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Chapter 993: Soul Interrogation (Part I)

The magic core — shaped like a giant spindle — swelled outward, releasing a wash of purple light that lit the hall from floor to dome. It rose two meters above the ground and began to spin, its skeleton structure hanging suspended in the air as though gravity had simply decided not to apply.

Roland watched it and admitted, once again, that magic power operated beyond the reach of physical concepts. There was no force holding those components aloft. No mechanism. And yet there they were.

“How did the underground civilization create these?” He looked at Pasha. “Could you reproduce one, given the same materials?”

“I’m afraid not, Your Majesty.” Pasha shook her head. “Though I’m reluctant to admit it, the underground civilization understood magic power more deeply than the Union ever did. Celine is among the finest researchers the Quest Society produced — and even she has spent centuries merely learning to operate them.”

“We are terribly short-handed.” Celine turned from the apparatus. “You can’t activate a magic core simply by pushing magic power into it. You have to connect yourself to thousands of sensors simultaneously. A common person could never do this.”

“So to learn to use a magic core, I’d have to transfer my soul into an original carrier?” Tilly asked.

“Exactly.” Celine exhaled. “A summer insect has no conception of winter. A deaf man hears nothing of the world. A human being can barely imagine what it feels like to operate this instrument. I cannot find adequate words in the human language to explain it.” She gestured at herself. “Right now, only Pasha and I can control a core.”

“Wait—” Roland studied her main tentacle. “You mean that thing, which looks rough from the outside, is actually highly sensitive?”

“Not only the main tentacles but all of them,” Celine confirmed. “They can smell. They can feel cold and heat, wet and dry, the faintest brush of contact. The main tentacles can even trace the flow of magic power directly.” She glanced at him. “Once you transfer your soul into a carrier, adapting back to a human body afterward becomes nearly impossible. Are you interested?”

“No, I was merely curious.” Roland turned away to close the subject. He needed a clear head. He was remembering now that an original carrier’s tentacle was also her weapon — and according to Phyllis, carriers matched God’s Punishment Witches in raw physical strength.

What Celine had said cut deeper than it appeared. Without reliable means to observe and measure magic power, the study of it could only advance through a handful of original carriers. That constraint would not loosen easily.

“Core Three has been activated in Soul Instrument mode.” Celine’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Soul transfer is about to begin.” Pasha and Alethea inserted their own tentacles into the apparatus.

Roland widened his eyes, unwilling to blink.

It was less spectacular than he had imagined. Two beams of light extended from the core and settled over the two stone beds below. The magic power inside the skeleton structure surged and churned. Fifteen minutes passed. Celine let out a slow breath. “We were lucky. The instrument has caught the demon’s soul. Now we wait for it to enter the God’s Punishment Warrior’s body.”

“That’s all?” Roland blinked.

“Soul Transfer is essentially an exchange of Keys,” Pasha explained. “If you were observing through a Five-Colored Stone, you’d be able to watch the demon’s beam of light cross to the Warrior.”

Before the ancient witch finished, the God’s Punishment Warrior on the left bed — motionless until that moment — opened his eyes.

His face contorted. His body seized, shaking hard, and the fingers that resembled dead wood twisted violently. Sounds came from his throat that had no name. The witches around him stepped back, almost as one.

“That’s a normal reaction,” Zooey said. “The soul entering an unfamiliar body for the first time. We didn’t look any better. We could barely eat or drink without help.”

Roland pictured it: a group of exiled ancient witches fumbling in a cold underground cave for a decade, learning to inhabit shells that were not theirs. The image sat heavily.

“Now that the demon is panicked and confused, this is the moment.” Zooey looked across the assembled witches. “Lady Camilla, no matter what you want to know — ask me directly. I’ll repeat what I hear from the demon.” She paused. “And I have one request.”

“Go ahead.” Roland nodded.

“Unless I gesture stop, do not break the Mind Resonance for any reason.” Each word landed with deliberate weight. “The interrogation takes priority above everything else.”

“This—” Camilla Dary hesitated, which was unusual for her.

“You have my word.” Roland didn’t pause. He had seen enough of Zooey’s conviction to trust her judgment, and he wanted to honor the thing she was volunteering to do.

“Then I’ll begin.” The Chief Butler of Sleeping Island studied Roland with an unreadable expression, then placed one hand on Zooey’s shoulder and the other on the shoulder of the God’s Punishment Warrior.

The next moment, Zooey looked like a woman in pain.

A sound came out of her — something between a growl and a roar — that clearly did not belong to her. In the Mind Resonance, the demon was using her throat.

“What have you done to me?” Her voice had changed completely — deeper, wrong in its grain. “Stupid crawlers. Low-grade species. Let me go. Otherwise, I’ll make this woman suffer.”

Several witches drew sharp breaths. “Is Zooey—”

“Don’t worry,” Anna said, calmly. “Look at her finger.”

One of Zooey’s fingers rose and shook with easy, deliberate precision. She was in full control of her own body.

Roland saw the logic instantly. Rather than the back-and-forth of questions and answers — which gave the demon time to calculate each response — letting it speak through Zooey’s mouth forced it to react in real time, with far less space to prepare.

“You were defeated by us.” Roland let contempt into his voice. “If we’re stupid crawlers, what does that make you?”

“Defeated?” The voice shifted — dropped, as though struck. A confusion beneath the outrage. Roland couldn’t tell where Zooey ended and the demon’s agony began.

He pressed. “Yes. Riddled with bullets. Your army annihilated — half dead on the battlefield, the other half failing to retreat to Taquila. We burned thousands and destroyed your underground camp. So tell me — who’s the low-grade species?”

“No. This is impossible — unless, unless—” Zooey’s head moved in something between a shake and a recoil. Then she looked up, voice shifting into something closer to stunned. “Did you acquire a legacy shard? Did you upgrade your species? Did you create those weapons from the contents of the shard?”

Roland caught the words like sparks. “What is a legacy shard? What does ‘upgrade’ mean?”

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