"Hello… Princess."
"Huh—EH?!" Rolena's eyes widened like a startled cat as cold steel suddenly kissed her throat.
Roxanne, seated beside me, tensed for a split second before relaxing the moment she recognized the presence.
Draped in an all-black cloak, only violet eyes and a sliver of pale skin visible beneath the hood, the woman standing behind Rolena was unmistakable.
It was Nightingale.
"So," she said, her voice smooth and mocking, "you wanted to meet a member of the Witch Cooperation Association. Well—here I am."
I pinched the bridge of my nose, already feeling a headache coming on.
I had known Nightingale was with us the moment we returned to the castle—Roxanne's sharp nose had confirmed it long ago. That meant she had listened to everything discussed in this room, silently lurking in the shadows until now.
Introducing her to Rolena was part of my plan.
But not like this.
Was she trying to intimidate Rolena—make her fear the Witch Cooperation Association's reach so the princess wouldn't meddle too deeply?
…Or was she actually considering assassination?
Nightingale was sharp. Too sharp to attempt something that reckless here—especially right in front of me.
"Why aren't you saying anything now, Princess?" she whispered, pressing the blade just a fraction closer to Rolena's neck.
I let out a slow sigh.
"Nightingale," I said calmly, "could you let her go? You're scaring her."
Both women looked at me.
Rolena, frozen stiff.
Nightingale, utterly composed.
After a brief pause, Nightingale withdrew the dagger, stepping away from the princess as if nothing had happened.
"Why do you always insist on making such dramatic entrances?" I muttered, shaking my head.
She shrugged lightly and leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
"Do you two… know each other?" Rolena asked, gulping as she eyed the cloaked figure warily.
"Yes," I replied calmly. "You can consider her a friend of mine."
I glanced at Nightingale. She gave a small nod, tacitly accepting it.
'She's the second female lead in your story,' I added quietly through the party chat.
"Your friend is… awfully violent," Rolena said, rubbing her neck as she struggled to stop trembling.
"I apologize," I said with a chuckle, "but if it's any comfort, her knife was at my throat just a few hours ago too."
"That was a misunderstanding," Nightingale replied coolly. "This is not."
Rolena stiffened. "U-um… did I do something to upset you, miss?" she asked with a strained smile, rifling through her memories to see if the original princess had offended her somehow.
"…I'm very familiar with nobles like you," Nightingale said, her voice dripping with disdain. "People who want to use witches for their own gain."
"Use them? No, no—" Rolena said hurriedly, but Nightingale cut her off.
"I don't want to hear your excuses." Nightingale lifted her knife slightly. "Consider this a warning. Don't think you can exploit us without consequences."
Rolena shrank back in her chair, clearly shaken by the blade pointed her way.
I let out a slow sigh. "Nightingale. This princess is a friend of mine too, so could you please stop threatening her?"
I could tell Nightingale carried deep resentment toward nobles—understandable, given her past history—but this wasn't helping.
After a moment, Nightingale lowered her knife and looked away.
"Miss Nightingale seems to be rather short-tempered," Roxanne said, glancing at her.
"That is not true," Nightingale replied serenely, closing her eyes. "I am calm at all times."
I stared at her, completely speechless.
"A-anyway," Rolena said, straightening in her chair, "I think Miss Nightingale has seriously misunderstood my intentions." She met Nightingale's gaze. "I have no desire to exploit witches. In fact, I want to hire them."
"That's just noble sophistry," Nightingale scoffed. "Don't treat me like a child."
"I'm serious," Rolena said firmly. "I plan to make a proper contract with Anna. A monthly salary. Regular rest days—weekends included—and additional incentives as time goes on. And believe me, I will never exploit my employees."
Considering she had literally worked herself to death in her previous life, I had no doubt she meant every word.
"She's telling the truth," I added. "You can even verify it yourself."
Nightingale glanced at Rolena, then vanished into mist.
"Repeat what you just said," her voice came from nowhere.
Rolena did so without hesitation.
After a moment, Nightingale reappeared, eyeing her skeptically. "You really intend to pay and employ a witch… You're a strange one for a princess."
"That's what I'm known for," Rolena replied with a small smirk.
"Still," Nightingale said flatly, "that doesn't mean I can allow Anna to stay here. I appreciate that you spared her life—but she cannot remain in this town."
Rolena blinked. "Why not?"
"She's worried about her Day of Adulthood," I said quietly, looking at Nightingale.
"How—?" Nightingale stared at me in shock, then let out a slow, resigned sigh. "Yes… that's exactly why she can't stay here. It's better if I take her back with me."
"The Day of Adulthood?" Rolena asked, glancing between us in confusion. "What is that?"
"…Do you know why witches are called Devil Spawn in the first place?" Nightingale asked in a low voice.
"No," Roxanne replied, clearly drawn into the conversation.
"Witches aren't born with their powers," Nightingale said, clenching her fist. "Any girl can awaken as a witch before she turns eighteen. But if she doesn't awaken by her eighteenth birthday, then she never will."
"Oh…" Rolena murmured, her expression dimming slightly. At twenty-one, she was already past that threshold.
"So… I could still turn into a witch?" Roxanne asked quietly, surprised.
Roxanne was already a formidable fighter without magic. If she awakened as a witch—depending on the ability—she could become absolutely terrifying.
"But," Nightingale continued, her voice dropping, "anyone who awakens before turning eighteen will suffer Demonic Torture on the day of awakening. And then again… every year after that."
"Demonic Torture?" Rolena repeated uneasily. "That doesn't sound… good."
"It's the worst pain imaginable," Nightingale said, her voice trembling as she pressed a hand to her face. "Something tries to tear its way out from inside your body. Every blood vessel, every tendon—ripped apart by agony. Blood seeps through your skin. Even your eyes bulge from the pressure…"
"Ah—!" Roxanne gasped, shuddering.
"…It sounds like you've been through this yourself," Rolena said softly, looking at Nightingale with sympathy.
"Yes," Nightingale replied in a low voice. "If a witch survives it, she recovers after four or five days of rest. If she doesn't…"
She paused.
"…she dies in that torture, miserably."
"B-but why do they have to go through this?" Roxanne asked, her eyes wide.
"No one knows," Nightingale said, her voice growing strained. "I've seen many of my companions die while enduring it. Even after death, their bodies keep spraying blood. The swollen, bulging flesh bursts again and again until there's nothing left but torn, ruined skin."
Her voice cracked.
"Anyone witnessing that would be horrified. They'd naturally believe that someone who suffers like that must be a spawn of the Devil."
Silence fell over the room.
Even though I already knew this from the story, hearing it spoken aloud felt suffocating. Girls already endure pain every month that men can barely imagine—but this… this was on an entirely different level. Just listening to it made my chest tighten. Going through it must have been beyond unbearable.
It also made me look at Nightingale in a completely different light.
"This is why witches rarely live long lives," Nightingale continued quietly. "Many choose to take their own lives rather than endure that pain again. And the Demonic Torture that occurs when a witch turns eighteen…"
She exhaled slowly.
"…that is the hardest trial of all."
"Why?" Rolena asked. "Why is turning eighteen so significant?"
"It's said that before then, a witch's magic is incomplete," Nightingale explained. "Only upon reaching adulthood does it stabilize. Their power increases—sometimes even branching into new abilities."
She clenched her fist.
"But that stabilization process is agony. Pain so extreme that an ordinary adult couldn't endure it. That's why so many witches die on that day."
"A day meant for celebration…" Roxanne murmured, staring at the floor,
"…becomes a day of suffering."
"And Anna's Day of Adulthood is only a few months away," Nightingale concluded quietly.
"That's why she can't stay here."
"So… does your Witch Cooperation Association have any method to get through this Day of Adulthood?" Rolena asked.
"No," Nightingale replied honestly. "But if I take her back with me, she won't have to hide anymore. She can live freely among us. Her chances of survival would be much higher than if she stayed here."
"Witches can find eternal peace in the Holy Mountain," Rolena repeated the words Barov had spoken earlier. "Will reaching it save witches from this Demonic Torture? Is that why you're all searching for it?" she asked, looking at Nightingale curiously.
"No one knows whether the Holy Mountain is real or just a legend," Nightingale answered stoically.
"But… maybe the legends aren't entirely false," she added quietly, her gaze shifting to me.
"I think Master surely has a way to save Anna from this suffering," Roxanne suddenly spoke up, turning to me with bright, expectant eyes.
"Huh?" Nightingale muttered, stunned.
'Yes, Michio—you should know a way to mitigate this Demonic Torture from the story,' Rolena said excitedly through the party chat.
With all three of them looking at me so intently, I nodded and smiled.
"Yes," I said calmly. "I might have an idea—not just to save Anna… but to save all witches from this Demonic Torture."
"I knew it!" Roxanne said smugly. "Master always has a solution to everything!"
'Hehe, I knew you'd be my cheat code in this isekai,' Rolena added through the party chat, smirking.
Nightingale stepped closer to me, her violet eyes sharp and searching.
"You're not joking… are you?" she asked quietly.
"I'm not a hundred percent sure it'll work," I said with a wry smile, fully aware that my canon knowledge could easily be wrong in this alternate world.
"Even so… please tell me," Nightingale said as she suddenly dropped to her knees and grabbed my hand.
"Please. I don't want any more of my sisters to die from that pain."
Her violet eyes trembled with anguish as she looked up at me, hope and desperation mixing together. Her hands were cold—but her grip was firm, as if letting go would shatter her resolve.
I felt a little awkward. Seeing someone as aloof as Nightingale show this much raw emotion was unsettling in its own way. But it also made one thing clear—those witches, those sisters, meant everything to her.
"The solution might be far simpler than you think," I said softly.
"All that the witches need to do is keep using their powers—constantly—before their Day of Awakening and their Day of Adulthood. If they do that, then there's a high chance they won't experience that pain at all."
Nightingale's eyes widened.
"…You mean," Rolena said slowly, her expression sharpening as she pieced it together,
"that unused magical power accumulates in their bodies until the Day of Awakening or Adulthood. And when that day arrives, even more magic tries to manifest—but their bodies, already full, can't contain it."
She leaned forward slightly.
"So the excess magic forcefully escapes… and that violent overflow is what causes the Demonic Torture."
"Yes," I said with a smile. "You've identified the core of the process perfectly, Princess."
'In fact, you—or rather, Roland—were the one who figured this out in the original story,' I added through the party chat.
'I just couldn't afford to wait this time. I hope you don't mind me spoiling the answer.'
'Why would I?' Rolena replied with a warm smile.
'If this saves more witches, then it's a win for everyone.'
"Keep using their abilities… so they don't suffer the pain," Nightingale murmured, her head lowered.
"If it were anyone else, I would've dismissed this as nonsense." She slowly lifted her gaze to meet mine.
"But if it's you… then I can't help but put my trust in it."
"Yes. Putting trust in Master is simply the obvious choice," Roxanne said proudly, nodding at Nightingale as if granting her approval.
"You really do enjoy this whole Master and Slave play, don't you?" Rolena muttered, eyeing me with a teasing smirk.
'And is Nightingale really just a friend?' she added through the party chat.
'The way she accepted your words so easily… there's clearly something more.'
'Trust me, it's not what you think,' I replied, rolling my eyes.
Nightingale's trust wasn't born from affection or dependence.
It was because, in her eyes, I was the Hero—a living legend.
And that kind of blind faith was dangerous.
Because unlike the selfless hero she believed in…
I was a selfish man.
***
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