The Nightingale's Cry

Looking at the youth before her, who was like a god or devil and lay motionless on the ground, Anna breathed a sigh of relief. Then she hurried to Bell's side to check her injuries. Fortunately, Bell had only coughed up blood. With a witch's formidable vitality, such an injury was neither minor nor particularly serious; it would recover on its own after a while.

Their powerful recovery was also one of the causes behind the witch hunts five hundred years ago. No one knew who had first spread the rumor that witches could refine an elixir of immortality. The earthly regimes of that time, ignorant of the method, had tied living witches to stakes and burned them alive.

Anna helped the injured Bell up and asked, "What should we do next? Should we tell Lady Witch everything?"

Bell wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth. "Don't mind that Cherub. An enemy invaded Nightingale Forest—there may be danger nearby. We need to return to the castle immediately and report this to Lady Witch."

"What about him?" Anna indicated the strange youth lying on the ground with her eyes.

"Take him back too, and let Lady Witch decide." Bell let out a helpless sigh.

After walking through Nightingale Forest for an unknown length of time, space rippled like water. Before their eyes appeared a broad sea of blood, above which stood a magnificent castle atop a cliff. Even gazing up at the castle from the foot of the mountain gave one a mysterious feeling. Sure enough, only such a castle was worthy of witches and the Witch.

Inside the castle were artifacts from every era. Weapons were displayed everywhere: ancient spears, Romanian armor, firearms from different ages, and Japanese long blades. It made one unable to help imagining the