CH963 · Rewrite
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Chapter 963: The Ultimate Form of a Gun

At the time, she hadn’t understood the question.

It was only after her exile from the City of Glow—after those weeks of no shelter and no food during the escape—that she had begun to understand what the weight of living actually felt like. How straw burned and straw prickled and straw kept people from freezing. How nothing was worthless to the person who needed it.

Andrea hadn’t expected to hear that question again from a Taquila survivor.

“Why shouldn’t I know about it?” Carol asked, leaning against the railing and watching the current.

“I didn’t mean it that way.” Andrea felt the slight heat of embarrassment. “I thought ancient witches never needed to concern themselves with things like that.”

“Because common people took care of everything?” A quiet gleam in Carol’s eye. “I was never very different from them, in truth.”

“How could that be?”

“How much energy could the Union spare for a weak non-combat witch?” She looked at the water, as if reading something in the surface. “My ability and magic power ranked at the bottom when I awakened. I was nearly forgotten in the latter years of the war. When my allowance was cut, I lived with common people. When the city fell, I borrowed their endurance to last until the very end.”

“But in the Kingdom of Dawn, your abilities were—nothing like a non-combat witch’s.” Andrea remembered the battle clearly. Even Ashes the Extraordinary would have struggled against her.

“Three hundred years of training changes most things.” Carol opened her hand and slowly closed it again. “In a strange way, I consider myself fortunate to have become a God’s Punishment Witch. I’m no longer overlooked. I’m stronger than I was. I can do something that matters.” A pause. “And since we met His Majesty, that’s been its own kind of reward.”

Andrea recognized it then—this wasn’t a casual conversation. She asked, “Why are you telling me this?”

Carol looked up. “Because I envy you.”

Andrea stared.

“With your ability, even in the days of the Union, you would have stood among the best combat witches. A High Awakening at your age—you could have risen to Taquila’s highest rank.” The words came without bitterness, light as the wind off the river. “My greatest wish in those days was to join the Blessed Army and receive Lady Natalia’s blessing before battle. For you, that would have been effortless. Now I’ve reached the ceiling of what I can become. You haven’t come close to yours.”

She paused. “The stronger you are, the harder the trials. But remember—no matter what hardship you face, you are already someone others would choose to be.”

The meaning settled slowly through Andrea’s chest.

Comfort. Carol had noticed the shadow hanging over her since her father’s belated apology and the farewell to her childhood, and she had chosen to share her own past rather than speak around it. These kinds of setbacks were nothing to a Taquila survivor—a fact that didn’t diminish them, but reframed them. What Andrea still had was more than what she’d lost.

“Thank you,” she said, after a silence.

“I only told the truth.” Carol straightened and walked back toward the cabin.

“About your question earlier,” Andrea called after her. “The straw—they bury it as fertilizer now. Nobody needs it for fire in Neverwinter anymore.”

The God’s Punishment Witch didn’t look back, but raised one hand.

Andrea turned to face the direction of travel. The river was narrowing; the current quickened slightly. Something lifted in her chest—specific and unnamed.

I wonder what Her Highness is doing right now. Ashes will have stayed close.

Shavi must be missing me. We’ll play cards all night the moment I’m back.

And Maggie—she must be out there in the wastelands with Lightning, watching the demons’ every move—

“Coo!”

Something barrel-round and unerring dropped from the sky, aimed at her face.

There was no pigeon heavier than Maggie.

Andrea caught her by reflex, spat out a feather, and held the creature at arm’s length. “You’ve gained weight again. What about the demons in the northwest? Don’t tell me you’re slacking off.”

“Definitely not, coo!” Maggie ruffled her feathers with great dignity. “His Majesty sent me personally, coo!”

“I’m almost there—”

“I don’t know the reasons, I only know I’m absolutely not loafing, coo.” Maggie dropped to the deck, shifted forms, and the ship sank a full meter. “Get on. They’re waiting, coo!”

Andrea climbed onto her back before the hull could voice an opinion. “Who—exactly—is waiting?”

“Countess Spear and Miss Camilla, coo!” Maggie spread her wings and launched them toward Neverwinter.


They weren’t in the Witch Building or the castle.

An hour later, Maggie set Andrea down on the grassland outside the boundary wall. Spear Passi and Camilla Dary were there, as promised. So were Anna, Sylvie, Lightning, Summer, and a loose gathering of other witches. Roland was there as well.

“You sent her to fetch me just to test a new weapon?” Andrea pressed a hand to her forehead once the explanation was finished. “Even without Maggie, I would have reached the inland river pier by tonight.”

“We couldn’t wait a day,” Roland said, and gave her the condensed version of events—the demons’ accelerated patrol range, the First Army marching tomorrow, the tunnel that required the anti-patrol strategy to function. “Before the army reaches the tunnel entrance, the weapon made specifically for you needs to be calibrated and ready.”

“I see.” Andrea looked north. The demons’ movements always produced this—a specific cold unease settling below the sternum, shapeless but real. It was still some time before the Bloody Moon; the demons had no business being this active. Whatever they intended, it demanded full attention. The overnight card plans would have to wait.

“Understood,” she said.

She turned to examine the object in the center of the assembled group. Weapon was a generous term. Gun seemed wrong for something of that proportion—the barrel alone was as long as an adult was tall, and the overall mass made it clear that no ordinary soldier would be carrying it while marching. The only person capable of moving around with a thing like this was Ashes.

“What kind of weapon is this?”

“Anti-armor—no, call it an anti-Devilbeast sniper rifle,” Roland replied.

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