CH690 · Rewrite
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Chapter 690: Witches vs. Witches

No. 76 looked away and let her posture go small.

She had anticipated some form of examination the moment she decided to make contact with the Witch Union. An organization this large and this old would have methods—sensitivity to magic, Magic Stones of Observation, something. She had no intention of failing it. She had not traveled from the City of Glow to the Western Region only to be turned back at the threshold.

The God’s Punishment Warrior’s body was its own form of cover. Unlike the mindless shells controlled by instinct alone, she could govern every function of this body with precision—the release and suppression of the anti-magic field included. Any witch could master that control after two or three years of practice. As long as she generated no distorted barrier, she would read as common to any magical examination. The anti-magic field and the blue blood were products of magic power; if the body’s inhabitant didn’t actively channel power, those signatures stayed dormant.

The red-haired witch—the one who had spoken—looked at Annie. “Why don’t you ask about our abilities first?”

Annie had gone rigid with wariness. “I was about to.”

No. 76 was equally curious how they would answer. During the long journey she had come to understand more than she expected about Annie’s history: refused once already by a witch organization because her ability was judged insufficient, nearly sold to a noble as a consequence. The fear in her was not abstract.

It was entirely understandable, from No. 76’s perspective. Combat witches had always been valued above others because survival demanded it—for an organization constantly hunted by the church, a fighter was worth more than a flower arranger. But it also revealed a fundamental ignorance about magic power. High Awakening could transform abilities that looked useless into something extraordinary. The organizations that sold off their non-combat witches were discarding their best potential.

Still, the leap from that practical discrimination to no discrimination at all was a large one. Too large, almost, to believe without evidence.

“The ability test is usually arranged three days after arrival,” the red-haired witch said, with a light, almost amused softness. “You’ve had a long journey. We prefer to wait until you’ve rested—the results are more accurate that way. Oh, and my name is Wendy. I manage the Witch Union here. If you have questions later, come to me.”

Annie’s posture didn’t change. “What if the test shows that our abilities are… useless?”

Wendy’s response came without hesitation. “Both His Majesty Roland and the Witch Union hold that there is no useless power. I know what you’re afraid of. It’s what most witches feel when they first arrive in Neverwinter. But an ability test is only so His Majesty can understand your situation. It doesn’t mean you’re required to join the Union.”

Annie stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“It means that even if you have no wish to work for His Majesty, you can live in this city like any common person.”

No. 76’s attention sharpened.

She knew what environment produced Senior Witches. In Taquila, every witch had been free to practice as she wished. Those with even modest talent were sought out and cultivated. In a place where witches held authority, witches were promoted—the numbers bore it out. But a witch who spent her days fleeing and hiding, who lived in constant fear and had no space to practice, would never develop. If what Wendy had said was true—if Neverwinter genuinely provided that kind of stability and freedom—then this city had the conditions, structurally, for the Chosen One to emerge.

Perhaps not among the witches who had come on this ship. But in several years? The probability shifted.

I should find a way to speak with the Witch Union privately, she thought. The best path may be to make them a branch of the Union.

“Can I really choose not to work for the King?” Annie’s voice had lost some of its edge, replaced by something that sounded like confusion rather than suspicion.

“Yes. The Witch Union won’t compel any sister to sign a contract. But members gain considerable benefits, and the work is meaningful—which is why everyone who arrives eventually joins. It becomes a family.”

“Lady Wendy…” Broken Sword spoke carefully. “Could you tell us what a witch’s daily work actually involves?”

“Please don’t call me Lady.” Wendy shook her head, smiling. “We’re sisters. As for the work—it depends on ability. For example, Miss Evelyn can brew exceptional wine, so she runs a winery in the city. Miss Mystery Moon maintains the lighting in several factories because she can magnetize objects. And Miss Nana Pine—” she nodded toward the blonde witch who had been watching No. 76, “—her healing ability is extraordinary. She’s become rather essential here. I was told some of you need healing?”

No. 76 noted: none of the examples involved combat. Don’t they value combat witches at all? Then how did they break the God’s Punishment Army?

“Can she really cure Hero’s feet?” Amy leaned forward, suddenly animated.

“Nana will need to examine her first,” Wendy said, nodding to the blonde girl. “But before that, can you tell us a little about yourselves? Names, backgrounds?”

No. 76 watched rather than spoke while the witches introduced themselves—Annie, Hero, Amy, Broken Sword each offering a brief account of where they’d come from. Wendy raised a few questions. An older brunette witch at the back took notes in a small book. Throughout it all, the magic stone against No. 76’s chest stayed at its resting temperature. She kept track.

Then Wendy turned to her.

“Are you… not a witch?”

“She’s our friend,” Amy said immediately. “If she hadn’t held off the knights of the Kingdom of Dawn, we would all have been dragged back to the dungeon.”

“I was a guide. A waitress, at an underground exhibition in the City of Glow.” No. 76 kept her voice even, unhurried. “Mr. Ambassador purchased me from the Chamber of Commerce.”

She had rehearsed this. Their examination was not random—the questions had been carefully selected to produce answers that couldn’t be evaded with vagueness. At least one of these witches could probably detect lies. Perhaps more than one.

She was not worried. She could govern every micro-expression, every physiological response this body made. The subtle signals that accompanied lying in a common person had no equivalent in her. Her words were impeccable. The only vulnerability was if they could reach into her mind directly.

Wendy showed no particular reaction. “I see. Thank you for protecting them. If you have nowhere else to go, you’re welcome to stay with them in the Foreign Affairs Building.”

“Thank you for the consideration,” No. 76 said.

“Wait.”

It was the quiet one—a witch with green hair, who had not spoken until now. She was looking at No. 76 steadily.

“Can you tell me where you got the ring on your chest?”

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