Chapter Seven: The Land of Destruction and Rebirth

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“To Teacher Valerie, Personal and Confidential.”

A gas lamp glowed softly on the bedroom desk. Ivy’s face was heavy with worry as she sealed the envelope. The red falcon perched on the windowsill gave her a nod, then grasped the envelope in its beak, spread its wings, and disappeared into the night.

In nearly two years, she had sent no fewer than twenty letters to the academy, yet never received a satisfactory reply.

This time, as expected, the great noble families of the imperial capital once again rejected her request to deploy troops to Creekwood Town. Those pampered aristocrats always believed they had more important matters to attend to and dismissed the threats she mentioned in her letters with disdain.

In tonight’s letter, her teacher proposed transferring her back to work in the capital, citing her mother’s advanced age and that she should not continue to worry the family.

Ivy clenched her fists tightly.

Those people had no idea of the crisis the empire was facing.

Wolves suddenly appearing in the forest, cursed creatures presumed to be above Tier Three, and last night’s blood moon — all signs pointed to the cultists of the dark god targeting this frontier town.

Her gaze lingered once more on the yellowed newspaper on the desk.

“The Witch’s Last Road — Cultists of the Dark God Vanquished Before the Empire!”

The headline brimmed with pride from the author, a reporter from the Griffon Daily who had witnessed the witch’s execution firsthand. The article recounted the life of the witch — once one of the empire’s most outstanding elemental enchanters, who had fallen into corruption under the dark god’s influence.

The black-and-white illustrations on the newspaper shifted repeatedly, replaying the execution scene Ivy had seen countless times: a woman with her head covered by a black hood, bound to a wooden stake. The executioner poured oil over her and set her ablaze with a torch. The flames swiftly engulfed her, and when they died down, only a charred corpse remained on the stake.

Yet Ivy frowned deeply. The church never allowed anyone to see the witch’s face. The official explanation was that her eyes were wicked and could beguile the heart, but this explanation left room for other imaginations.

For example, during the battle that devastated much of the imperial capital, the church failed to capture the Winter Witch alive and had to use a scapegoat instead.

The Griffon Daily reporter fully believed the church’s propaganda. After the execution, the newspaper hailed the church’s great achievements, and to this day, the noble families in the capital remain convinced that the Winter Witch was truly dead.

However, rumors persisted that the severely wounded witch escaped the church and the knights’ siege, wandering to the frontier town and beyond the empire’s borders.

Ivy tiredly pressed her palm against her forehead. She had pieced together all the rumors and deduced the most likely escape route of the Winter Witch. This was precisely why she had left the capital and insisted on coming to Creekwood Town.

Creekwood Town was the witch’s final stop. In the eyes of the dark god’s cultists, this small town held profound significance. They called it the “Land of Destruction and Rebirth,” firmly believing that when the Winter Witch returned, she would bring ruin to this decaying empire.

That was two years ago.

Recent signs around Creekwood Town suggested the witch might indeed be rising again. Ivy had long since sent her carefully organized route and manuscripts back to the academy, but…

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The imperial nobles considered her a delusional jester, stubbornly convinced that the Winter Witch had perished in the execution two years prior.

After all, in a place like the capital, a mere Tier Two graduate from the Enlightenment Academy had no voice. Even her father had written to warn her to stop sending such nonsensical letters, which only brought shame to the family.

Ivy sighed, tidied the documents on the desk, and placed them in the drawer.

Only time would prove the truth.

So once again, she ignored her teacher’s advice. She would rather die with the truth.

Ivy took off her trench coat, hung it on the rack, wrapped herself in a blanket, and lay in bed, unable to sleep for a long time. Besides the cultists of the dark god, another matter troubled her heart.

She felt as though she had forgotten something, but when she pondered carefully, no clue came to mind. For a seeker of truth, this was pure torment.

She slept uneasily, drowning in endless nightmares.

In her dream, she was on a snow-covered street in the town. Familiar residents were frozen in place, caught mid-flight in terror, their panicked expressions forever fixed.

She also dreamed of a figure cloaked in a hood standing atop the clock tower, looking down on her. The figure wore a strange mask beneath which gleamed a single crimson eye.

When dawn’s pale light crept through the window, Ivy awoke with a start.

She threw off the blanket and sat up, drenched in sweat, her golden hair disheveled from panic. She finally remembered the thing she had forgotten last night.

Damn it!

She had forgotten to bring Ethan his meal!

That guy… could he have been eaten by hungry wolf-chickens?

Meanwhile, Ethan, an early riser, was struck by a thunderbolt of shock the moment he stepped out of his cabin.

Seeing him leave, Miss Chloe immediately sprang up from the mattress cheerfully and greeted him good morning, revealing the object she had been sitting on.

A corpse lay sprawled on the ground, eyes wide in eternal unrest, right hand stretched forward, dragging a long trail of blood.

Ethan stared at the body for over ten seconds, then calmly retreated indoors and closed the door.

He was probably still half asleep.

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Ethan steadied himself, slapped his cheeks to stay awake, and prepared to open the door again.

“Good morning, Miss Chloe.”

“Cluck cluck!”

The energetic Miss Chloe responded.

She sat back on the mattress. This time, the corpse was gone, leaving only a right hand protruding from beneath her body and bloodstains on the mattress.

“Go dig a hole, Miss Chloe.”

“Cluck?”

Upon receiving the order, Miss Chloe immediately ran to the clearing in front of the cabin and began pawing at the earth. Ethan followed closely behind, carrying a shovel from inside.

While digging, he heard Miss Chloe’s explanation.

She had found the corpse on the road. Late at night, she heard cries for help and went to investigate. When she arrived, the man was already bleeding from all orifices and convulsing on the ground. Seeing he had lost consciousness, she feared he would catch cold lying there, so she dragged him back to the cabin, placed him on the mattress, and used the feathers on her belly to keep him warm, like incubating eggs.

What a kind little hen!

Ethan wanted to praise Miss Chloe’s kindness, but if someone else saw this scene, they might come up with a very different story.

For example, that he had teamed up with the wolf-chickens to ambush an innocent passerby in the wild, brutally killed him, robbed his belongings, and buried the body.

“Ethan, I brought you some milk and bread—”

A voice that made Ethan’s scalp tingle came from behind, and as the voice approached, it abruptly stopped.

He turned stiffly to see Ivy standing on the slope, holding the bread and milk, her eyes and golden hair alertly scanning him.

“Let me explain.”

He had to explain the situation to Ivy as simply as possible. “This man died of natural causes.”