As the black cat crouched in a tree, eagerly watching the proxy war between the mice and the insects, elsewhere in the same woods, the witch it had originally been tracking stood amid a stretch of ruins, silently waiting for something.
These were the ruins of stone buildings. The remnants of a stone archway still vaguely resembled Lingxing Gate. Scattered around were the remains of wooden frameworks, but after enduring wind and sun, they too had become so dilapidated that they seemed ready to crumble into ash at a touch.
Farther away lay dried-up ponds, arched bridges, stone temples, and broad swathes of lush pines and cypresses, standing silently in the depths of the ruins. Their aura was deep and unfathomable, yet utterly still.
Colmar stood straight with her hands folded before her abdomen, her eyelids lowered, her gaze fixed on her nose and her mind fixed on her heart, as though she had entered meditation.
She had not crossed the threshold of Lingxing Gate, yet she showed no intention of leaving either.
Several watchful gazes had been fixed on the witch from the depths of the quiet ruins. They could not be called friendly, but neither did they contain much malice. At most, they carried a trace of curiosity and confusion.
The witch had not waited outside Lingxing Gate for long.
Soon, a shrill yet aged voice reached her ears amid the creaking of wood. "...What I said is absolutely true. How could something as important as the school's winter hunt be discussed with mice like us? You're an old hand on the island too, so don't do something that delights your enemies and grieves your friends."
The answering voice was somewhat hoarse, but it spoke far more quickly. "A disaster out of nowhere, a disaster out of nowhere.