Chapter 34: A Brief Parting
“You don’t blame me?”
“Why would I blame you? Getting injured is the most normal thing, especially against an opponent like that.”
Chescia had just finished bandaging Funis’s wounded forearm and helped her remove the bloodstained lace glove.
“But that’s not what you told me before,” Funis lowered her gaze slightly.
She sat sideways in Chescia’s lap, head lowered as Chescia carefully wiped the blood from her palms and the backs of her hands.
“Is that so? I don’t quite remember.”
“You said that even in battle, a lady must maintain grace. With damage like this... I don’t think I’m qualified anymore...”
Funis’s eyes fell upon the torn and dust-stained hem of her dress. There was a hole at the calf of her stockings as well.
Wez, in his “Burst” state, had caused her a lot of trouble. It was difficult enough just to survive.
There was no way she could have spared thought for whether her attire remained tidy.
“Pfft~” Chescia couldn’t help but laugh.
“What is it? Did I say something wrong, Miss Witch?” Funis asked, a little confused.
“No, you remembered very clearly. It’s because you remember everything so clearly.” Chescia caressed the girl’s small palm. “Back then I was just exaggerating to scare you, but you learn too well and too fast.”
Funis still didn’t quite understand.
The feeling was familiar. Charlotte’s biological father, Mr. Conrad, the training instructor of the Temperance Court, had reacted similarly. Her past teachers all thought she was too serious.
“But a girl’s skin is still very delicate. It needs to be properly cared for.” Chescia patted the butterfly-knot bandage on Funis’s forearm. “Protecting yourself is never wrong. If you’re left with an unsightly scar, the only way to fix it is by suicide.”
Funis’s face turned deathly pale.
That one sentence stabbed at two of her sore spots.
Funis cared deeply about her appearance. Her favorite things were looking in the mirror and changing dresses. A scar on her smooth, bare body was absolutely unacceptable. And yet, she did have the option to commit suicide to trigger full-body regeneration—but she could never actually go through with that.
“Why did you come here, Miss Witch? I thought you had already returned to the Golden Rose,” Funis asked.
“To clean up after you. Did you forget that if too much time passed, this guy’s underlings would eventually come looking?” Chescia reached out, her pale skin gradually turning crimson.
“Besides, my main body is back on the airship. This is a blood clone. I needed to leave another self in Black City to handle certain matters.”
A Transcendent trait of the Arrogance Path’s Third Sequence, “Crimson Monarch”—creating a clone indistinguishable from the original using blood flow.
This kind of clone wasn’t some inferior imitation with a huge disparity in strength from the original. She was essentially another Chescia, identical in appearance, build, and Transcendent traits. From a certain perspective, this clone was even stronger, as physical attacks couldn’t truly damage a clump of condensed blood.
“You killed them all?”
“No, I put them all to sleep. Just a little Succubus ability. If you want to learn, I can teach you too.”
Funis watched as a transparent bubble formed in Chescia’s palm. She knew that once it popped, anyone who inhaled the mist would fall into a dream. It was a special substance secreted by Succubi with hypnotic effects.
Actually, Funis had figured out this ability on her own long ago, though she wasn’t yet skilled enough to put a whole group to sleep in one go.
She just hadn’t told Chescia.
There were many things she hadn’t told Chescia—including the fact that she had recently absorbed a fragment of the Codex. If Chescia didn’t ask, Funis wouldn’t bring it up.
“You don’t want to leave any traces. The Black Rose Society has a certain reputation in Graycloud Fortress, and you don’t want to be publicly involved in this incident,” Funis stated Chescia’s thoughts directly. “No matter what happens, Mr. Joseph and the four major gangs can’t accuse you directly.”
“Exactly, my clever little cupcake.” Chescia nodded in satisfaction. “No one in Black City knows who you are. You appeared out of nowhere in Graycloud Fortress. The Black Rose Society will pretend to be uninformed for now. Until that old geezer Joseph starts losing his patience, you’re free to stir up whatever trouble you want.”
“I just want to get the Swordrust secretions. I’m only one step away now.” Funis showed her the bronze tag she had taken from Wez.
“Of course, Vivian Glass Factory. You’re very close.” Chescia took Funis’s hand and glanced at the symbols on the back of the tag. “Their cipher still hasn’t changed. This time it’s Vivian’s turn.”
“Turn?”
“The secret warehouse rotates locations. That’s why they use these bronze tags to inform debt collectors.”
“So this is reliable.” Funis breathed a sigh of relief. “The symbols were carved so plainly—I thought it might be a trap.”
“There’s usually no need to worry about the safety of Bloodwine Society’s stash. They rarely expect anyone to dare mess with them. But you’re an exception. They’d never expect someone like you to exist.” Chescia pinched Funis’s cheek.
“What do you mean?” Funis let the Witch toy with her, too tired to resist.
“In your understanding, what kind of person could pose a threat to Wez?” Chescia asked seriously.
“To threaten a Warden with a modified prosthetic limb… at least a Seventh or even Sixth Sequence Transcendent. But anyone with access to that level of potion or means wouldn’t be lacking for resources…”
Funis thought it through—and froze.
She began to understand Chescia’s meaning. Anyone coveting Bloodwine’s stash couldn’t bypass Wez or other debt collectors. Meanwhile, those of higher status and power either didn’t need such goods or wouldn’t risk offending a local gang.
Funis was unique.
She both needed it and didn’t care what Bloodwine Society thought of her.
“That’s why you brought me Wez’s data. Debt collectors always have the warehouse’s location.” Funis understood Chescia’s intention.
“Check their warehouse for me. If you find any clues related to the Whispers Trial, stay sharp.” Chescia pinched the girl’s earlobe. “Don’t be stubborn now. You want to find Moira soon, don’t you?”
The Witch had already anticipated what Funis was about to say.
Though she always spoke indifferently about gang-made Witches, deep down, she did care.
The Whispers Trial had claimed the lives of countless young girls. Any person with a basic sense of morality would find it abhorrent—let alone someone who had once been a Temperance Court enforcer. Funis instinctively wanted to intervene and investigate.
But notions of right and wrong were no longer the highest priority for the Witch that Funis had become.
Moira.
A pure and kind girl, like a white lily.
It was during Funis’s most desperate and helpless time—when hatred and powerlessness consumed her—that Moira had comforted her and helped her regain the confidence to challenge Chescia repeatedly.
But Moira had been a Witch too. Over time, Funis had gradually, consciously or unconsciously, distanced herself from her. Their bond had faded.
And now Moira had gone missing.
More than two weeks.
“I will, Miss Witch,” she answered softly.
After a while, Funis suddenly looked up and asked, “You’re not coming with me? It’s so close—just a few hundred meters.” She spread the map out for Chescia.
“I have other matters to deal with. Besides, you already analyzed it yourself—I shouldn’t show my face too easily.” Chescia picked Funis up from between her thighs and carefully set her down on the ground. “Look at your dress—completely in tatters… Once you get the goods, head to the designated spot and fire the flare. The sisters will pilot a small airship to pick you up. You’ll need a good bath and a fresh dress by then.”
She mostly referred to Funis’s right arm. That sleeve had been torn clean off by the bullet. Half of her arm was exposed—fair, soft, and blindingly white.
Funis clearly no longer looked like a lady, but she had no time to change midway. All Chescia could do was remind her to return quickly.
“Hmm?” Chescia’s gaze flickered with confusion.
She picked up a strand of Funis’s hair—it should have been pure silver-white, but now a faint pink hue was mixed in.
“What’s this?” Funis found it strange too. She hadn’t noticed it before.
“Magic depletion?” Chescia frowned, pondering. “That shouldn’t be… after last night and just now…”
So-called magic was the energy Succubi converted from emotions. Through this unique energy, Succubi could avoid eating and excreting.
But just as Chescia said, Funis’s recent emotional swings had been significant. There should have been no reason for this to occur.
Maybe it had something to do with the absorption of the Chapter of Wrath—Funis neither dared nor wanted to say.
“Is it serious?” Funis asked.
“Not really. Localized change like this isn’t worth worrying over.” Chescia shook her head. “Just feels a little strange. Maybe I’m overthinking it.”
Very strange.
Chescia’s reaction was also strange.
But Funis didn’t want to dwell on it. She had more important things to do.
So the girl elegantly lifted her skirt and gave Chescia a respectful bow. “Then I should be on my way, Miss Witch.”