Chapter 9: Morning Greeting
Passing through the narrow corridor, the witch Stacie pushed open the door.
The curtains were tightly drawn, and the firelight from the hearth illuminated a mountain of paper documents piled atop the desk. In the shadows behind it, a black-haired girl in a dark dress was dozing off, her skirt and silky hair cascading down the chair legs onto the oak floor.
“Miss Chescia, the dust fog isn’t serious today. Please remember to keep the room well-lit while working.” Stacie strode in briskly and pulled the curtains open.
The dim room brightened instantly, rousing the drowsy girl at the desk completely.
“Ah, Stacie... thanks.” Chescia rubbed her eyes, then stretched lightly and elegantly. “Since you’ve come to me, I assume there’s progress?”
“We’ve found out. The ones producing that batch of ‘Whispers’ potion are the Bloodwine Society.” Stacie handed over a copper plate engraved with text by a difference engine. “It’s likely they’re also behind the abduction of young girls to create new witches. As for who’s leading it—”
The lazy girl’s wine-red eyes suddenly turned sharp. Her earlier drowsiness seemed a mere façade. The grim and cold aura of the Crimson Witch returned to her.
Stacie knew this was the attitude Chescia showed only toward enemies. Her true nature was gentle and kind.
The potion “Whispers” was a foundational formula used to induce mutation and transformation in witches. The surgery and subsequent torment were known as the Whispers Trial—an ordeal of unimaginable pain and suffering for the young girls subjected to it.
To the Crimson Witch, anyone seeking profit through the creation of new witches was an enemy.
“I doubt it’s our dear Lord Joseph of Graycloud Fortress. He’s the one who invited us here to deal with a few ‘problems.’” Chescia swiftly scanned the information on the copper plate. “But it’s impossible he doesn’t know what these gangs in Graycloud Fortress are up to behind the scenes. He has no reason to hire us to investigate his own operations.”
“Indeed, it’s contradictory.” Stacie nodded. “Maybe his underlings are expanding their trade behind his back? A healthy young witch can fetch an extremely high price at underground auctions.”
“Looks like we’ll scare them off if we act rashly.” Chescia brushed aside a strand of hair at her cheek.
“But girls keep disappearing in Graycloud Fortress. Just last week, I found one who didn’t survive the Whispers Trial. She was dumped in an alley, maggots crawling all over her body...” Stacie sighed, holding her forehead. The brutal image of flesh torn and decayed still haunted her. “And I’m very worried about Moira. She’s been missing for nearly two weeks. The sisters are all searching for her—we can’t just do nothing.”
“Stacie, don’t worry.” Chescia rose and patted her shoulder, smiling gently. “I never said we wouldn’t act. The Black Rose Society never abandons a single sister.”
“But you said any action would alert the enemy...” Stacie suddenly stopped mid-sentence, covering her mouth in surprise. “Are you planning to send that child—?”
“We taking action would indeed alarm them. But what if someone among us has never appeared in Graycloud Fortress?” Chescia’s smile turned sly. “Almost no one knows she exists, not even many of the Society’s sisters. In that case, she’s the perfect person to move.”
“But I remember you once said you’d hide her forever, keep her cherished in your palms—”
“Stop! Stop! That was a year ago!”
Stacie had just let go of her mouth, barely said a few words before Chescia clamped her hand over it again.
The Crimson Witch, reputed to be tyrannical and cruel, now looked like a bashful, infatuated girl in Stacie’s eyes. She’d never seen Chescia this flustered and shy.
Stacie could understand why.
She’d only caught glimpses of the mysterious girl who followed Chescia, yet was already dazzled by her radiance. If given another chance, she would cherish it.
But unfortunately, the girl had been hidden by Chescia for unknown reasons—so deeply that even the witches of the Black Rose Society knew little about her.
Chescia was the Society’s founder and leader. She had saved countless witches from tragic fates. Stacie had always respected her decisions.
Even if it meant imprisoning a beautiful girl in her room as a lover...
Stacie figured she could turn a blind eye to that.
Though admittedly, she still felt a lingering itch—She couldn’t forget that crystal-like girl. She even dreamed of seeing her again.
“Yes, you’ve had her here for almost a year now... Aren’t you going to let the sisters meet her?” Stacie probed softly, trying to read Chescia’s thoughts.
“It’s not that I’m deliberately hiding her.” Chescia shook her head. “I just don’t let her leave the Society’s hideout. It’s she who doesn’t want to appear before you all.”
“She’s shy?” Stacie didn’t quite understand.
“She should still be practicing shooting now. Come with me to find her—you’ll understand.” Chescia gently linked arms with Stacie. “You don’t mind, do you? Do you have other work to do?”
“Of course not!” Stacie was delighted by the turn of events. “All those irrelevant tasks can wait.”
She could hardly believe it—Chescia was inviting her to meet the mysterious girl.
They left the room and headed together through the corridor toward a training ground few witches used voluntarily—it was considered too rough and brutish. Most girls preferred to hone their Transcendent abilities over swordplay or firearms.
From a distance, Stacie already heard gunfire from a revolver.
Was that girl practicing?
Stacie struggled to imagine such a delicate, fragile girl wielding a gun. But Chescia had no reason to deceive her—and the thunderous shots were undeniable.
Stopping before the door, the black-haired witch’s expression suddenly turned cold and solemn. A dense killing intent seeped through the door, some intangible force churning in the air, clashing and compressing.
Sensing the shift, Stacie instinctively hid behind Chescia.
Click.
The mechanism turned, and the door opened, revealing the training ground. Dummy targets made of copper, iron, and sandbags filled the space, lined up at various distances.
Stacie noticed the dummies were riddled with wounds, and every target’s bullseye was densely packed with practice bullets.
Finally, her gaze was drawn to the elegant figure standing tall at the range.
She gasped.
The girl wasn’t tall—barely 150 centimeters—but her presence was suffocating.
Seven-centimeter heels adorned with bowknots, pure white patent leather Mary Janes stomped proudly on the wooden floor. From within, smooth, snowy-pink feet peeked out, shell-like and pristine. Above the glossy heels, her ankles were delicate and refined.
Long, straight legs wrapped in white over-the-knee stockings. Her calves gracefully curved, thighs plump yet not bloated, the lace trim left a pink indent where it hugged her skin. Her porcelain-white legs were perfectly proportioned.
An off-shoulder white gauze gown cinched her slender waist, shoulders creamy and smooth. The front hem just covered her thighs; the back hem flowed down to her ankles.
Knee-length silver hair cascaded like starlight. A lily veil rested gently atop her head. Sky-blue ribbons tied into butterflies wrapped around her transparent horns, with a silver bell hanging from the left one.
Ding-ling—Clear and melodious.
The girl turned with a golden revolver in hand, her delicate face frosty, pale violet eyes gleaming like crystal wine—sharp as blades.
To Stacie, she was both elegant and noble, dazzling like a crystal—And also like the thorny green stem of a rose.
Sharp.
Dangerous. And familiar.
But before Stacie could admire the girl’s beauty and grandeur further, a gleaming silver stiletto suddenly flew through the air toward them, whistling menacingly.
Chescia calmly raised her hand. The floor erupted, and vines burst out of the cracks, coiling around the sword’s butterfly-shaped guard and halting the distant strike.
The two succubi locked eyes—coldly.
Like enemies.
Like foes.
Only then did Stacie realize where that eerie sense of familiarity came from. The girl’s dangerous aura was identical to Chescia’s when enraged. In some ways, they seemed carved from the same mold.
Stacie had always thought she didn’t remember this crystal-like girl’s name.
But in truth, that short and lovely name had been buried in her memory all along.
The girl’s name was Funis.
One year ago, personally transformed by Chescia’s hand, she was the first and last “refined witch” experimental subject of the Black Rose Society. Stacie had once vehemently opposed it, never imagining this frail girl would survive the hellish Whispers Trial.
Yet the girl didn’t know. Maybe she never would. And she clearly had no interest in knowing.
Funis’s pale violet eyes reflected only one person.
She saw only her.
She cared only for her.
“Good day, Miss Witch.”
Like a noble lady or royal princess, the girl curtsied with her gown.
She smiled.
Gracefully.
“Will you be willing to kill me today?”