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Chapter 989: After the War

Roland had never imagined the demons possessed such capacity four hundred years ago. If they had, the Witch Empire would have been erased from the earth within a year or two. The truth was that the Empire had held on for a decade—proof that what he’d just seen was new. A product of centuries of development, not a feature of the ancient enemy.

Once every outpost was protected by a God’s Stone of Retaliation Pillar of that scale, witches would have no path forward.

He knew precisely how difficult it was to carve a God’s Stone of Punishment Pillar to that size. The quality of the original stone determined its durability, and a good natural stone resisted almost everything—when they’d tried blasting the one at the bottom of the North Slope Mine at close range, it had left nothing but a few white marks. The only way to process the material was to corrode the surface with magic blood first. Even the stone in the main hall of the Hermes Cathedral had not approached the dimensions Agatha was describing. By her account, this pillar had been cut directly from a natural formation, as cleanly as a blade through ice. That required either astonishing precision with some kind of cutting instrument, or a far more refined understanding of magic than anyone on the human side had achieved.

For mankind, either explanation was grim.

“The demons’ new weapons make one thing clear.” Roland tapped the desk. “They’ve been busy over the past four hundred years—the same as us. The third Battle of Divine Will is going to be harder than we anticipated.”

His worst fear had confirmed itself. The demons were not the same enemy the Union had faced. They were more cunning and more advanced. The crawling monster was proof enough: a hybrid life form, seemingly purpose-built to neutralize combat witches. It could kill from two kilometers out. At that range, by the time a witch registered the attack, there would be no time to respond. Even a scout of Sylvie’s ability could only protect people within a five-meter radius of herself—she couldn’t shield a whole formation from a long-distance barrage.

“As much as I hate to say it, the demons evolve faster than we do.” Zooey’s voice broke the quiet. “If this had happened in the Union age, we would already have been crushed.”

Roland could see it clearly. Pressed from below by Mad Demons in mass formation, threatened from above by Senior Demons riding armored Devilbeasts, and hammered from range by the crawling monsters—the witches would have faced extinction on three axes simultaneously. No amount of courage could offset that arithmetic.

What he needed to know now was scale. Were the five crawling monsters the full count, or a vanguard? Had the demons developed other war machines? If they had—and the logic of four centuries of preparation said they had—what would those machines look like, and how could humans survive them?

He needed answers. Soon.


Next came the casualties.

Roland had already formed a rough estimate; the actual numbers differed little. The low rate of dead was largely attributed to Nana and Lily.

One hundred and ninety injured. Seventy-five killed in action. The majority of both tallies traced directly to the crawling monsters. The soldiers in the trenches had no way to dodge stone needles falling from directly above. Once the needles hit, they nailed people to the earth—a meter of black crystal through a shoulder or chest, and the victim was pinned. To move the wounded at all, the field medics had to extract the needles first. The extraction caused massive blood loss. Soldiers who might have survived the wound died in those minutes.

Roland would not blame the rescue teams. It had been the field medics’ first time supporting a major engagement, and they had bought time for dozens of men who would otherwise have had none. But he could see where this was going. As the fighting intensified, the ceiling on what Nana could do in any single action would only drop further. At some point—sooner than he would like—the First Army would have to solve the medical problem on its own terms, without relying on a single witch’s healing to carry it.

“Bring the ashes of the soldiers killed in action home,” Roland said quietly. “Graycastle will not forget them.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Iron Axe replied, his voice stripped down to its bedrock solemnity.

“What are your plans for the First Army going forward?” Edith asked. “The enemy could not have anticipated losses on this scale. According to Miss Lightning, the Devilbeast patrols near the Taquila ruins have already thinned sharply—she’s only found demons more than a hundred kilometers from the ruins. Miss Sylvie has confirmed that aside from the iron towers, there are fewer than a thousand magic signatures remaining. In other words, the demons have almost no remaining footholds on the Fertile Plains.”

Roland let the silence run for a moment.

“Return to Neverwinter once all the wounded can travel.”

“Are you concerned about supplies?”

“If we can’t seize the ruins, there’s no point pushing north.” He lifted his tea. “And winter is coming.”

The Months of Demons didn’t always follow the calendar—they didn’t necessarily arrive in winter—but for the people living around the Barbarian Land, winter meant endless snow, low sky, and demonic beasts drifting everywhere out of the white. The First Army would face weather and monsters simultaneously, on unfamiliar ground, with supply lines that stretched thinner the further north they went. There was no guarantee Neverwinter’s food and fuel stores would last if the army were absent through the cold season, and there was not enough ammunition to fight a war on two fronts.

Winter in the Barbarian Land was always perilous. Once the snow was deep, retreat would stop being an option.

“Understood,” Edith said. “The General Staff will work with the Commander-in-Chief on a withdrawal plan.”

“Safety first,” Roland said. He ended the call—and Agatha’s voice appeared in its place.

“Your Majesty. There’s one more thing you need to know.”

“What is it?”

“The Senior Demon defeated by the God’s Punishment Witches is still alive.”

He listened to the full account in silence.

“Is it safe to link the demon with Camilla?”

The channeling ability fused two minds—witch and subject sharing perception and thought. The witch would come to understand what it felt like to inhabit the demon’s body, to sense through the demon’s senses. It would not be a gentle experience. The soul transfers performed by the Taquila witches had demonstrated that any such transfer created confusion and disorientation, and the process was irreversible. Two entirely alien beings forced into the same cognitive space—the collision would be severe.

Spiritual contamination. The phrase surfaced before he could stop it.

“The danger is real,” Agatha said, “which is why Zooey and I have spent time working out a safer approach.”

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