CH631 · Rewrite
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Chapter 631: Promises Then and Now

After hearing Isabella’s description of the Soul Battlefield, Nightingale’s composure cracked. “Do you mean you don’t know how to wake His Majesty from the coma either?”

Isabella shook her head. “This is unprecedented. I have no idea how to address it.” She paused. “But Zero fell absentminded once while devouring Garcia. She said she’d found interesting things in Garcia’s memory—that it took her longer than usual. Zero had a more complicated life than anyone else. If Roland is sorting through her memories, it may simply take more time. But as long as he’s alive, he’ll wake on his own.”

Nightingale could not verify any of it, but she could tell Isabella was not lying. At least the conjecture came from genuine belief, not performance.

That did nothing to comfort her.

Would two hundred years of the church’s memories overwhelm Roland’s own? Would he get lost in that labyrinth and never surface? And even if he accepted Zero’s memories intact—would the man who opened his eyes still be that Roland Wimbledon, fourth prince of Graycastle? The one she was waiting for?

The questions piled up until her mind felt like a room filling with smoke.

Then she understood why Wendy had asked Agatha to come along.

“Let’s speak of the church,” Agatha said, after a beat of hesitation. “How much do you know about the Union—the church’s predecessor?”

“Everything Zero learned.” Isabella answered without evasion. “Are you still uncertain about what was written in the letter? Since Zero assumed the papacy, all pure witches cleared for Pivotal Secret Authority could access the library and read the four-hundred-year record. The accounts of the Witch Empire and the demons are true.”

“The letter told us very little.” Agatha’s expression was mild, almost amused. “The Witch Empire is history to you. To me, it’s memory. I am a witch of the Union.”

Isabella went rigid. “What did you say?”

“I came from the Holy City of Taquila more than four hundred years ago. I witnessed its destruction.” Agatha’s voice held nothing sentimental—only the flat weight of fact. “The demons are no myth. They hold most of Dawn Ridge. There are demon battalions at the edges of the Misty Forest and along the Redwater River west of Graycastle. Roland has encountered them before.”

Isabella stared at her, speechless.

“We will fight the demons. All of us know the Battle of Divine Will is near.” Agatha let that settle before continuing. “Roland chose to strike the church now—to remove one threat before facing the other. What I want to know is how the Union became the church.”

The silence stretched. When Isabella finally spoke, she sounded steadier than she had any right to be. “As the histories record it: during the retreat, a civil war broke out in the Union somewhere northwest of the Impassable Mountain Range. The records give no clear cause. The Union split into two factions. One—the Taquila witches—withdrew into the labyrinth ruins inside the mountains. The other, led by the witches of Starfall City, carried Lady Alice’s will northward and founded their settlement on the Hermes Plateau. That became the church.”

“A civil war during the retreat.” Agatha’s frown deepened. “That was suicide.”

“The historian who recorded it said the same.” Isabella exhaled. “The losses were catastrophic. Two Transcendents died. The common people fled when the northern faction finally reached its destination. As for the later campaigns against non-combat witches who hadn’t come from Starfall City—that was how the church buried its origins. There was no other way to keep the past buried.”

“Hunting witches wantonly.” Nightingale’s voice came out cold and flat. “Building an unconscious God’s Punishment Army. You’re all insane.”

“Without that civil war, the Union would have controlled all four kingdoms from the beginning,” Isabella replied. Her tone held no apology—only arithmetic. “The God’s Punishment Army would have been far larger. Of course, since Roland Wimbledon has found a better path, Holy City of Hermes is no longer necessary.”

“You feel nothing for the church.”

“As long as the demons can be defeated, I don’t care who governs the continent.” Isabella closed her eyes. “That was always the Union’s intention. Zero was deranged by the end, but her faith in defeating the demons was stronger than almost anyone else’s. That’s why I chose to help her.”

Nightingale’s hand found the hilt of her dagger before she knew it.

“If killing her would wake Roland, I wouldn’t stop you,” Agatha said quietly.

The silence was long. Nightingale sheathed the dagger.

“One more thing.” Isabella spoke just as they turned to leave. “Zero permitted pure witches to enter the Temple and use the library, but she forbade anyone from approaching the prayer room. Even going near it was prohibited. She told me that standing there was the only way she could speak directly with God.”


Nightingale drove her fist into the wall the moment the door closed behind them. “Damn it. We still can’t find a way to wake him.”

“We’ve done what we can.” Agatha kept her voice even. “All we can do now is wait. Let’s report what we learned to the others.”

“I swear she’ll pay for this.”

“While she’s alive, she’s critical—for cracking Holy City’s defenses and understanding the God Stones.”

The witches gathered outside the bedroom and listened to Agatha’s account. Nightingale let the words flow past her. Her mind had already slipped away.

She stepped back, opened the Mist, and passed through Roland’s door.

The room was quiet. Only Anna remained, seated at the bedside, holding Roland’s right hand. She was murmuring something.

Nightingale held her breath to hear it.

“Do you remember what I told you?”

“If you were dead, I would go to Sleeping Island with the ones willing to follow you. We would fight the church to the end.”

“But you’re still alive.”

“You’re only sleeping.”

“So I’ll wait—however long it takes.”

“As long as you still breathe, I’ll be here. One day, one year, my whole life.”

“Sleep soundly.”

“I’ll take care of you.”

Something seized in Nightingale’s chest—sharp and total, worse than any wound. She bent forward before she realized she was moving, pressing one hand over her sternum as if to hold herself together.

Her eyes blurred. A warm current ran down her face.

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