stronghold on the Fertile Plains. Red Mist is difficult to transport in large quantities. Whatever they have out there is probably small.”

“What will you do?” Tilly asked, her eyes on Roland.

“First, find the camp. Confirm it exists.” He thought it through with the methodical care of someone designing against failure modes. “Then we remove it.”

“A decisive choice.” Ashes smiled, the particular smile she wore when something interesting was about to happen. “You can count on us.”

If Agatha is right—and her logic holds—then before the third Battle of the Divine Will begins in earnest, the demons can’t yet project real force across the Fertile Plains. Take out the camp near the Western Region and there would be years of buffer time, at minimum. Enough to prepare.

But if I leave it: they’ll send more scouts when those two don’t return. And if the camp is large enough, they’ll strike whenever they choose, even after the Months of Demons passes. The First Army can’t execute its spring campaign while defending a siege from inside the walls.

There was really only one answer.

Roland called for Lightning and Maggie and gave them their orders when they arrived.

“No engagement under any circumstances. When you locate the camp, fly back and report immediately. The demons may have flying beasts that Maggie can’t handle alone—if things turn dangerous, you get out. First priority is your own safety.” He looked at them both in turn. “Understood?”

“Yes!”

“Coo!”

“And if you find the camp, you’ll have ice cream bread after every meal for a week.”

Maggie’s neck stretched forward at a pronounced angle. “Count on us, coo!”


Three days later, Lightning’s report arrived.

Somewhere in the Barbarian Land, roughly 130 kilometers from Border Town, she had found what appeared to be a demon settlement. After sketching its approximate position on a map, Roland saw immediately: it lay directly along the old route the Witch Cooperation Association had followed on their migrations. Less than ten kilometers from the site of the attack.

“When you say suspected,” he said, studying her face. “Have you seen black stone towers?”

Lightning shook her head. Something uncertain had settled around her eyes. “What I found was wreckage.”

“Wreckage.”

“Crushed black stone. Broken fences. And a large hole in the ground.” She pressed her fingers to her forehead. “The site looked like the one where Agatha found the relic. I didn’t see any demons. After I’d mapped what I could see, I came back.”

Another hole.

Roland went still.

Last time, maggot-like creatures had been at the site with the relic—enormous things, moving through underground passages, consuming the ruins of black stone towers. And now this: a demon camp, also reduced to rubble, also centered on a hole.

The same creatures? Two separate incidents, the same cause?

He pushed the speculation aside. It was noise without enough data. “Anything else at the site?”

“No demons.” Lightning paused. “No magic stones either, coo!” Maggie added.

“All right.” He made the decisions quickly, the way he’d learned to when the variables were still unknown and hesitation was worse than imperfect action. He looked at Lightning. “Take Nightingale and Soraya to the site and have Soraya paint the scene. Then escort Nightingale and Sylvie back for a closer investigation. If anything looks dangerous at any point—flying beasts, active demon presence, anything—you leave immediately. Nightingale’s Mist can cover your escape.”

“Why not just send Soraya and Sylvie?” Lightning asked.

“Because if there are flying beasts, you and Maggie need to be there to extract them.”

Lightning accepted this without further argument.


Soraya’s painting of the site arrived on Roland’s desk the following day.

He studied it for a long time.

The crater was five or six meters across, its edges ragged and upturned—as if the earth had been churned from beneath. Snow and dirt mixed in the disturbed rim, along with fragments of crushed black stone that looked, Roland thought, exactly as if something enormous had passed through and reduced them en route. No precision to the damage. Just mass and pressure and the absence of whatever had been there before.

Sylvie’s findings arrived with it.

The underground passage at the site ran toward the snow-capped mountains—the same direction as the tunnel beneath the relic in the Misty Forest.

Both tunnels led to the same place.

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