The image of the Primordial Witch took shape before Rowan's eyes, identical to the bone idol Miles had brought.
As his divination deepened, knowledge began to unfold.
Potion formulas.
Advancement pathways.
A complete sequence structure.
Assassin.
Instigator.
Witch.
Pleasure.
Pain.
Despair.
Ageless.
Calamity.
The information poured in cleanly, layer by layer.
Just as Rowan reached for deeper secrets beyond that tier, the connection snapped.
The Primordial Witch had noticed.
Like the Hidden Sage before her, she reacted instantly upon sensing scrutiny.
A backlash surged along the divination link.
It struck the gray fog.
And vanished.
Rowan continued.
The Witch pressed harder, tracing the thread back toward him, attempting to retaliate.
The gray fog absorbed nearly all of it.
What little slipped through was inconsequential.
When she finally realized the diviner could not be harmed, she severed the link herself.
Rowan exhaled slowly.
"The Witch pathway is… extreme."
He reviewed what he had obtained.
He already knew that progression along this path transformed men into women.
Now he understood the mechanism.
At a certain stage, a male practitioner did not merely disguise himself.
He became entirely female in body.
And not just female.
Alluring.
Irresistible.
Further advancement required spreading intense pleasure to both men and women as part of stabilizing the potion's influence.
It was a doctrine that blurred devotion and decadence.
Rowan shook his head faintly.
Even with his ability to shift forms, that pathway was something else entirely.
"How much did you get?" Miles asked quietly.
He had kept his distance during the backlash.
Even diminished, that force could have crushed someone at his level.
"From the beginning up to Calamity," Rowan replied, sharing the information.
Miles stared.
His thoughts drifted back to Sharon.
If she had been a Witch at that stage…
Then before that…
He stopped himself.
Rowan extended a hand.
"Give me the pacifier."
Miles handed it over.
Rowan adjusted its internal structure, reinforcing the stored energy and widening its effective threshold.
When he returned it, the artifact felt heavier.
"Upgraded," Rowan said calmly. "It can now injure someone a full rank above you."
Miles inhaled sharply.
"That… high?"
"With proper timing."
Miles closed his fingers around it.
The difference between surviving and dying often came down to a single second.
This artifact now bought him that second.
Far away, in a dim room lit by a red-tinged oil lamp, Adrian Crowe stared at the notebook in his hands.
The page described events in neat script.
His script.
His story.
His plan.
He slammed his palm onto the desk.
"Why does he keep interfering?"
In his original design, Miles Reed should have died during the staged suicide incident.
Instead, he survived.
That had been tolerable.
A minor deviation.
But then Miles joined the Night Watchers.
Then he introduced the acting method to Captain Dunn, easing the mental strain Crowe had carefully cultivated.
Every detail had been orchestrated.
The Antigonus family notebook.
Exposure to forbidden dreams.
Subtle contamination.
All to ensure Dunn's mind gradually destabilized at precisely the right moment.
The goal was simple.
Force Dunn, in a crisis, to retrieve the Saint's ashes from behind Chanis Gate.
Once exposed, Crowe could seize them and extract what he needed to complete his own advancement.
But now Dunn's condition was stabilizing.
If he fully digested his potion and advanced further, Crowe's entire design would collapse.
So Crowe adjusted the narrative.
He used the sealed artifact in his possession to accelerate events.
He arranged Councilman Maynard's death.
Guided the Night Watchers toward Sharon.
Ensured Sharon held the Primordial Witch idol at the crucial moment.
The plan was elegant.
Miles and Cohen would die.
Dunn would absorb their characteristics to save himself, disrupting his mental balance once more.
Everything would return to the intended path.
Except Miles had survived again.
Some unknown artifact.
Some external variable.
Sharon was dead.
The plot had failed.
Crowe paced the room.
"I can't wait any longer."
The longer Miles lived, the more unpredictable he became.
If Dunn advanced further, retrieving the Saint's ashes would become nearly impossible.
Crowe's eyes hardened.
He would no longer remain in the background.
He would step onto the board himself.
Riskier.
Less elegant.
But decisive.
Dunn was still below him.
And he still possessed the sealed artifact.
That was enough.