Release that Witch Chapter 1500 - Release That Witch: Side Story (Part 2)

After some unknown stretch of time, Nightingale gradually opened her eyes.

A pure earthy scent lingered under her nose, one that only untouched primitive soil could produce. As she attempted to raise her head, her gaze swept across an vast empty plain stretching to the horizon, with the city vanished completely.

Did she... manage it?

Before Neverwinter City rose up, the west lacked any proper settlements. Wilderness blanketing the land was entirely expected.

An overwhelming surge of joy flooded Nightingale's heart.

Yet she understood celebration came too soon.

Such journeys carried inherent risks. Location or timing might deviate. Only upon arriving at Border Town could she deem the effort successful.

“I must pinpoint my position quickly.”

Nightingale drew a deep breath and rose steadily from the dirt. The feat had drained her magic power heavily, nearly depleting her strength. Luckily, her form remained unharmed. A short rest would restore her.

But the instant she stood, something felt off right away!

Her garments slipped downward, and her footwear seemed oversized by two sizes!

Nightingale swiftly dropped into a crouch once more.

That's when she discovered her body had shrunk!

“Impossible… Is this the cost of Time Reversal too?”

Stunned for a moment, she froze. This changed everything crucial! Without her former self, how could she link Border Town to the exiled witches? How would she persuade Wendy and the rest to trust her? Her shadow revealed she'd shrunk nearly to Anna's youthful stature, shattering her assurance.

Years of plotted strategies crumbled back to nothing.

Suddenly, a clear noise pierced Nightingale’s ears.

Faint though it was, she discerned sporadic wails and shrieks.

Enemies!?

Nightingale tensed instantly.

In these wilds, besides feral beasts, church knights might lurk. She recalled the exiled witches' pursuits by the church. She feared not these foes, yet dreaded any sister captured by them.

Nightingale secured her attire and sharpened her hearing. Pinpointing the direction roughly, she dashed through the mist toward the cries.

Within a minute, a humble village emerged before her.

No towering mountains loomed nearby, just scattered low trees. Clearly not Border Town. Pleas for aid grew louder, joined by the clash of weapons ringing out.

“Get behind me!”

“Torre, ignore them. Protect Lady Meyna!”

A handful of armored soldiers battled fiercely, facing foes that looked eerily familiar—massive, horrifying figures donning bizarre bone masks and leather bladders on their backs.

Demons.

Nightingale jolted in shock. When had demons invaded the Western Region? She recalled they'd ventured no farther than the Hidden Forest. No direct clashes with Graycastle folk occurred before Roland's arrival.

Still, pondering now was unwise.

Humans held a clear disadvantage. Over ten soldiers lay sprawled, while survivors bore grievous wounds. Behind them huddled at least fifty folk, villagers by their garb.

Without aid, they'd soon perish.

Thankfully, aid had come.

Nightingale leaped from the fog, slashing a white thread to slice a demon's body at blinding speed!

Red mist blended with blue blood sprayed forth!

Weaponless, she required none. Her ability's spatial rifts served as ultimate blades, slicing through even the toughest armor effortlessly.

“W-Who is it?” a soldier cried out.

“It’s reinforcements! Sir, reinforcements are here!”

Reinforcements? Nightingale sensed oddity. She aided them truly, but their acceptance seemed hasty. Witches counted as perilous exiles then; capture meant execution. Only her unassailable confidence let her strike openly. In her wandering youth, she'd never reveal herself so boldly.

Puzzled though she was, Nightingale's assault never faltered. In mere ten seconds, eight or nine demons crumpled.

The survivors hefted their spears.

“Be careful of the spears!” a woman's voice shouted urgently.

Nightingale entered the fog with a heart calm as still water. Instantly, the black-and-white realm swallowed her whole. Within this sight, time dragged to a crawl. Every segment of the bone spear's assault became crystal clear, unfolding like frames in a motion picture.

Her hands reached out to grasp the “spear shaft.” With a soft tug, the spears formed from crude strokes disintegrated. In her view, it was the outlines crumbling away, yet in truth, the entire spear frameworks shattered completely.

Every spear burst apart mid-air into myriad bone shards.

All onlookers stood stunned in shock.

After half a minute passed, no demon remained on its feet.

“Well… thanks for your timely save. I’m Squadron Leader Meyna from the Garrison’s advance squad. Might I inquire who you are…” A half-armored woman stumbled forward to Nightingale. Severe wounds marred her, with blood seeping beneath the armor plates.

The Garrison? Nightingale heard this name for the first time ever.

“Uh… just call me Nightingale.” She had sensed the subtle magic ripples emanating from the woman. Combined with these alien titles, the odd armor design, and the demons’ bizarre actions, a dire premonition gradually welled up in her chest. “I need to know, what year is this, and where exactly are we?”

Such an absurd query sparked murmurs among the troops.

Meyna lifted her hand to hush the soldiers’ chatter. As the woman appraised her, Nightingale appraised her rescuer in return. Earlier, she had glimpsed her vaguely, assuming a patrolling witch come to aid, but now she knew for sure: this individual wasn’t from the Garrison, nor even the Union.

No sensible person would pose such a question, after all.

Plus, single-handedly routing a horde of frenzied demons with ease marked her as a renowned figure. Meyna couldn’t possibly have forgotten her. Even more astonishing, she appeared no older than 16 or 17—barely an adult, perhaps. Witches required years to build magic power and hone abilities. Meyna couldn’t fathom the heights this girl might reach, given her prowess at such youth.

For an instant, Meyna suspected another demon ploy.

Yet this self-named Nightingale was truly a fellow witch. Magic fluctuations never deceived.

Until the facts emerged, she ought to honor this far superior girl. “Nightingale… Ma’am, we’re on the Fertile Plains, governed by Taquila City. Naturally, it’s distant from the Holy City, or we wouldn’t be posted here—”

Suddenly, Meyna spotted a stark shift in the other’s face!

“Ahem!” Nightingale nearly coughed up her own spit. “What? T-Taquila?”

“Pardon… Is something wrong?” Meyna’s pulse quickened. That was the final Three Holy City. Who in the world didn’t recognize it?

“So… you’re part of the Union?”

“Precisely.” She nodded.

Nightingale froze in place utterly. Moments later, she collapsed as though all strength fled her limbs. Silently, she raged inside—

What nonsense about precise calculations? You swore the margin wouldn’t exceed three years either way? This lands 500 years early, before the Union’s fall! 500 years! Graycastle was still barbaric wilderness then, Border Town nowhere in sight. If return were possible, she’d yank those old scholars’ beards clean off!

“Are you okay?” Meyna reeled from her outburst. “Did you overdraw your magic? Quick, someone!”

“No need to fret… I’m okay.” Nightingale feebly waved her off. “This little expenditure means nothing to me.”

This, a mere trifle?

Meyna found herself at a loss for words.

“Madam Meyna, we can’t linger here—the demons could return anytime,” a soldier advanced to urge. “But our casualties are heavy. We can’t evacuate every villager. Select the youths and abandon the others to cover our retreat.”

“What nonsense, Keane! Aren’t we tasked with scouring Fertile Plains settlements to ferry survivors to the Holy City?”

“That’s mere theory!” Soldier Keane shot back. “How do commoner lives outweigh witches’? Besides… now we’ve an extra charge.” He eyed Nightingale. “Torre, the Garrison can’t sustain further casualties.”

“But…”

“Take everyone with you. I can guarantee that the demons won’t be able to catch up with you.” Nightingale abruptly cut into their debate. Though hit by a tremendous blow, she didn’t linger in despair and letdown for long. Her life had been full of countless ups and downs, yet no true hardship had ever truly defeated her. As Graycastle’s strongest fighter, she always seized control of her own destiny.

“Are you sure?” Keane questioned cautiously. He saw this witch as much mightier than his own captain, and based on his earlier views, the stronger a witch became, the less regard she held for common folk.

“That’s right. And not just them. Every one of you is a precious asset.” Nightingale rose to her feet once more and scanned the gathered people. “Don’t die easily.”

The entire group stood frozen in shock.

Keane and Torre exchanged glances, spotting the astonishment mirrored in each other’s eyes.

“Then we’ll head out as one,” Meyna resolved. “Keane, Torre, follow my commands. Lead everyone back to Taquila right away.”

“Yes, ma’am!” both squad leaders responded together.