Chapter 412: Sneaking into the Fallen Dragon Ridge
The entire world was grey—sky, land, and sea all the same colorless nothing.
The south-central reaches of Graycastle didn’t bury themselves in snow the way the north did, but the Months of Demons made no exceptions: a flat expanse of grey cloud sealed the sky from edge to edge, and a pale fog had risen from the earth to swallow the rocks, the jungle, the lower ridges. Above it all, the dark peaks of the mountain range stood bare, stretching south toward the continent’s end—the only landmarks left in the smothered world.
Flying on Maggie’s back, Nightingale felt the cold in a way she hadn’t anticipated. The windproof clothes Roland had pressed on her before departure—custom-fitted, Soraya’s work—still let the wind find her at the scarf and cuffs. Her ears went numb. Her fingers followed. They were forced to land and rest often, and what should have been half a day’s journey stretched into the next morning even pushing hard.
“There.” Lightning pulled up beside her.
Nightingale looked down and saw the ridge dropping, as though sinking into the earth. A city materialized from the fog on the hillside—their target. Fallen Dragon Ridge.
“Land,” she told Maggie, with a pat. “Somewhere we won’t be seen.”
“Awh!” Maggie folded her wings and glided down. The Mist closed around all three of them as they touched the ground, and Nightingale found the fog so dense she couldn’t make out what stood fifty steps ahead. Good. The church’s Judgement Army couldn’t track what they couldn’t see.
“You just wait here,” she said. “This won’t take long.”
“His Highness asked me to keep watch from the air.” Lightning shook her head.
“And he asked me to be emergency contact, in case you kidnapped the target,” Maggie added, already shrunk to a fat pigeon on the girl’s head. “Coo!”
Meaningless commands. “Then let’s go.”
In the Mist the world became black and white. The fog simply ceased—or transformed into something else, something no longer capable of blocking her vision. What had been impenetrable murk resolved into hard lines: the dark city wall, two hundred meters away, curving out of the mountain face like a seam where city and cliff had been stitched together. Shorter than the outer wall of Longsong Stronghold. No sentries on the ramparts.
She walked to the wall, found the hidden seam, and stepped through. The other side.
Fallen Dragon Ridge was half the size of Stronghold—more small town than city, hemmed in by the rocky cliffs. The Lord’s castle sat on the hillside above the town, visible from anywhere below.
She signaled Lightning and Maggie in behind her, then moved toward the castle.
This kind of work she knew.
When she’d served old Gilen, infiltrating a noble’s home had been as routine as filing a report. The buildings were always similar: the owner in the largest structure at the center, something worth finding in the cabinet. Back then she’d had no Mist—only the ability to conceal herself, and extreme care around God’s Stones of Retaliation, feeling her way through by patience alone.
Now the stones declared themselves like signal fires in her black-and-white world: lightless holes, each one burning against the darkness precisely because it canceled the light. She could go around them, through the walls between them, destroy a trap on the other side of a door before the door was ever opened. The Mist made her complete. She moved through the castle like water through rock.
The largest room at the top of the house held her target.
They had never met. But Nightingale knew Marquess Spear Passi the moment she saw her: the blue light rotating in the woman’s body was the only color visible in the Mist, magic power moving slow and even beneath her skin.
The Marquess sat at a desk with a quill in hand, writing. She was perhaps thirty, with fine lines at the corners of her eyes, silver curls, and plain robes that made her look older than she was. Nightingale checked the room: no God’s Stone, no trap. The only weapon was a small crossbow tucked inside the woman’s sleeve.
She left a mark on the window frame and stepped out of the Mist.
“Good evening, Marquess Spear Passi.”
The woman’s head came up fast. She steadied herself quickly—Nightingale noted that, filed it—and asked, “Who are you?”
First time I met Roland, he tried to run. Had to stop him with a dagger. She almost smiled.
“I’m Nightingale, from Border Town of the Western Region. As you can see, I’m a witch.”
“So I assumed,” Spear said. “No one enters without an invitation except a witch.” Her hand drifted toward her sleeve. “You should knock before coming in.”
“Then your guard would have met me, not you.” Nightingale kept her tone easy. “Don’t worry. I’m not here to hurt you. You won’t need the crossbow.”
The Marquess went still. The calm she’d been performing cracked, just for a moment, before resettling into something more genuine. She crossed her arms. “What do you want?”
“I bring a message from the Lord of Border Town, Guardian of the Western Region, fourth prince of Graycastle—His Highness Roland Wimbledon.” Nightingale gave a small bow. “He’s building a new order, one where witches and ordinary people live together without fear, and he hopes you’ll help him.”
“Prince Roland.” Spear repeated the name flatly. “The one everyone laughed at. Lord of Border Town?” An incredulous look crossed her face. “He was exiled to a wasteland. That makes him a rebel, not a lord.”
“Timothy was the real usurper,” Nightingale said. “And His Highness will dethrone him. But that’s beside the point—he needs your ability to strengthen another witch’s power. Would you consider coming to Border Town?”
Chapter 412: Sneaking into the Fallen Dragon Ridge
Translator: TransN Editor: TransN
The entire world was gloomy, from the sky to the land and sea.
Although the south central area of the Kingdom of Graycastle wasn’t covered by endless snow, the impact of the Months of Demons was inevitable—the sun was hidden by an expanse of gray clouds which filled the whole sky. A pale fog rose from the earth, shrouding the land, rocks, and jungles. All that was revealed was the black and gray mountain peaks above the clouds, which stretched towards the southern end of the continent, and acted as the visual guide for Nightingale and her companions.
While flying in the sky on Maggie’s back, Nightingale intensely experienced just how terrible the cold wind was in the open air. Even with a set of customized windproof clothes on, which were given to her by His Highness before they left, she could still feel the cold penetrating her body from her scarf and cuffs. In particular, her ears and fingers would soon get numb due to hypothermia. They often had to stop and rest for a while, making the normally half-day journey eventually extend to the next day—even flying at full speed.
“Here we are.” Lightning approached her.
Nightingale peered out and realized the ridge had become much lower, as if it was sinking into the ground. A city built on the hillside emerged faintly from the fog, which should be their exact target—Fallen Dragon Ridge.
“Let’s land.” She patted Maggie’s back. “Be careful and don’t let anyone see us.”
“Awh!” Maggie nodded, folding her wings as she glided down. The Mist soon enveloped the three of them as they landed. Nightingale found that the
visibility around them was so low that she couldn’t see clearly what was only 50 steps in front of them, let alone over a great distance.
This was a good sign for the witches—at least they wouldn’t be easily noticed.
After entering into the Mist, the true colors of the world would be revealed, but she wasn’t worried about running into the church’s Judgement Army due to the thick white fog.
“You just wait here, this shouldn’t take long,” said Nightingale.
“His Highness asked me to keep a lookout from the air.” Lightning shook her head.
“And he asked me to be the emergency contact in case you kidnapped the target. Coo!” Maggie transformed into a fat pigeon, crouching on the top of the little girl’s head.
“His Highness gave some meaningless commands,” Nightingale thought. “In that case, let’s go.”
Suddenly, the world became black and white—the fog disappeared, or transformed into something else, which no longer hindered her vision. All of a sudden, the view became clear. The dark city wall was 200 meters away, extending out of the mountain side, and linked the city and the mountain like a dome. The stone wall was much shorter compared to the outer wall of Longsong Stronghold, and there were no sentry guards on it.
Nightingale went to the side of the wall and found the entrance through the curved lines. She stepped forward and realized that she was already on the other side of the city wall.
The city was half the size of Stronghold, and it was more like a small town in this area just outside of the mountain cliffs. But Fallen Dragon Ridge was located within the rocky mountains, and the Lord’s castle built on the hillside could be seen from far away.
Nightingale assured that Lightning and Maggie were following her into the city, and then she went straight towards the castle.
This mission wasn’t new to her and she was very proficient at it.
When she served old Gilen, it was a common assignment to infiltrate into other nobles’ mansions and castles. Most of the buildings were similar in structure, and the owners always liked to live in the most spacious house right in the center. Back then, she was unable to go in through walls freely and could only conceal herself—while carefully avoiding any possible traps and the God’s Stones of Retaliation—before stealing the letters and documents hidden in the cabinet.
Now with the help of the Mist, she could easily do these things, since the lightless black hole presented by the God’s Stone of Retaliation, embedded at the corner of castle’s aisle, seemed as attractive as the moon hanging in the dark sky. The hidden traps could be seen clearly, as their twisted contours were like creeping earthworms, and she could easily destroy them after passing through the walls. While under the influence of her ability, Nightingale was perfectly free to move—the walls, doors, and roofs were just inconsequential to her.
Walking into the largest house at the top, she found her target.
Although they had never met before, Nightingale identified Marquess Spear Passi, the Lord of Fallen Dragon Ridge, at first sight because a magic blue light was rotating in her body, which was the only color visible in the world of the Mist.
Sitting in front of a desk with a quill in her hand waving back and forth, the Marquess seemed to be writing something. She was about 30 years old with wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, and the silver curls of hair and plain robes she wore made her look older. Nightingale examined the room carefully and found that there was no God’s Stone of Retaliation or trap, and that Parcy’s only weapon was a delicate and luxurious short crossbow hidden inside her sleeve.
After leaving a mark on the side of the window, she dissolved the Mist and revealed herself.
“Greetings, Marquess Spear Passi.”
Shocked by the unexpected voice, Spear Passi raised her head swiftly and saw Nightingale. She quickly calmed down and asked, “Who are you?”
Nightingale remembered the scenario of her first meeting with Prince Rolandhis first reaction was to try to escape and she had to stop him by using a dagger, which in hindsight was really funny.
“I’m Nightingale and I’m from Border Town of the Western Region. As you can see, I’m a witch.”
“I thought so, as no one can come here without an invitation, except a witch.” Spear Passi pretended to be calm, as she moved one of her hand slowly into her sleeve. “You should knock on the door before coming in.”
“Then I’d be welcomed by your guard, not you.” Nightingale laughed softly. “Don’t worry. I don’t intend to hurt you. I just want to have a talk—so you won’t need that crossbow inside your sleeve.”
This surprised Spear Passi and her face got more serious. “You know quite a lot.” She took her hands out and crossed them in front of her chest. “Well, why are you here?”
“I bring you a message from Lord of Border town, Guardian of the Western Region, the fourth prince of the Kingdom of Graycastle, His Highness Roland Wimbledon.” Nightingale bowed slightly. “He’s creating a new order of the world that allows witches to live together with average people peacefully, and he hopes you can assist him.”
“Prince… Roland?” Marquess frowned. “The incompetent nobility who was always laughed at by everyone?” With an absurd look on her face, she said, “This is ridiculous, Lord of Border Town? He’s just a rebel banished to a waste land!”
“Timothy was the real usurper,” Nightingale said, “and Prince Roland will soon dethrone him. But that’s beside the point… His Highness needs your magic power to strengthen the ability of a witch. Would you mind making a trip to Border Town?”