CH562 · Rewrite
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Chapter 562: The Witnesses

“Was it successful?” Anna’s voice was barely above a murmur.

“Yes.” Agatha nodded. “Next comes cutting and sealing in silver foil. The final step varies by Sigil type — the Screaming cannot be cut; it functions as a whole.”

“What happens if we fail?”

“The bloodlines don’t collect magic power — the cause is still unknown, even with perfect materials. The remedy is simple: pry off the Magic Stone and begin again.”

“But that consumes the blood—”

“That is why demon’s blood was considered more valuable than a witch’s in Taquila.” A small, self-deprecating smile crossed Agatha’s face. “A wasted experiment on witch’s blood earned no consequence. Wasted demon’s blood earned punishment.”


Two of the six failed.

The steps had been identical — she had checked twice — but two of the bloodlines refused the magic power she offered them. Refused to wake. She pried the Magic Stones free without comment and retrieved the spare wooden box, knowing the clock was running. The demon on the iron table had begun to spasm irregularly, its black-blue skin bleaching toward gray in patches. The Red Mist beneath its helmet had visibly thinned; once it was gone, the blood would be usable for perhaps fifteen minutes more, no longer.

She reached for the knife.

“Wait.” Anna was already cutting her own wrist with Blackfire — a precise, shallow line, swift as a thought. “Use my blood.”

Agatha opened her mouth.

“Nana can heal wounds, but she cannot replenish blood.” Anna pressed the glass to her wrist with the patient efficiency of someone consulting a known fact. “His Majesty has noted that significant blood loss brings dizziness, sometimes unconsciousness. Neither outcome is useful to you or to the experiment. You should rest for a few days before continuing — more meat porridge, more liver during recovery, he said. You’ll recover faster.”

”…Is that what His Majesty told you?”

“Every witch attended the injury self-help classes.” Anna smiled, already filling the glass. “And — you chose me as your assistant primarily to teach me the method of Sigil-making, did you not? Then it is better that I conduct these two myself.”

Agatha was quiet for a moment. “In that case. Thank you.”

“I’m very interested in it as well,” Anna said simply.


”…The witch empire was shattered after the demons’ assault. The survivors crossed the mountains and the rivers, traveled to the Wild Places, and began again. That was the third attempt — and the last — to prepare for the Battle of Divine Will. It has since become the truth of history.”

Roland finished speaking and watched Edith’s face in the afternoon light.

The sun lay across the desk in a long pale bar. The woman in the chair looked as though she had been carved from something denser than bone — motionless, expression unreadable, her green hair bleached almost white where the light struck it. She should have been frightened. Most people, receiving this information, showed fear before anything else. What Edith’s eyes showed was something Roland had not quite anticipated: curiosity. A brightening, as if the news had opened a door she had spent years looking for.

She was silent for a long moment.

“You would not fabricate something this elaborate merely to impress me.” She spoke slowly, turning each word over. “Are the demons truly that powerful?”

“Beyond doubt. Each one is a formidable individual fighter, and their numbers are staggering. My army could defeat Timothy’s knights — but the demons have spent centuries entrenched in the northwest of the Land of Dawn, preparing for exactly this. The witches, by contrast, must rebuild from nothing.” He met her gaze. “What makes this different from every other war is that there is no negotiating. No treaty, no surrender. It ends only when one side ceases to exist.”

“Do you intend to tell everyone?”

“Eventually.” He exhaled. “Not now. I do not yet know how people will respond to a threat so vast and so absolute. Building that kind of confidence — the kind that can hold against a Bloody Moon — takes years.”

“I agree.” Edith nodded once. “Panic is a more immediate enemy than any demon.” A pause, then: “One last question. How close are we to the Battle of Divine Will?”

“Five years. Perhaps less. The Bloody Moon’s arrival cannot be predicted exactly. The war could break out at any moment — which is why I cannot afford to unify Graycastle slowly.”

She did not answer immediately. Then she stood, smoothed her coat, and dropped to one knee with the deliberate precision of someone who has decided something well in advance of the moment.

“Then the Kant Family pledges its service. Your laws will not be impeded in the North. Your orders will be the only voice there.” A beat. “I also expect your promises to be honored.”

“You mean the steam engine plant.” Roland shook his head, smiling despite himself. “Your father may refuse. And what exactly can the Kant Family offer as guarantee?”

“Me,” she said without hesitation.

“Pardon?”

“I am the guarantee. If you require additional security, Cole may remain here as well.” She did not look away. “My father will agree, whether or not he wishes to.”

“You’re proposing to remain in Neverwinter as a hostage.” Roland said it plainly; the slight awkwardness of saying it aloud was his problem to manage. “Won’t your father see it as coercion?”

“Not a hostage.” She placed a hand over her chest in the knight’s salute. “Allow me to join your City Hall. I would like to witness the new world you are building.”


Six newly made Sigils arrived at Roland’s study that evening, delivered by Agatha with the faint air of someone who has performed a great labor and expects no particular ceremony about it.

“Thank you for the hard work.” He looked them over. “Did it go smoothly?”

“Two failures in the first batch. Anna assisted with part of the production.” Agatha covered a yawn. “If you require more Sigils, I will need a proper independent laboratory. Not a stable with planks.”

“You have my word on a Spellcaster’s Tower,” Roland said.

Nightingale materialized from the air at his shoulder once Agatha’s footsteps had faded down the hall. “What do those things do?”

“Roughly? A telephone, a smoke alarm, and a camera.”

”…What are those?”

“Try one and you’ll understand,” he said, smiling.

It had been a productive day, genuinely so. The Sigils of Listening would do for long-distance communication what carrier pigeons could not — they were few and witch-dependent, but they were reliable. The Sigil of Screaming would sound at demon presence and provide meaningful coverage over the size of the Border Area. The Sigil of Observing would travel with Thunder’s fleet — Roland would not see the Sealine himself, but he would see it.

But none of it quite matched the particular satisfaction of Edith Kant’s pledge.

Territory and resources: the two things every campaign ran on, and she had offered both. If the North delivered comprehensively, Roland’s actual reach would double overnight. The Eastern nobles would feel the pressure. And if the momentum held, Graycastle might be unified before the Months of Demons arrived.

He turned the Sigil of Observing in his hand, feeling its faint warmth.

Not bad for a day’s work.

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