CH890 · Rewrite
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Chapter 890: Your Holiness… Isabella

Isabella was overwhelmed seeing the city again.

In a single year — barely a year — the church, which had been humanity’s only credible hope against the demons, had become an obstacle to the human race’s survival in the Battle of Divine Will. She turned it over in her mind as Maggie made her approach, and could not quite make it feel real.

She had lived here a long time. She was not, in the end, sentimentally attached to it. The teachings of His Holiness O’Brien had stayed with her through everything: results matter more than process. If humanity could not defeat the demons, all their efforts amounted to nothing. She had believed this for as long as she could remember.

She had followed it as a guiding principle, not a comfort. She had chosen to support Zero rather than Archbishop Mayne because the soul swallower had shown more potential in defeating the demons. When Zero lost to Roland Wimbledon, she had transferred her service to the king. If even now she encountered someone more capable than Roland, she would make the same choice again without hesitation. This was not inconstancy — it was the only coherent position. The continuation of the human race outweighed any personal allegiance.

She knew this. She believed it.

And yet.

Something persisted in her, small and resistant to logic, and she had not understood what it was until the city came into view below her. Now she recognized it.

She had been grieving Zero.

All this time, without naming it, she had been grieving.

The Pure Witches had always felt the distance between themselves and Zero, who had lived for more than two hundred years — a gulf of time and authority that some of the younger ones resented as arbitrary mood shifts from a woman too old to be questioned. Isabella had never experienced it that way. She had gotten along with Zero more honestly than she had with most people. Where other Pure Witches had quietly planned for what the Battle of Divine Will might yield them personally, Zero had been direct and uncompromising in her commitments. More straightforward. More willing to be what she claimed to be.

Isabella had thought of herself as fundamentally an assistant — someone whose nature inclined her to support rather than lead. Zero had been a leader. But she had begun to suspect, lately, that this difference wasn’t temperament at all. It was what two hundred years of accumulated weight did to a person who refused to stop caring.

If Zero had met Roland ten years earlier.

The city might have looked very different.

But everything had happened too late.

After two passes in the sky, Maggie landed outside the city gates. The camp was there, organized and orderly.

“We’re here. Let’s go,” said Agatha, from behind her.

Isabella nodded and dropped off the beast. A waiting soldier stepped forward immediately. “Lady Edith is expecting you in the tent. Please follow me.”

Roland had sent Maggie to bring both her and the Ice Witch, and had made his terms clear: Isabella was to operate under the watch of another witch for the duration of her “prison term.” She had accepted this without complaint — it was already far more generous than she had any reason to expect. No God’s Locket of Retribution around her neck, no shackles. Even the clothes they’d given her were new.

Inside the tent, a woman stood behind a desk and smiled as they entered. “I’m Edith Kant, a member of the Ministry of Defense, and temporary commander of the Holy City campaign.”

Good-looking. Composed. Genuinely composed, not performing it. Isabella took her measure quickly. “I assumed you would secure the Hermes Plateau before moving on the old city.”

“That was the original plan.” Edith gave a concise summary of what had changed. “His Majesty’s standing order is to ensure the safety of the monasteries — which isn’t difficult. The more complex problem is how to evacuate the orphans in an orderly way. They were raised entirely within the church. I suspect forcing them out would create more problems than it solved.” She paused. “His Majesty indicated before the expedition that he had assigned this task to you. I expect you know a way.”

Isabella’s brow furrowed. “Wait — you came through Cloud Ladder?”

“Yes. Is that significant?”

“Cloud Ladder is strategically critical. It’s always been guarded.” She shook her head slightly. “Sylvie didn’t find anything unusual there?”

“Nothing. The merchants described it as a little-known smuggling route.”

“The church has been based here for centuries and accounts for every passage into the city not covered by the walls.” Isabella’s voice was flat and certain. “They didn’t overlook Cloud Ladder. They allowed the smugglers to operate there deliberately — and they maintained hidden sentry posts in the natural limestone formations in the mountain. That’s why the merchants never noticed the guards. That passage was being held in reserve against the Coalition of the Four Kingdoms during the Months of Demons.”

Edith’s expression sharpened. “And now it’s unguarded?”

“The sentries stationed at Cloud Ladder are positioned outside the city walls. They shouldn’t be affected by whatever is happening inside.” She kept her voice even, but her thoughts had moved several steps ahead. This doesn’t look like disorder. This looks like evacuation. Like abandonment. “If you’re willing, I think I should go to Hermes directly and examine the situation myself.”

“The monasteries first,” Agatha said. “Miss Lightning has already done aerial surveys of the three main ones. What she found gives me some concern — the orphans appear to be organized by someone, and they’re prepared to defend the building to the last. That’s part of why we’ve delayed action.”

Edith spread her hands. “My soldiers came through the Bomber Action without a single casualty. I’d like to keep that record intact when we enter the city.”

“Someone organized the orphans.” Isabella thought for a moment. “Let me go in and talk to them.”

“Alone?”

She had been about to say yes. Something stopped her — a flicker of caution, a recognition she couldn’t quite name. She swallowed the word. “No. Agatha comes with me.”


“La— Lady Isabella!” Margie came to attention the instant she saw her, right hand moving instinctively to her chest in the old gesture of respect.

“I’ve told you before — you don’t need to use the courtesy title.” Isabella’s voice was level, neither warm nor cold. “We’re not Pure Witches anymore. My name is sufficient.”

“Yes, my lady!” Margie nodded rapidly.

Isabella breathed out. His Majesty had restricted her movements but had left Margie and Vanilla free to come and go as they pleased. These former Pure Witches still kept the old monastery habits, still drifted to the Foreign Affairs Building to talk with her about the strange and wonderful things they encountered in the Witch Union. Agatha had never objected. It was a small mercy.

“Take us into the city.” She pointed toward the walls.

Margie summoned the Magic Ark and turned back to glance at Edith, who had come out to see them off. “The First Army won’t be coming?”

“Not until you’ve confirmed it’s safe.”

The ark sank into the earth. The soil above their heads became transparent and she watched Lightning’s pale shape tracing circles in the sky, marking their path forward.

Four monasteries occupied the old Holy City, though in practice they functioned as a single institution — built in a ring around the Reflection Church, linked by underground tunnels, connected to the Secret Temple in the mountain through a hidden passage. New witches had moved through those tunnels to the incarnation ceremonies, generation after generation, until a newly awakened Extraordinary burned down one of the monasteries and the church sealed the underground routes.

The Magic Ark emerged in the outermost building, the Western Zone Monastery. The courtyard was empty except for two thin girls stationed at the lobby entrance, each holding a spear taller than she was.

“We go up now,” said Isabella.

“Shouldn’t you slip in quietly first?” Margie asked.

“No.” There were too many God’s Stones embedded in this building — she could sense the edges of their suppression even from here. Their power could reach a hundred steps in every direction, and she couldn’t neutralize the effect. There was no advantage in stealth.

The ark broke the surface, and the two girls at the door stumbled backward in alarm. The women had appeared from nowhere.

A shrill whistle cut the air.

Windows flew open along the courtyard walls. Nuns poured into the space, leading orphans, carrying swords and wooden shields and short bows and hand crossbows. Agatha summoned ice to her palm and watched the bow arms for movement.

“Wait! Wait!” One of the leading nuns threw up her arm, voice cracking. “Stop!”

Silence.

“Are you — the Pure Witch who served the Supreme Pontiff?” Another nun spoke, and her voice was unsteady. “Lady Isabella?”

Every drawn weapon held still.

“Yes.” Isabella nodded.

She had expected recognition. She had expected the task His Majesty had set her to proceed without incident.

She had not expected what came next.

“Lady Isabella! Thank the Gods — we’re saved!”

“Your Holiness Isabella — Your Holiness, please help us—”

“Supreme Pontiff! Don’t leave us!”

The voices multiplied and merged. Weapons clattered to the stone. The nuns and orphans dropped to their knees in a spreading wave, bowing forward until their foreheads nearly touched the ground, their voices rising together into a single chant —

“Your Holiness. Your Holiness. Your Holiness.”

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