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Chapter 630: The Captive Pure Witch

Never in her life had Nightingale felt remorse like this.

She had believed that staying at Roland’s side meant no one could hurt him. That her presence was sufficient. That her speed and her eyes—which could see the world drained of its color, magic blazing white against the dark—were enough to guarantee his safety.

Roland lay unconscious on the bed in the Deepvalley Town castle. Nightingale stood beside him without a mark on her body.

There was no magic reaction inside him. His organs were intact. The healers and Agatha had worked through every test they knew—no Seed of Peaceful Death, no ability that destroyed tissue. Whatever Zero had done left no trace that any of them could read. Even Agatha’s knowledge, accumulated across a century in the Union’s service, stopped short of a diagnosis. Without understanding the mechanism, there was no method of reversal.

He breathed. Otherwise he did not respond to anything.

Nightingale finally understood what Agatha had warned her about. There was no defense that covered every possibility. No position, however well-held, that a witch’s ability could not find a path through.

She had understood too late.

Footsteps, rapid, coming down the corridor. Lightning hit the door with both hands and pushed it open.

“The pure witch is awake!”

The room came alive. The witches straightened, looked at each other, looked at Nightingale.

“Everyone settle down.” Wendy’s voice carried the room without effort. “We can’t all go—too many people, and we still don’t know what her ability is. Agatha and Nightingale will go. The rest of us stay here.”

The other witches quieted. Wendy had that effect: not authority exactly, but something that made people trust the steadiness beneath her words.

Nightingale took a breath and met Wendy’s eyes with a nod. “I’ll handle it.”

She knew her own state. Guilt and grief were real, but they were also useless in this room, and worse than useless in the next one. She had made an error and she could not undo it—but she could refuse to compound it by falling apart when the chance to fix things had finally arrived.

She had to bring Roland back.

“Let’s go,” Agatha said.

At the door, Nightingale looked back. Anna sat on the edge of the bed with her eyes fixed on Roland’s face, as still as if she had forgotten the room existed.

Nightingale felt her guilt sharpen.


The servant’s room on the castle’s first floor had been converted with care. Dozens of God’s Stones of Retaliation had been set into the walls at regular intervals, creating a field of suppression that left only a narrow volume at the room’s center where a witch could cast at all. It was as thorough a containment as they could build without permanent architecture.

Nightingale had briefed herself on what they knew about the prisoner.

The First Army had found three pure witches alive in the square pit left by the Magic Ark, within what had been the third trench. One was lucid. One was unconscious. One was in shock, shaking. The lucid one had given her name: Vanilla. She explained that five pure witches had been operating underground—Zero, Isabella, Blackveil, Margie, and herself. Her role, and Margie’s, had been limited to identifying Roland’s location and providing covert transportation. They knew little of the higher-level plan. Zero, Isabella, and Blackveil had all been directly affiliated with the Pope, their abilities kept secret even from most of the church hierarchy.

Blackveil was dead. Zero had vanished. That left Isabella.

The examination had found that Isabella’s coma resulted from total magic depletion. She should have recovered in a day or two. She had not woken for five days. Nightingale had wanted to use a knife. Wendy had talked her out of it.

A God’s Stone of unusual form had been found on Isabella’s person—the magic crystal completely destroyed, the design unrecognizable to Agatha.

“She woke on her own,” Lightning told them as they approached. “It was Ashes’s watch when she sat up and said the prison wouldn’t hold her.”

“Is she challenging us?” Nightingale’s voice came out flat.

“We’ll find out,” Agatha said.

Past the layered guard of First Army soldiers, through the narrow door. No windows. A single rosined torch high on the wall, burning dim and steady. A wooden bed-frame, a small table, nothing else.

Isabella sat on the bed with her back straight, her curled hair falling naturally to her shoulders, turned copper-gold in the firelight. She was still dressed in the priest’s robe she had been taken in—bloodstained, dusty, the dust dried to yellow spots on the fabric.

Before Nightingale could speak, Isabella said: “It seems Zero has failed completely.” Her voice was measured, unhurried. “In the end, God didn’t favor her.”

“Favor her?” Nightingale kept her tone cold.

“Don’t worry.” If she registered the contempt, she gave no sign. “I’ll tell you everything I know. After that, I’m at your disposal.”

Nightingale read her. She was telling the truth—the certainty settled in the way it always did, a particular quality of stillness that liars couldn’t hold. It caught her off guard. This was not the posture of a prisoner calculating leverage.

“You told Lightning this prison can’t hold you,” she said. “But you’re choosing to stay.”

“My ability affects the God’s Stone of Retaliation,” Isabella said, slowly, as if explaining something she expected would not be believed. “Given a surface to work from, I can make the stones lose their effect—as many stones as you’ve embedded in these walls. But I can’t walk through walls or pass through earth. This room is still a cell.” A pause. “Building it was a waste of effort, but I understand why you did it.”

Agatha stepped forward. “You can influence the God’s Stone?”

“They look like bottomless black holes—they are, in a sense. But I can collapse that effect.”

Nightingale’s hands closed into fists at her sides. “Then it was you. You made His Majesty’s God’s Stone stop working.”

“I had no choice.” Isabella’s expression did not change. “Zero had become… consumed. She believed that only one of them could be chosen by God—herself or Roland. There was no reasoning with that.”

Agatha laid her hand over Nightingale’s fist, gently, and asked: “Is it Zero’s ability that has kept His Majesty unconscious? What does she do?”

Isabella frowned. “Unconscious? In a Soul Battlefield, there should be a winner and loser within moments of entry. If Roland didn’t become Zero immediately—” she paused— “then Zero failed. Is he unconscious because he can’t process the memories?”

Nightingale and Agatha looked at each other.

“Soul Battlefield,” Nightingale said.

“Yes.” Isabella’s voice dropped. “A battle of spirit and will. The winner takes everything—memories, knowledge, years of life. The loser loses everything. Since Zero first awakened as a witch, she had never been defeated. She had consumed hundreds of commoners and witches over the years, absorbed their entire selves, and lived on through what she took. That is how she reached two hundred years of age.” She closed her eyes. “I never thought she could be beaten by an ordinary prince.”

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