Rewrite That Witch
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Chapter 976: The Way to Transcendence

“Magic affecting more than just our abilities?” Ashes said.

“Yes—many aspects. Our bodies grow more flexible. Wounds heal faster than any common person’s. We live healthier, longer.” Phyllis spoke slowly, her eyes on the fire. “And our temperament changes.”

“Wait. What do you mean by temperament?”

“When a witch uses magic, her desires intensify in the moment. It reshapes who she is.” Phyllis watched the flames. “Take that feeling—when you see a friend cut down before you. An experience like that can scar a witch permanently. She becomes indifferent. Ruthless. For a warrior, that state of mind has advantages.” She paused. “But it can also turn her into something else.”

“Into what?” The unease was cold and specific in Ashes’ chest.

“A monster.”

Ashes stepped back and almost tripped over the stone behind her.

She knew without searching for the memory. It was already there, waiting. All those church members she had killed—she had stopped counting. She remembered the hacking, the mechanical rhythm of it, her mind going red and then empty. In that state she had felt invincible, limitless, as if power itself were pouring through her. But when she looked back now she could see what she’d actually been: an empty husk. Motion without self. It had taken Tilly—only Tilly—to call her back to something recognizable as a person.

“Of course, this isn’t true of every witch,” Phyllis said. “It’s only a tendency. War does this to anyone—common people too. A long, hopeless resistance can drive ordinary soldiers to madness. We’re perhaps fortunate that we can at least channel our desperation into fearlessness.” She paused. “Even if you find it hard to understand what happened during the Union—our methods made sense. Without absolute determination, the Three Chiefs couldn’t have become Transcendents.”

“I see.” Ashes poked the campfire and watched the light stagger. “If the Battle of Divine Will goes on forever—what happens to the witches?”

“No one knows.” Phyllis’s voice held no emotion. “Perhaps they’ll look different, in the end. A witch’s beauty has always lived in her features. If they become inhuman, they may grow strange. Like the way demons look.”

The flames moved. Silence settled over the cave.

After a moment the God’s Punishment Witch said, “Do you have a reason for fighting the demons?”

When she seemed to sense Ashes hesitating, Phyllis gave her own answer first. “Our reason is simple. Defeat the demons. Win the war. Reclaim Taquila’s glory. Only that faith kept us alive until now.”

“You want to rebuild Taquila?”

“Of course. It means more than a holy city to us—we would spend our lives for it if we had to.” She tilted her head slightly. “But if King Roland can vanquish the demons, then his path proves he was wiser than the Three Chiefs. If the cooperation between witches and common people can build a real future, we have no objection to that, either.”

Ashes was quiet a moment. “I just want to protect someone. Help her in any way I can. If she wants to drive the demons out of the Land of Dawn, I’ll do it with her.”

“I see.” Phyllis shook her head once. “Forgive me—but that’s not a strong faith to carry into a fight.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s too broad. Too unspecific.” She opened her hands. “You’ll get lost—especially at the moment when it matters most. It’s difficult to define what a person truly wants. And more importantly: do you actually know what she wants?”

“Of course she—” Ashes stopped.

Does Tilly want me fighting demons on the frontline?

The answer was clearly no—not because Tilly had told her so, but because this had been Ashes’ own decision. The earlier mission, locating targets for the phantom instrument, she could have taken for Tilly’s sake. But this time she had accepted Roland’s invitation and joined the sniper team, and Tilly had not come.

There was no doubt she’d done it partly to build the Sleeping Spell’s reputation—the more indispensable the Sleeping Spell became to Neverwinter, the more essential Tilly’s position at court. That was true.

But was it the only reason?

Ashes looked at the sleeping witches without meaning to. Exhaustion still sat in their faces, but they’d gone slack in sleep—peaceful, unguarded. Her eyes moved from Sylvie to Maggie, across the Sleeping Island witches and then to the others, one face at a time.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked suddenly.

She was only an acquaintance to Phyllis. They had traded sword techniques and shared a few practical assessments of combat—nothing deeper than that, and nothing that resembled friendship. Yet here was Phyllis speaking of temperament and the ambitions of Taquila’s survivors, things she would not tell just anyone. It struck Ashes as strange. She did not think Phyllis was the kind of person who opened this way as a habit.

“Because you’re an Extraordinary.” Phyllis’s voice had gone flat and grave. “You are what the witches call their finest. In the age of the Union, every combat-type Extraordinary was trained with the utmost care. Those who pushed through the limits of their potential and became Transcendents could kill a Senior Demon alone. They were the Union’s most celebrated—its chosen leaders.”

Phyllis rose and saluted her. A deliberate, formal gesture.

“I have no right to instruct an Extraordinary in how to grow. But mindset is the foundation of becoming what you could be. Every Transcendent I knew was forged in battle. Every Extraordinary who failed to make the crossing was eventually killed by the demons.” She held Ashes’ gaze. “I hope you don’t share that fate, Extraordinary Ashes.”

“You don’t need to—” Ashes frowned.

“Call it an old fool who hasn’t seen a Transcendent in over four hundred years.” Phyllis let the formality drop and smiled. “I won’t make a habit of saluting you. It’s time to sleep. I’ll relieve you in two hours.”

“Right. Good night.”

When the cave returned to silence, Ashes lay on her back and stared up through the crack in the cave ceiling at the narrow strip of sky. She stayed that way for a long time.

Roland hung up the phone and turned back to the map, marking a new route in careful strokes.

Day twenty-two of Operation Summit. The plan was holding. More Devilbeasts had been spotted patrolling the forest, pulling the First Army steadily further off the primary route—the demons had attached so much importance to the Taquila ruins that they’d left a vast blind spot to the south of their outpost.

Patrol teams still ranged the area, of course. In ordinary circumstances no enemy force could approach undetected before it came within striking distance. But the First Army didn’t need to close the distance.

The artillery battalion had a complete firing table and Longsong Cannons refined to hit with precision at ten kilometers. The demons could guard every approach and it wouldn’t matter.

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