As Wendy had mentioned, the next morning, the witches were summoned by the Maid to the first floor for breakfast. After breakfast, Prince handed each of them a beautifully crafted parchment. Since some witches couldn't read the text, the book was recited aloud to them. The session then proceeded with signatures and handprints.
Roland knew they would struggle to fully grasp every clause in the contract, but that was okay—time would make it clear. He understood they'd sign even a indenture bond now. Offering a more lenient deal didn't feel like a loss to him; since he'd chosen this path, he needed to think long-term. Every move he made now was building a sustainable, mutually beneficial framework for the future.
After securing the contract, Roland executed the plan laid out the previous night by assigning each person their training tasks, then called Ye Zi, Shu Juan, and Suo Luo Ya to return to the office with him.
As the door closed, the nightingale emerged and winked at the sisters.
"I've been thinking about what Wendy told me yesterday," Roland said, pulling back the curtains to let the bright sunlight flood the room. "She said you encountered a terrifying monster, and only seven of you survived. Even the Guild's mentor, Hakkara, perished in the Wildlands. I wonder what you actually faced—mixed-type evil beasts?" Ye was the first to speak. "Not evil beasts. They're Devils from the Gates of Hell, with towering bodies that can command evil creatures and wield Magic Power, just like..." She paused. "Just like us." "Devils?" Roland frowned, turning to Soraya. "Were you there?" She nodded.
"Can you picture the scene from that time?" Roland handed him a piece of paper.
Soroya closed her eyes, looking pained, but she still took the paper and walked to the table.
As her powers manifested, the elusive goose-feather brush materialized in her grasp. Its tip shimmered with multicolored light before darting from her hand, swiftly tracing across the paper. A vivid scene gradually unfolded before her eyes, while Soroya remained completely motionless throughout.
Roland moved closer to the table and saw the paper's design was uncannily real—no, he told himself, this wasn't a painting but a live recording of the scene. Her ability was like a camera, recreating the massacre in the wilderness from a first-person perspective.
When the painting was finished, Soraya's forehead was drenched in sweat, as the memory had been a nightmare for her.
The Nightingale leaned in close. "Is this Devil?" "Yes, these," Yezi pointed to the nearest one. "This Devil in metal gloves can summon lightning strikes and wield immense strength—more than half of the dozen sisters fell to his hands. The distant Devil can hurl spears several times faster than crossbow bolts. But their special attacks can't be used consecutively. I took this chance to finish them off." "You alone?" Roland asked.
"The leather tube beneath the beast's helmet is Devil's Achilles 'heel," Yezi pointed to the Iron-Handed Devil's neck. "Hakara's Magic Power Snake severed his tube, ultimately perishing with him. I killed the other using the same method with a hand crossbow. The tube seems to contain red gas, which they die from when it leaks." Well, this device looks like an oxygen tank. How could such creatures exist in the wilderness? Roland was baffled. But if we were talking aliens, they clearly didn't reach that level. Look at that patched leather tube and the beastskin garments—they're clearly at the same technological level as our side.
Whether through technology or magic, the ability to actively travel to other planets demonstrates their power—after all, even Earthlings struggle to land on the moon.
Of course, we can't rule out those bizarre civilizations with twisted talents. Roland thought, in short,' Devil 'isn't an invincible foe—they can be defeated too.
"Besides Devil, we also saw a city floating in the air," Yezi added. "No matter how far we walked, it remained ahead of us. Lightning had mentioned it in her adventure stories—it seemed like a mirage." "Can we draw it?" Roland asked Soraya.
With a nod, she summoned the Magic Power Pen once more and traced the floating city Ye Zi had described onto the paper.
Roland scrutinized the image. The blurred scene offered scant clues. If the city was indeed a mirage, it at least meant its true form lay somewhere in the wilderness. The blood mist swirling above the city was the very air the Devil breathed. This explanation held far more weight than alien theories, for the vast continent west of the Desolate Mountains was God's uncharted territory—no surprise other races dwelled there.
"Only one question remains," Roland asked. "I heard both Nightingale and Wendy mention that Hakkara decided to seek the Holy Mountain because of an ancient book." "Scroll," Roland pressed. "Have you read that book?" The scroll hesitated. "Hakkara forbids anyone from reading it, but... I once stole a glimpse. The text inside is chaotic and... inexplicable." "Can you reproduce it? Let me see." "None of that is true, Your Highness. The Holy Mountain's nonexistence has proven it," she sighed, raising her right hand. "I hope you won't be deceived by its contents." A book with gold-edged trim appeared mid-air, its cover flapping open. Pages flipped rapidly before slamming shut in her hand. "Your Highness, I only want you to see it. I don't want other sisters to become like Hakkara." Roland took the book. "I understand." After the witches left the office, Nightingale quietly returned to the sofa. As usual, she lifted her robe, propped her feet on the low table, and began chewing on dried fish.
"Don't you want to come and see?" Roland asked with a smile.
The Nightingale sneered, "I'm not interested in what a madman would enjoy." He shook his head, sat back at the table, and carefully turned the pages as if the book possessed some magical power.
As the scroll reveals, most of its content is abstruse and incomprehensible, with writing and grammar that defy modern conventions. While it mentions the blood-red moon and a colossal stone gate, the term "Holy Mountain" remains conspicuously absent. In truth, beyond a few scattered words with partial meanings, the text is utterly unreadable—summarized as: every character is recognizable, yet the entire composition remains cryptic. Whether this stems from the scroll's hurried reading causing omissions or the text's inherent nature, the enigma persists.
Roland skipped the lengthy paragraphs and flipped straight to the back. The rather thick book contained only a few pages of actual content, with the rest left blank. Starting from the last page, the handwriting suddenly changed—what had been neat and tidy before became messy and hasty, like hastily scribbled notes, yet the content became crystal clear.
The opening line reads: "We failed. Mortals cannot defeat the Devil."