When everyone was assembled, Roland recounted Lightning's discovery in full: "A transparent crystal coffin in an ancient ruin, showing no decay in the damp basement, a Magic Power gem emitting desperate cries, and a Devil reduced to ashes... What do you think?" "You mean she might be a Witch?" Anna mused. "If she's still alive, she could reveal more about events over four centuries ago." "She might not even be a Witch, or belong to that era," the scroll paused. "And..." "And she might not be on our side," Yezi added.
Roland's expression flickered with surprise. If the relic truly belonged to the Church, the person involved was likely a member of the organization. Judging by the dazzling attire described in the lightning narrative, they might even be a high-ranking official. While ordinary individuals could be dealt with relatively easily, dealing with a Witch would prove far more challenging.
The clash between Ash and Nightingale, followed by the Faceless One's assault, reveals no clear demarcation in Witch combat. Even without the God's Stone, a Superhuman might still be outmatched by a regular Witch with unique abilities. Conversely, a Battle Witch at a disadvantage when countered by a Support Witch could face equally dire consequences.
If the other party harbors malice, no one can guarantee her abilities won't threaten the Witch Alliance... unless she's awakened within the influence range of God's Stone of Punishment.
"You're all out of your minds, actually wondering if she's on our side?" Lily clutched her forehead helplessly. "How could someone from four hundred years ago survive this long? Witches inherently have short lifespans. Even those with enhanced physical abilities rarely live beyond a century. You're overthinking this. Let me tell you, if that thing breaks apart, the person inside would turn to dust like Devil." "Short-lived because of the so-called demonic body-sucking," Roland corrected. "Witches generally have stronger constitutions than ordinary people, so their actual lifespan should be longer." "Ordinary people only live forty or fifty years," Lily snorted. "Do you think everyone's as long-lived as turtles?" The average lifespan of forty to fifty years was due to scarce food supplies and poor medical care. With improved living standards, it could increase by another twenty years. But Roland thought her reasoning wasn't entirely baseless. Even with these factors, there's still a significant gap from the four-hundred-year lifespan... Even turtles probably wouldn't live that long.
"But she's definitely alive," Lightning bellowed. "You can tell from the look—she's nothing like those lifeless Devils. Her skin's glowing, her lips are blood-red. Maxie!" "Gur! Lightning's right!" "Fine, let's not argue," Wendy stepped in. "Whether she's dead or alive, it's worth a try." "Are you sure?" the book rolled its eyes.
"Should she truly be the Church Witch, we can hang the Stone of God's Punishment before she regains consciousness. With Anna and Nightingale at our disposal, subduing her should be no challenge," Wendy stated calmly. "The crucial point is that she might know about the incident that occurred over four centuries ago—this alone justifies our rescue mission." Indeed, Devil's intelligence was vital to the town, and the Church's desperate attempts to conceal the information would prove disastrous. Securing this information early could give them a decisive edge in future confrontations.
Anna and Nightingale also endorsed Wendy's view, so even if Shujuan found it inappropriate, she no longer objected. The Witch Alliance had essentially reached a consensus.
"Where's the First Army?" Roland asked, looking at the iron axe.
"Only fifty men can be deployed," the latter interjected. "Your Highness, you've already dispatched several squads to assist the town hall in recruiting refugees. Now, the town has merely over five hundred soldiers left. Though Tifeco has suffered divine retribution, he might still attempt a desperate large-scale assault on the western frontier. The First Army must maintain sufficient manpower to guard the capital." "I understand," he nodded. Fifty men were indeed too few—a small force would likely suffer heavy casualties from Devil's ranged spear attacks beyond their line of sight. To compensate, besides Lightning and Maxie's aerial reconnaissance, Sylvie's vision-reading ability was indispensable. The ideal formation should combine hot air balloons with ground troops, with the Witch handling surveillance and close combat, while the musketeers would focus on long-range suppression.
This way, the Witch of the Sleeping Island would also learn about the sleeping beings in the ruins. After careful consideration, Roland decided to take Sylvie along, as ensuring his own safety remained the top priority in this rescue mission.
Just as he was about to arrange the rescue plan, Muyue let out a low cry, "Oh my God... what is that?" Everyone turned to look out the window in her direction and froze in shock.
Roland pushed the window open in disbelief, only to see white spirits floating across the gloomy sky at some point—silent and overwhelming. He reached out and caught a handful of the white specks, feeling a chill in his palm.
It's snowing.
This is abnormal... As far as he knows, the western frontier only experiences one snowfall per winter, and it's not even winter yet!
"Will there be snow in the second month of autumn?" he asked, his gaze fixed on the iron axe. The axe's face turned stern as it spoke slowly, "I've only been in this town for seven or eight years—I've never seen anything like this." Heavy snowfall heralds the arrival of the Demon Month, when the sun lies buried beneath dark clouds until its next glow. During this time, the entire Western Frontier faces the threat of demonic beasts. Not to mention deploying the First Army—transporting witches in hot air balloons becomes perilous too. The Maze Forest is now overrun with vicious creatures, and venturing beyond the city walls' protection is an absolute gamble.
He had to suspend the rescue plan and wait for the skies to clear.
From the bottom of his heart, he believed this heavy snowfall was likely an accident and would soon end. After all, the temperature remained at autumn levels without a significant drop.
Three days later, the town was blanketed in snow, its distant mountains and forests draped in a white veil—a sight so breathtaking it would be a rare spectacle in later times. Yet Roland had no heart for admiring the scenery.
Though the snow had significantly lessened, scattered flakes still drifted down. The First Army had entered full combat readiness, with regular patrols conducted daily along the newly constructed city walls. Temporary camps were set up at the base of the walls to allow soldiers to quickly prepare for battle. The temperature fluctuated almost daily, prompting him to switch from light clothing to a woolen overcoat.
On the fourth day, news from the front lines plunged Roland's spirits to the lowest point.
The western wall was attacked by evil beast.
The evil moon has arrived more than a month ahead of schedule.