Chapter 419: Faith
The forest fell quiet.
The witch’s long braids had come undone in the fall. Her hair spread white across the ground—white against dark soil, white in the cold light filtering through the trees—like petals scattered from something that had bloomed and finished. Blood moved from beneath her back and found the lowest contours of the earth, pooling slowly, seeping warmth into the cold ground. The smell of iron came last, after everything else.
Nightingale crouched beside her and untied the blindfold.
The face beneath was young. Close to Nightingale’s own age, she thought. What might have been a clean-lined face was interrupted by the scars beside each eye—not ordinary scars, but the ruin of repeated burning: skin made red and rigid and textureless, the shape of the eye sockets erased into wrinkled tissue. Someone had done this deliberately. More than once.
Before she entered the church’s service, or after. There was no way to know. No one left to ask.
Nightingale touched the scarred skin lightly with one finger. Whatever this woman had surrendered in exchange for what the church gave her—whether she’d understood the terms or not—she couldn’t hurt anyone now. She couldn’t be hurt anymore either. It wasn’t peace exactly. It was the end of the alternative.
She searched the body and found three things in the inner pocket of the robe: a letter, a seal, and an emblem. The emblem was a circle divided by a cross, with a clenched fist at its center. No gold, no jewelry, no personal effects of any kind.
Maybe she never had anything of her own.
“Hey—look what I caught.” Lightning’s voice dropped from above. Nightingale looked up and watched the girl descend, carrying a struggling man held at arm’s length, and drop him onto the ground. He hit hard, groaned, and rolled, unable to do more than writhe in his hog-ties.
His vestments placed him as a priest. The second coach.
“Where’s Maggie?”
“Guiding Ashes to chase the ones who ran.” Lightning walked over and looked at the Saint’s face. “This is the witch the church trained?”
“Yes.”
“From her face, it’s hard to believe she wanted us dead.” The little girl’s voice had gone quiet.
“Without the church, none of it would have happened.” Nightingale turned to the captive. When the man saw the body, his eyes went wide; sounds pushed against the cloth gag in his mouth—outrage, horror, or some combination. She crossed to him and pulled the cloth free.
“—you killed the Pure Witch of Bishop Tayfun!” He coughed. “Reckless devils! The church will hang you at the gate and leave you for the crows—”
“If we hadn’t killed her,” Nightingale said, “being taken by the church wouldn’t have been any better. You should worry about your own situation.”
“Even if I die, God receives me! You’ll burn in Hell for eternity—”
“That’s why I gagged him,” Lightning said.
Nightingale replaced the cloth. “Iron Axe will handle him. His Highness says he has a gift for this kind of conversation.”
By afternoon, Maggie appeared over the treeline with Ashes and Andrea on her back.
Ashes dropped to the ground and straightened. “You’re unhurt?”
“Everything went as planned,” Nightingale said. “You?”
“Not one escaped.” Said with the quiet satisfaction of a craftsperson checking completed work.
Andrea landed more carefully and looked at the Saint. “I thought you’d keep her alive.”
“The enemy was a witch,” Ashes said. “Hesitating would have been too dangerous. I’d have done the same.” A short pause. “She wasn’t our kind anyway. A puppet is what she was. Sometimes our own kind can be crueler than anyone else—I’ve never seen a demon imprison and torture someone for years at a time.”
She stripped her blood-stiff gloves off and offered her hand to Nightingale. “What you did was right. Don’t forget that.”
Nightingale looked at the hand for a moment, then took it. “Thank you.”
She knew I might feel guilty. That’s why she said it. The thought arrived simply, without embarrassment.
“I think this calls for a celebration,” Lightning said.
“Coo!” Maggie agreed.
Andrea rolled her eyes, then reached out and placed her hands on top of the others’ anyway. “To be clear: this is for Nightingale. Not for you.” The last directed at Ashes.
“Understood,” Ashes said, unbothered.
Five hands went up. In the cold wind, in the quiet of a forest that had stopped making noise, it was not a grand gesture. It was something smaller and more permanent than that.
Two days to clear the site and intercept every pigeon the church sent north. Three more to travel. Then Border Town’s skyline emerged from the grey and Maggie came down into the castle’s rear courtyard.
Nightingale’s sisters reached her before she had finished climbing off.
Nana first, already scanning: “You were hurt—where—let me see—”
Lily: “She’s been watching for you since yesterday. Why are you always late?”
Lucia, not quite finishing her sentences: “Does it still—is the wound—”
Leaf, holding out a tied bundle of herbs with the calm of someone who prepared for this days ago: “New preparation. Better efficacy for sustained healing. I’ve tested it.”
Wendy, not loudly: “You went into the church alone. You might not be lucky twice.”
Scroll: “Safe. That’s what counts.”
The warmth that moved through Nightingale at these voices was not complicated. She knew exactly what it was.
She looked past her sisters and found Roland.
Lightning had already adhered herself to his side, the way she always did after a separation, with the focused dedication of someone who has been planning this moment since the ridge. Maggie had found his shoulder and was pressing her face against his cheek. He bore both of them with the patient expression of someone who has long since made peace with being furniture.
Nightingale was not a child. She was aware of this, and it was relevant to the impulse she felt, and relevant to the choice she made. She walked to him, and when she was close enough, she stopped.
“I’m back.”
“I know.” The familiar smile. “You kept me waiting. There’s honey-grilled dried fish in my desk drawer.”
“Then I’ll help myself.”
She smiled, and went.
The rest could wait. She had done the right thing; she was certain of it. And the fish, as it always did, meant he’d been thinking about her the whole time she was gone.
Chapter 419: Faith
Translator: TransN Editor: TransN
After the smoke caused by the battle dissipated, the forest returned to silence.
The witch’s long braids had unraveled, and her hair spread like white petals over her body.
Blood streamed down her back and quickly formed a dark red puddle, slowly immersing into the ground and melting the cold, hard soil. After that, the air was filled with a smell of iron.
Nightingale squatted and untied the blindfold on the witch’s face. She found the face looked unexpectedly young, probably similar to her own age. However, the scars by her eyes destroyed her overall beauty—her eyes looked like they had been repeatedly burned by red-hot iron, and her skin was red and wrinkled, so she had lost the contours of her eyes.
This was undoubtedly caused by men. Nightingale gently touched the wrinkled scars; as for whether she suffered these wounds before becoming a witch or after serving the church, no one would ever know. However, this was no longer important because from now on, she couldn’t hurt any more witches and wouldn’t suffer any more torments.
After searching the Saint’s body, Nightingale found a letter, a seal and an emblem in the pocket of her robe lining. The emblem was a circle split by a cross with a clenched fist in the center.
She carried nothing else—no gold royals or jewelry.
“Perhaps she never enjoyed anything in her life,” Nightingale couldn’t help but think.
“Hey, look at what I caught.” Lightning’s voice sounded from the air. She looked up and saw the little girl carrying a struggling man, whom she threw onto the ground.
The man groaned in pain and rolled around, trying to get up, but he was hogtied, so all he could do was to twist around helplessly.
The man’s outfit revealed that he was probably the Priest who was sitting in the other carriage.
“Where’s Maggie?”
“She’s guiding Ashes to chase the runaway Judgement Army.” Lightning walked over to the Saint. “This is the witch trained by the church?”
“Uh-huh,” Nightingale said softly. “She won’t ever hunt us again.”
“From her appearance, it’s difficult to believe that she saw us as enemies who must be killed… ” The little girl sighed.
“If not for the church, none of this would have happened.” Nightingale turned to glare at the captive man. When he saw the witch lying in a pool of blood, his eyes immediately widened, and he tried to say something but couldn’t because of the cloth gag in his mouth.
She took out the cloth. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
“Ahem… you, you’ve killed the Pure Witch of Bishop Tayfun, reckless devil! You’ll sooner or later be hung by the church at the city gate and left to the crows!”
“Even if we didn’t kill her, being caught by the church is no better,” said Nightingale, “and compared with this, you’d better worry about yourself first.”
“Even if I die, I’ll have the salvation of God, and you guys will only sink into Hell and be tortured forever!” He yelled.
“That’s why I have to block his mouth,” Lightning said.
Nightingale stuffed the cloth back into his mouth. “Let His Highness deal with him. He said that the Iron Axe is very good at interrogating such kinds of people.”
…
By the time Maggie brought over the two witches from Sleeping Island, it was already afternoon. Ashes jumped down from the back of the beast and landed steadily next to Nightingale. ” You’re not hurt, are you?”
“Everything went well,” she said. “How about you?”
“Obviously, not a single man escaped.” Ashes laughed proudly.
“Is she dead?” Andrea landed and looked at the Saint. “I thought you’d keep her alive.”
“The enemy was a witch, so hesitating would have been extremely dangerous,” Ashes twitched her mouth and said. “If I were you, I wouldn’t keep her alive either.”
“Gee, you have no mercy for your own kind.”
“She isn’t our kin, but a puppet controlled by the church,” the Extraordinary said casually. “Besides, sometimes our own kind can be even crueler than others. I’ve never seen demonic beasts or demons imprison and torture people for several years.”
After saying that, she took off her blood-stained gloves and offered her hand to Nightingale. “Your actions and performance were amazing, and you did the right thing in this situation.”
“… ” The latter stared at her for a moment before holding her hand. “Thank you.”
“Who would have thought that someone like her would comfort me,” Nightingale thought. “She probably didn’t want me to feel guilty for killing a witch.”
“I think this victory is worth celebrating,” Lightning said.
Maggie agreed with a “Coo!”
Andrea rolled her eyes, reached out her hands, and placed them on top of the others’. “I have to clarify that if it were only your hand, I wouldn’t touch it, so this’s for Nightingale’s sake.”
“OK, I get it,” Ashes said, raising her eyebrow.
Then, the five witches raised their hands to the sky, looking like an unwavering tower in the cold wind.
…
Next, they needed to collect the information carried by the emissary delegation and hide the traces of their battle. After properly dealing with these issues in the forest for two days, they arrived back in Border Town three days later.
After landing in the castle backyard, Nightingale was immediately surrounded by her sisters.
“I heard you were hurt. Where is the wound?” Nana asked.
“She has been waiting for you for a long time. Why did you come back so late?” Lily asked, annoyed.
“Does it… still hurt?” Lucia asked urgently.
“This batch of herbs was made especially by me. They can’t only stop bleeding, but also calm swelling, so their effect should be pretty great,” Leaf said with a smile.
“How could you be so careless to scurry into the church alone! You might not be this lucky next time!” This was Wendy’s voice.
“It’s alright as long as she can return safely.” Scroll chimed in.
Seeing their concerned faces warmed Nightingale’s heart, and she didn’t understand how the Church’s witches lived, but she knew what it was like to belong to the Witch Union. There was no doubt that this was worth devoting everything to.
Then, she saw His Highness Roland.
Lightning jumped into his arms and stuck to him like a gecko.
Maggie also flew onto Roland’s shoulder, rubbing his cheek.
Although Nightingale wanted to do this too, she knew that she wasn’t a child, so she held back the impulse to embrace Roland, walked up to him, and said with a smile, “I’m back.”
“Uh-huh, I’ve waited for you for a long time.” The prince smiled his familiar smile. “Take a hot bath and get some rest. I put a few bags of honey grilled dried fish in the office drawer.”
“OK, then I’ll go help myself.”
Nightingale smiled.
She reassured herself that she had done the right thing.