The faceless individual felt a chill throughout his body. How could this be possible?
She swallowed hard and whispered, "What are you kidding me about? I'm Volt." It couldn't be that coincidental—she didn't know him. With so many mercenaries in the camp, how could she possibly remember everyone's name?
A cold laugh echoed from behind. "Is that so? I never knew male bodies could harbor Magic Power. Either you're a Witch infiltrating the camp with ulterior motives, or an exceptionally rare male sorcerer. Either way, you're not the 'Volt' you claimed. The First Army has no such anomaly as you." This man... could perceive demonic forces? Afra's heart sank to the bottom of her chest. She understood why she'd been discovered—the camp housed more than four Witches, and the woman behind her was no exception, possessing a power akin to the True Eye. The Church's arcane canon documented such abilities as one of hundreds of derivative powers, none conflicting with the primary ability.
If you don't see anyone approaching, then... is the other party's main ability to conceal their presence?
"Now kneel and place your hands behind your back, and I'll spare your life," she barked. "Do as I say!" The mercenaries remained engaged in the outer perimeter, oblivious to the commotion in the central clearing. Yet the four Witches by the bonfire had already sensed the disturbance and turned their gaze toward them. "What's wrong, Nightingale? What's going on?" This was their last chance. Afra realized her true strength lay in assassination rather than direct combat—especially without the God's Stone of Punishment, she stood no chance against Witches with their bizarre abilities. The flying Witch might escape, but the one who could cure the plague must die here; otherwise, she would pose a grave threat to the Church's plans.
Another possibility was that after killing the enemy, she herself would be trapped. The thought made her heart tighten, but she soon regained composure. The Church had spared no effort to unite the four nations and resist the Devil from hell, sacrificing many valiant warriors. If she could contribute to this cause, it would be a source of pride.
She believes Heather will never forget her, and her name will be inscribed in the sacred texts of the future.
"Step back," the Witch known as Nightingale called from behind, "here's—" At that very moment, she lunged, twisting her elbow to strike the opponent's arm while ducking to avoid the weapon's impact. No one can maintain perfect focus while speaking, which is why the training officer had drilled the concept of breath-holding—God. The optimal moment to strike or escape is when the opponent's words are spoken.
The hidden mechanism in her sleeve was activated immediately, releasing a white powder backward—this alchemical powder releases a large amount of heat when it comes into contact with water. If it enters the eyes or mouth, it can instantly incapacitate the opponent. Even if she narrowly avoids inhaling the powder, it would still keep her in a state of panic for some time.
Afra then charged at the four witches by the bonfire. A blonde woman shot up into the air in an instant, while the eldest-looking witch lunged forward to block the other two. She drew her slender dagger and thrust it directly at the leader—since the three who couldn't escape would all meet their end at her hands, she didn't care who came first.
The moment the short sword pierced into the opponent's body, Afra witnessed an incredible scene.
A white figure appeared beside her, its hooded eyes blazing with fury, while the space before it had been completely empty.
Is it the nightingale behind me?
How could such a close-range powder explosion have no effect on her? The Faceless One could hardly believe his eyes. He saw her raise her hands, her silver weapon erupting in flames. A violent force shoved her, causing her to lose balance and fall backward. No, there was more... The two needed to finish each other off. Afra tried to stand, drawing her dagger to strike the next Witch, but found it nearly impossible to lift her hand. Her consciousness soon blurred.
Unfortunately, the last thought flashed through her mind.
...
After firing, the Nightingale remained motionless, watching the soldier struck in the chest collapse. Her body began to contort and contract, gradually reverting to the form of an unfamiliar woman.
—This was the first time she had personally killed a Witch.
It was only when Lily's anxious cries rang out that the Nightingale finally turned back to God.
Suppressing the surging emotions in her heart, she put away the gun and ran back to Wendy.
"Where did you get hurt?" "Nothing, not a hint of pain," Wendy waved her hand to reassure everyone, "It shouldn't have pierced through." "Did the protective suit work?" "I think so." She unbuttoned her chest, revealing a slender dagger hanging from one side of her garment. As the jacket was unbuttoned, the dagger slipped through the opening and fell to the ground, its tip completely bloodless. The protective suit had only a small tear in its outer fabric, while the soft inner layer remained intact.
"You... you scared me to death," Lily let out a long sigh, her legs buckling as she plopped down on the floor. "Don't come running to block the sword for me! I don't need you doing this for me—I, I, I..." "Alright," Wendy stroked her head. "Am I fine?" Lily shrugged her shoulders, burying her head in Wendy's chest and letting out a muffled "hmm."
"I was so startled that I just kept blocking the way and forgot to use my abilities," Wendy shook her head. "If a strong wind had blown, she probably wouldn't have been able to stab me." "It's normal for you to be slow to react when you rarely fight," Nightingale reassured her.
"Thank goodness we had the protective suit," Godse said with a look of dread, "otherwise this would've been fatal." Before departure, RolandYour Highness had issued each Witch a custom-made vest, instructing them to never remove it. The vest was remarkably lightweight yet appeared thick, seemingly layered. Your Highness explained that each layer of silk was coated with Soroya's Sky Coating—a highly flexible substance that resisted sharp penetration and offered excellent defense against blades and bows. Without it shielding them from this stab, Wendy would likely not have survived until Nana Wa's arrival.
A bolt of lightning descended slowly upon the slain Witch. "Why did she attack us? Aren't we... kindred spirits?" The Nightingale stared at the lifeless woman, speechless for a long moment... Her eyes were closed, her blue hair cascading to the ground, her expression serene, as if she had felt little pain. Yet she could never forget how, when she lunged at Wendy, her eyes held no hesitation—only resolute determination and unwavering conviction. It was as if she wasn't killing, but fulfilling a lifelong creed. Perhaps in her heart, this was the only right course of action.
"No," the Nightingale sighed softly, "She is not our kind... just a pitiful soul."