Release That Witch

The path under her feet was only as wide as her shoulders. To one side was a huge stone cliff. Opposite were steep rocks. The two apart was about three meters wide. Below was a bottomless ravine. She carefully followed the stone cliff to avoid slipping.     

When she looked up, she saw that in the sky, there was only a thin ray of light, like a hanging silver thread. But she knew that it was noon. Even in the daytime, she had to carry a torch. The light coming through the rock was not bright enough to illuminate the road ahead. The long path gave the illusion that she was inside the mountains.     

The only advantage here was that despite the cold wind whistling and snow swirling in the mountains, the gap between the cliffs remained unaffected. Occasionally a few snowflakes fell from overhead down the cliffs and paths, quickly turning into water vapor. The temperature here was different from outside. Occasionally she could see warm gas rising from the abyss.     

Had it not been so, she would not have dared to go alone through the Impassable Mountain Range in the Months of Demons. The Mist could hide her body, but could not isolate the temperature. She would have frozen to death if she had walked in the cold wind for less than two hours.     

But Nightingale was unwilling to stay here for more than a moment, for she always felt something in the dark staring at her. It gave her the creeps.     

If she could, Nightingale would have wished to walk through the Mist. Unfortunately, she did not have enough strength to do that. Prolonged usage of strength would quickly exhaust her.     

Nightingale lifted the torch. On the opposite, rocks were flickering in and out of sight. In the faint firelight, she could occasionally see shadows of different sizes on the opposite cliffs. Nightingale knew that they were caves, so deep that light could not shine, and they looked like a cluster of shadows. In the same position as the cliff close to her, there was also a corresponding deep hollow.     

This reminded her of the hearsay about the mine on Northern Slope. It was said to be the demons' underground den. From there, there were many byroads in all directions supposedly dug by monsters. Northern Slope was only one corner of the Impassable Mountain Range. Were these caves connected to the mine?     

The idea made her shiver.     

West of the Impassable Mountain Range was the uninhabited Barbarian Land. Who could dig numerous caves inside these mountains stretching hundreds of kilometers? Perhaps nobody but the monsters, who had survived in Barbarian Land, could do that.     

She did not dare to contemplate further, and instead she concentrated on walking forward.     

Finally, the path in front changed. The shoulder-wide path was divided into two, one slightly upward and the other straight down, extending deep into darkness. Nobody knew where it led to. At the turnoff, she had stronger feelings of being watched as if countless pairs of eyes were gazing at her in the darkness. It made her mouth go dry and her scalp tingle.     

Nightingale gritted her teeth, opened the Mist and hurried upwards. Soon the strange sensation vanished.     

With the altitude rising, the surrounding temperature was gradually falling. The silver thread overhead was growing wider and wider. After half an hour, a huge cave appeared on her right. The entrance of the cave was slightly higher than the road. She stepped into the cave and could see faint lights of fire deep within.     

It was the hideout of the Witch Cooperation Association.     

Nightingale stepped out of the Mist and was immediately discovered by the guarding witch. A black gas wall blocked her way, but soon disappeared into the invisible. In the darkness, the companion's voices cried pleasantly. "You're back!"     

"Finally back," she thought, but when she noticed her companion's arms wrapped with two pieces of white cloth, Nightingale's mood, which had just leaped, sank again. "Two more sisters..."     

The other person's voice paused for a moment. "Uh... ah, they were Airy and Abby. They died five days ago and didn't make it to adulthood," she said, forcing a smile. "This often happens, doesn't it? Don't say this. You can go to the camp. Wendy has been talking about you for a long time."     

Airy and Abby, a pair of twins born to an affluent family of Fallen Dragon Ridge, had at last ended their lives in this deep mountain. Nightingale sometimes wondered whether she had done a right thing. If she had not taken the two away, at least they could have enjoyed the rich and healthy life, not having to drift away with the others, before death.     

But at the thought of Wendy, a warm current surged in Nightingale's heart. If Wendy had not helped her, she would still be a puppet, used as a tool and possibly discarded at any time. Nightingale wanted to tell her the news as soon as possible. And she wanted to tell all the sisters that they did not have to hide like rats, here and there. Some people were willing to accept them. And they could spend their Day of Awakening every year in peace!     

Entering the camp, Nightingale saw a familiar figure squatting at the side of the campfire, handling the food. The other witches had not arrived yet. She could not help crying out. "Wendy, I'm back!"     

Wendy was startled. She raised her head, revealing a smile with which Nightingale was familiar. "Veronica, welcome home."     

Wendy was a very kind-hearted woman, and also one of the earliest members of the Witch Cooperation Association. She was 30 years old, but there was not one wrinkle on her face. Her reddish-brown straight hair was almost waist length. She had mature facial features, full of charm like a big sister. She cared about every sister in the association. It did not matter whether it was daily life or psychological enlightenment, and she was ready to do whatever she could to help. Had it not been for Wendy, the association would not have been able to gather so many witches so quickly.     

It was because of her that Nightingale had decided to get away from her family and embark on the journey looking for Holy Mountain. Wendy was also one of the few people who knew her original name.     

"How many times have I told you that I'm no longer that cowardly little girl," said Nightingale, shaking her head with a smile. "I'm now a powerful witch, and Veronica has ceased to exist."     

"Your history still belongs to you. To rid yourself of the bad nightmares of the past doesn't mean to sever the links," Wendy said softly, "Of course, it's OK as long as you like to do so. I've been waiting for your return. You have experienced a hard journey."     

"Well." Nightingale stepped forward and hugged. "Thank you."     

After a while, Wendy asked, "What happened to the girl? You couldn't save her?"     

Speaking of this, Nightingale was suddenly excited. She grabbed Wendy's arm, and excitedly said, "No, she did not need me to save her. Instead, she saved all of us!" Then she recounted her experience in Border Town. "The lord, called Roland Wimbledon, is the fourth Prince of the Kingdom of Graycastle. He's willing to have us in his care. Besides, he promised that in the future he would let the witches in his territory live as free people."