Rewrite That Witch
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Chapter 756: Magic Power Tide

“Is something wrong?” Roland asked.

Phyllis hesitated briefly, then said, “We’ve heard that only one witch awakened here in the past year. Is that true?”

Roland pulled from his drawer the name list Wendy had compiled—each witch’s Day of Awakening and Day of Adulthood recorded carefully, prepared so he wouldn’t forget the important dates. He checked it and nodded. “Yes. Two witches joined the Witch Union last year, but only one awakened during that period. Paper awakened three years ago, and Summer awakened last year on her Day of Adulthood.”

Phyllis’s brow tightened. “That’s not right, Your Majesty. How large is Neverwinter’s population now? Twenty thousand? Thirty thousand?”

Roland felt a small, involuntary pride at the question. “Probably fifty thousand last year. This year we’ve already passed one hundred thousand.”

“A city of that size resembles Arrieta in its early days.” Phyllis’s voice dropped. “When we retreated from the Fertile Plains, Taquila had two hundred and fifty thousand people. Do you know how many witches awakened annually in each city?” She paused. “Even at the lowest point of the magic power tide, Arrieta saw at least ten new awakenings each year. Taquila’s number was triple that.”

“Magic power tide—lowest point?”

Agatha explained, “Yes. The magic power prevailing in this world rises and falls like a tide. Two years after the arrival of the Bloody Moon marks the peak—during that period, new witches awaken every day. After the peak, the power declines gradually across the world. At low tide, in the long interval between two Bloody Moons, witches awaken only during the Months of Demons.”

Roland had heard from Agatha that awakenings increased when magic power was strong, but he had understood that to mean the annual surge during the Months of Demons. He had never considered that the tide moved in cycles of hundreds of years. “But the third Battle of Divine Will is close,” he said.

“That’s exactly what worries us.” Phyllis looked troubled. “The Fearful Beast of Hell appeared, which means the Bloody Moon approaches. During this period, magic power should be rising—and Celine’s test results confirm that it is. Given that, many new witches should be awakening now. If not inside the city walls, then in nearby towns and villages. In Taquila’s time, our domains around the Holy City produced more witches than the city itself did. By every principle the Union accumulated over centuries, a growing city should see a significant increase in new awakenings. So why is Neverwinter seeing almost none?”

Agatha spoke slowly. “I first assumed it might be because the city had deliberately avoided recruiting girls, or because newly awakened witches were too afraid of the church to expose themselves. But that’s clearly wrong now. We’ve discussed this with Pasha and reached a conclusion: some unknown factor may be suppressing the awakenings—and its influence appears to be expanding.”

A long silence. Roland turned it over in his mind, then asked, “If that’s the case, would you be able to identify the factor?”

Agatha and Phyllis looked at each other, then shook their heads.

He threw up his hands. “Since we don’t know what’s causing it, let’s assume the gods are simply resting. However many witches awaken each year, the task remains the same—drive the demons out of the Land of Dawn.”

He had to admit it to himself: if the industrialized foundation he had built didn’t exist—if his army still depended on the God’s Punishment Army or the Chosen One—this news would have been devastating. As things stood, he could face it.

Phyllis was quiet for a long moment, as if recalibrating something. “You’re… right,” she said finally. “We have to defeat the demons regardless of what else is happening.”

“Exactly.” He smiled. “Ah—the reason I called you here. I’ve been thinking about accidents caused by witches’ awakenings. How did Taquila handle them?”

“The answer is simple, Your Majesty.” Phyllis’s tone had shifted—there was more respect in it now. “In those days, everyone knew the half-quarter-of-an-hour rule.”

“The half-quarter-of-an-hour rule?”

“Before each awakening, there is always a warning,” she explained. “It takes roughly half a quarter of an hour for free magic power to cohere inside a new witch’s body. During that time, she first feels a slight sting and a mild burning in the stomach—subtle at first, then worsening steadily until the first magic bite. Stronger girls endure longer, but the initial prick is universal.”

She continued, “Under the rule: when a new witch announced loudly that she was about to awaken, everyone nearby was required to evacuate immediately. If they stayed and were harmed, the Union paid no compensation. We only covered the damage she caused to property.”

A workable solution—but only if the public knows witches well, and only if young girls understand what the first warning signs mean rather than dismissing them as a stomach ache. “What if the new witch harmed other witches?” he asked.

“If she failed to announce in time, she faced a fine or caning proportional to the damage. If she announced properly, the Union assumed full responsibility. Such incidents were rare in any case—most witches were not combat-type, and a newly awakened combat witch could seldom cause serious harm.”

In Taquila’s time, common people who failed to escape a witch’s awakening were simply unlucky—because witches held a higher position in society. That position no longer exists, and I can’t rebuild my policies on that assumption.

But there was something genuinely good in the rule. At minimum, it had created a shared public awareness of the danger witches’ awakenings could pose, and it had reinforced the understanding that witches were human beings—that any girl might one day become one. It reminded him, in a way, of traffic signals: a simple, universal protocol that prevented accidents precisely because everyone knew what it meant.

The rule would need to be revised for this age. Witches and common people had to be held to the same standard. City Hall could cover damages when a witch gave proper warning; if a witch caused severe harm without warning, she should face trial for negligent injury—or he could draft a special law regulating witches’ conduct, one that might ease the underlying tension between the two groups rather than merely punishing its outbreaks.

He began to turn the problem over, looking for the right shape.

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