The patient's condition has stabilized.
As with the peculiar arrangement upon their initial boarding, the mercenaries armed with wooden guns divided everyone into several groups. Those who were severely injured and in critical condition were carried by them into the peculiar wooden cabin for treatment. Subsequently, they proceeded in the order of the youngest, families with children, and adults.
Lucia and Ling were positioned at the forefront—the entire treatment process was remarkably swift. With her eyes covered, she carried her sister into the cabin with the assistance of the mercenaries. Shortly thereafter, a pill was handed to her. The pill was small and slightly sweet, and the person who handed it to her proactively assured her that her sister's medication had already been administered, urging her not to worry.
After leaving the room and removing the head cover, she was pleasantly surprised to observe Ling's complexion improving at a visible rate. Although still in a coma, her forehead no longer felt hot, the facial flushing had faded, and the dark spots had disappeared completely.
When all were freed from the terror of impending doom and reborn, they were so overwhelmed with emotion that they knelt in unison before the gray-haired figure in the distance, saluting him with the highest reverence. The mercenaries had revealed that he was the Lord of the land, the Lord of the Western Frontier, Roland Wimbledon, Your Highness.
True to the rumors, Lord not only lit a bonfire by the dock to cook meat porridge for everyone, but also promised that those willing to serve the town would receive wages, food, and shelter. As they savored the fragrant porridge, the crowd chattered, grateful to have joined the fleet bound for the West, and praised Your Highness for her benevolence.
Lucia was the only one who felt a little anxious.
How could she possibly contact the Mutual Aid Society? The word of mouth only mentioned a group of witches remaining in Border Town, but gave no clue how to find them—likely missing a crucial detail in its spread. She vaguely sensed the message had come from the central kingdom's major cities.
As the group was just finishing their meal and being led by the mercenaries to the wooden shed by the river, a woman's voice suddenly came from behind Lucia.
"Are you looking for us?" She was startled, turned around, and took two quick steps forward, ready to flee. But when the figure before her came into view, Lucia froze in place.
Oh my God, what a stunning woman she was! Her long curly hair shimmered with a soft orange glow under the flickering firelight, her star-like eyes sparkling, and a sweet smile playing at the corners of her lips. Most striking was the aura she exuded—no Noble could rival her, as if she were a truly extraordinary figure in her own right.
"My name is Nightingale, a Witch. Welcome to the Western Town." Lucia couldn't help but bow her head at this. "I... my name is Lucia White. I wish to join you." "Then follow me," Nightingale said with a faint smile. "I'll take you home." The sun had already sunk behind the mountains, leaving only a faint glow in the sky. Lucia, carrying the sleeping bell, followed her slowly.
"When did you wake up?" she asked.
"Awakening?" Lucia was stunned.
"The moment you become a Witch," Nightingale explained, "Magic Power begins accumulating within you. We call this transformation Awakening." "I think... about two years ago," Lucia recalled. "Is Magic Power the evil force?" "That's just the Church's rhetoric," she shook her head. "Magic Power is a divine gift, unrelated to good or evil. The so-called demonic possession is merely the body's backlash when Magic Power overflows, which can be prevented through practice." "Can't you endure that pain?" Lucia stared wide-eyed.
"True, without the Church's oppression, witches wouldn't have endured such torment," Nightingale blinked. "This is our sanctuary where we can freely wield our powers." She gestured behind her. "Is this adorable little one your sister? Where are your other family members?" "They're all dead. Only Lulu and I escaped," Lucia fell silent. "A mob attacked Golden Ear City, burning, killing, and looting everywhere. Father was pierced through the chest by... several swords while defending them. Mother told us to flee, but she too..." A long-suppressed grief surged within her, leaving her unable to speak. All the hardships endured along the way—hunger, thirst, fear—burst forth as suppressed anguish. For her sister's sake, she had gritted her teeth and persevered until now. Yet the mental defenses she built seemed powerless against the turbulent waves of emotion. Her sobs soon turned into a torrential cry. She knew it was wrong to act this way, to maintain decorum during their first meeting, but the tears flowed like a storm, impossible to hold back.
Would she be disliked this way? She felt her tears and snot mingling into a lump, her mouth brimming with saltiness. Yet to Lucia's surprise, a pair of arms wrapped around her, cradling her in a warm embrace. The person gently patted the back of her head, completely unfazed by the dirt streaked across her tear-streaked face, and softly consoled, "Cry, just cry it out."...
When Lucia finally composed herself and looked up, she saw her tears had soaked the other person's shoulder.
"Yes, I'm sorry..." she said, blushing.
"Never mind, are you feeling better?" Nightingale reached for a handkerchief to wipe her face, cradling Ling in one arm while holding her steady with the other. "Let's go—there are still many sisters waiting for you." Lucia had assumed the witches' hideout would be some unassuming abandoned warehouse or basement, but to her surprise, Nightingale led her into the Castle District, which was clearly the Lord's private domain. Even more astonishingly, the guards not only didn't stop her but waved her over.
Did the Co-op take over the whole town?
Upon reaching the third floor of Castle and entering a brightly lit room, she was astonished to find the man seated opposite her was none other than Lord, who had earlier been greeted with cheers from the crowd.
"This is Roland Wimbledon, the leader of the Witch Alliance, Your Highness. He has taken in the surviving witches from the Guild and is spreading word across cities to attract more sisters who have nowhere to go," Nightingale explained. "This town is their home. You needn 't doubt it, for the very witches who treated your sister and all the ship's patients were the ones who healed you." Lucia's mind went blank. She never imagined Noble would shelter witches instead of treating them as tools or slaves. When she finally regained her senses, she hurriedly bowed in a grotesque posture that made Nightingale burst out laughing. "It's alright, Your Highness doesn't care about such formalities." "You're from the East?" Lord's voice was calm and relaxed, more like casual conversation than a formal inquiry.
Lucia stole a glance at him, noticing he was casually leaning back in his chair, God's face lit up with excitement.
"Indeed..." As the conversation deepened and Nightingale's explanations added to the dialogue, her tension gradually eased. Though the other party was a Noble, he didn't adopt an aggressive demeanor—instead, he seemed like a caring elder who genuinely cared for her.
"So you've been awakened for two years, yet remain underage..." He remarked with evident curiosity. "What then is your ability?" "Restoring an object to its original form," Lucia hesitated. "Though not universally effective." "Original form?" Your Highness stroked his chin and placed a fine cup on the table. "May I see it?" "It would damage it." "No harm." Lucia nodded, walked to the table, and rested her hand on the cup.
After a short while, the cup began to curl and deform, eventually splitting into three distinct substances: the leftmost appeared as a dark, viscous oil-like substance, the middle formed a small cluster of black powder, while the rightmost was a clear liquid slowly dripping down the table.