CH720 · Rewrite
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Chapter 720: The Competition Results and Admission Ceremony

By midafternoon, Maggie’s roar had gone quiet.

Agatha had predicted it. The Devilbeast form was spectacular and decisive in the short term — lower demonic beasts simply stopped moving in its presence, prey immobilized by something older than thought — but the transformation burned through magic at a rate that couldn’t be sustained. When the roar faded, Maggie had apparently become a pigeon again, and the combined team of Lightning and Maggie reverted to fast and cooperative rather than overwhelming.

The Taquila team rested at intervals, eating dry rations with water from snow. When Agatha had frozen three or four beasts in position, she shaped the snow beneath them into smooth ice channels that allowed the carcasses to slide toward the city wall without being dragged. It was methodical and unglamorous and more efficient than anything that relied on a single decisive moment.

When Leaf’s voice came through the trees to announce the end of competition, the sky was already gray at the edges.


The collection at the base of the wall was larger than Phyllis had expected to find from three teams of two. Demonic beasts in wooden cages, stacked and staggered — smaller ones toward the front, the largest ones visible even from a distance. One of them stopped her completely.

A wolf-bear hybrid, nearly as tall as the wall itself, limbs like stone pillars, the kind of creature that a God’s Punishment Warrior in full capacity would approach carefully. Which team had taken that?

Wendy was already there, notebook open, expression indicating that she had been worried about everyone and was visibly relieved by everyone’s return.

“You’ve all worked hard. Let me give you the results.”

She consulted the notebook. “Neverwinter — seven points.”

Phyllis looked at the cages. Seven?

Lightning touched her forehead. “Maggie found a winter hawk nest and decided to spend two hours roasting the eggs.” She said it with the particular precision of someone reporting a military incident. “We would have scored higher.”

“You told me to go, coo,” said the pigeon on her head, with what seemed like genuine grievance. “And you ate more of the eggs than I did. You said eggs taste better with Bird Beak Mushrooms and asked me to look for some.”

Lightning appeared to be studying a point in the middle distance.

“Sleeping Island — fifteen points.” Wendy marked it off. “Ashes, you’re remarkable.”

“She’s the one who knocked them down,” Ashes said flatly, indicating Andrea. “I carried them. Fifteen times through the snow.”

“The strong are better suited for carrying,” Andrea said. There was no cruelty in it — she said it with the practiced ease of someone who considers this a reasonable division of labor. “The fast are better suited for locating. We each did what we were good at.”

“Some of us were apparently better suited for abuse.”

“You—”

“Taquila’s team,” Wendy continued, with the tone of someone who has learned not to let these exchanges gather momentum. “Twenty-two points.” She looked up. “Congratulations. The month’s Chaos Drinks are yours.”

Andrea’s expression consolidated into acute personal offense.

“Twenty-two. That’s so many,” Maggie said longingly, looking at Agatha.

Phyllis accepted the result and tried to feel appropriate satisfaction, but her attention had gone to the cages. There were far more than forty-four animals there. Far more.

“The rest…” She began to count.

“Leaf caught those,” Wendy said, with a small wave of her hand, “along the way.”

Every face turned toward the green-haired witch standing quietly at the edge of the group.

Leaf touched the back of her head. “The hunting area had too many demonic beasts approaching, so I set up vine traps in a three-thousand-foot perimeter to prevent the larger ones from getting through. Only the smaller ones were allowed to pass through specific gaps.” She paused. “The ones that were already trapped — I thought since they were there anyway, I should bring them to the wall. For His Majesty’s targets.”

The silence had a particular quality to it.

Leaf, managing the perimeter and conducting the competition’s oversight simultaneously, had collected more demonic beasts by herself than all three competing teams combined. Without apparently considering it worth mentioning.

Even a Transcendent, at full capacity, would have struggled with that count.

I won, Phyllis thought, and somehow I feel as though I’ve lost.

The sensation was strange and she couldn’t quite resolve it into something nameable. It wasn’t humiliation — more like the recalibration that happened when a reference point turned out to be in the wrong place. She had measured herself against the Witch Union’s most visible combat witches and come out ahead. She had not measured herself against the ones who were managing the exercise itself, quietly, without announcement.

The Witch Union had been doing this for two years. It was possible they had more depth than she had assumed.


The preparation was finished by morning.

Roland arrived at the western wall to find two thousand Neverwinter citizens already in position — every sold-out seat filled, most of them former residents of Border Town, people who had spent enough time under this city’s particular kind of protection that two silver royals was now a comfortable entrance fee rather than a meaningful sacrifice. Edith’s framework had worked precisely as intended.

The weather had cooperated. The heavy snow of the night before had stopped at dawn; the wind had settled. The field to the west lay under a fresh white surface, undisturbed, the tracks and drag marks of yesterday’s preparation completely buried.

The demonic beasts were already visible from the wall — three rows arranged by distance, the nearest ones the largest. The wolf-bear hybrid drew immediate attention from the crowd, as it had from Phyllis. He could hear the murmuring rising.

Iron Axe climbed the last section of wall and stopped at attention. “Your Majesty. The artillery battalion is ready.”

Roland turned to Echo.

She didn’t need instructions. Her magic had already spread from her fingers, and the Parade March reached into the air over the wall — the melody he’d heard practiced so many times on the sports grounds of another world, but which still had the same effect here that it had had there: the spine straightening, the attention focusing, the sense that something is about to begin and that this beginning matters.

The crowd that had been talking fell quiet.

Down the long street below, the First Army’s artillery battalion appeared. In formation. In step. The sound of their boots on the packed snow reached the wall before they did.

Roland remembered a time, not very many years ago, when this city had been small enough to see across from any point on its perimeter, when the people defending it had had two months of training and weapons that were honest in their limitations, when a single mid-tier demonic hybrid could produce genuine chaos among the garrison. He remembered fighting on a rubble-and-cement wall with lances and spears.

The soldiers climbing the wall now were not those soldiers. The weapons waiting for them were not those weapons. The beasts in the cages below — the ones that had defined the limits of what Neverwinter could survive — had become the day’s entertainment.

The applause started before the first soldier reached the top of the wall. It came in waves, each one building before it had fully receded, the sound of a crowd that hadn’t been asked to perform enthusiasm and hadn’t needed to be.

There was nothing he needed to add to that.

“Let the exercise begin,” he said.

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