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Chapter 796: First Action of the Pioneering Team

The Senior Witches’ doubts lasted barely a day before the subsequent news dissolved them.

Everything Phyllis had described was real.

The Third Border City erupted.

After that, no matter how reluctant Alethea was, she couldn’t hold back a tide that had already turned. The choice of Taquila was obvious.

Through the phantom instrument, Pasha conducted a formal meeting with Roland. The covenant was made.

The God’s Punishment Witches of the underground city passed through the light curtain one by one — each lifting an elbow, pressing it to their chest in the salute of acknowledgment — greeting the lord of Neverwinter, King of Graycastle, and recognizing him as the sole leader of the united front. The Senior Witches who had transformed into original carriers bent their primary tentacles in submission. It was a salute reserved, historically, for the Three Chiefs of the Union; it had not been given to anyone in more than four hundred years. Now it went to a common person.

Alethea was last.

As a higher ascendant who had joined the Blessed Army at twenty and fought the demons through more than a decade of war, she had her own history with pride and resistance. Pasha had quietly braced for something unexpected. But Alethea had measured what she carried against what she refused, and the Battle of Divine Will had weighed more. Her primary tentacle bent toward Roland. Reluctantly. Completely.

Whatever her expression conveyed in that moment, her decision made the relief in Pasha run deep.

If this were still Taquila’s age, the scene would have been unimaginable. But more than four hundred years could erode many things. The conviction that witches would lead and humanity would follow had worn thin against centuries of diminishing returns. When a common person demonstrated genuine potential and treated Taquila’s survivors with something that looked like grace, resistance became pointless.

Pasha believed — as the Three Chiefs had believed — that witches would one day return to a position of leadership. Common people like Roland were rare. But when the third Battle of Divine Will was done, and the survivors had to build what came after, the relationship between witch and common person would need to be different from what it had been. More equal. More honest.

She did not mind welcoming that future.


Three days passed before Roland actually put his plan into motion.

To keep Zero from becoming suspicious, he had rented a warehouse near the tube-shaped apartment — a temporary landing point. If he ended a dream while the witches were assembled there, they would return to the same location on reentry. The mechanics of the first connection were less flexible, inevitably involving Room 0825, but Roland had no satisfying explanation for why that room served as the threshold. Probably it had something to do with Zero. He made a habit of waiting until she left for school before bringing any new witch through for the first time.

During those three days, he had selected four God’s Punishment Witches as the pioneer team: Phyllis, Faldi, Dawnen, and Ling.

The first two days he spent feeding them — fast food, drinks, whatever they requested most urgently. Their hunger for sensation was so overwhelming it could be read in the speed at which they moved chopsticks, the way they cupped containers in both hands and held them a moment before eating, as though the warmth itself needed to be verified. On the third day his budget forced him to instant noodles and mineral water. They ate these with equal dedication. Phyllis nearly licked the seasoning packet.

That, Roland decided, would be a discredit to the united front.

His savings were running low. The plan couldn’t wait.

When evening came he told Zero he had to work late, then climbed into two cabs with the four witches and headed for the villa district beyond the city’s third ring.

The witches had not spent their days idle. Faldi, as a former member of Taquila’s Quest Society, possessed a detection ability: she could create a Magic Bug Nest, link her consciousness to insects — moths, bees — and release them to seek out sources of magic power. It was a technique developed for tracking demon movements in the real world, and it translated with brutal efficiency here. Bugs could not give her vision, but they fed her a clear sense of the type and scale of any Force of Nature they encountered.

After three days of searching, she had found more than a dozen sources of magic reaction, including Garcia in Room 0827. After filtering for type, six viable targets remained.

The one in the villa district was worth the most.

The plan: use Faldi’s magical detection to locate Fallen Evils, raid them for their Force of Nature and anything of monetary value, and disappear. Fallen Evils rarely left their territories, so even after one was destroyed, its neighbors would notice nothing for days. And if a body was eventually discovered, the case would transfer to the Martialist Association, who would attribute the kill to a rival faction of Awakened — not to a team of supernatural bandits operating out of a rented warehouse.

They arrived in the dark. Dawnen summoned her matte curtains — an ability that didn’t merely render her companions invisible but eliminated their presence entirely: sight, smell, magical signature. Nothing could detect what was inside the curtains without physical contact. The five of them moved through the main gate and up toward the hillside without incident.

The villa area was built for solitude. Wide yards, heavy walls, almost no one out after dark. It made a perfect approach.

“Here.” Faldi stopped and pointed at a large detached compound set back from the road. Its forecourt alone was nearly as large as their apartment building.

“Enviable,” Roland muttered, eyeing the surveillance camera’s blinking light. He turned to Ling — the last member of the team. “Your turn. Same as you practiced.”

Ling nodded, and sank sideways into the shadow at the edge of the wall as if the darkness had taken a long slow breath and drawn her in.

None of the Taquila survivors could pass through solid matter the way Nightingale or Margie could. But Ling’s ability was its own kind of passage. She could dissolve into shadow and move through it freely — like water finding the spaces in stone. At night, when shadows spread across every surface, an entire estate became her domain. She moved through the gap between door and frame without friction, without sound.

A moment of stillness.

Then the soft crack of a latch turning, and a sliver of dark opened in the front door.

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