The Girl Who Stitched Monsters

Colin’s expression stiffened.

He had probably heard of Descenders abandoning one another, or maybe he had seen it with his own eyes.

The frost wolf behind Hervin suddenly lifted its head and growled toward the west.

Several witch-hunters turned at once. The wind carried the scrape of boots over snow.

Hervin’s face darkened. “Patrol.”

Colin immediately lowered his voice and said urgently, “Captain, grab her and pull back first.”

“No time,” the older witch-hunter said, looking at the snow. “She has teleportation residue on her. They’ll follow it here.”

Hervin looked at Isolde, and killing intent rose in his eyes again.

If she might expose them, the safest option was to silence her first.

Isolde understood.

She could not let them start thinking that way. At the very least, she could not let Hervin decide that killing her was more useful than keeping her alive.

“I can draw them away,” Isolde said.

“You expect us to believe you?”

Colin stepped half a pace forward, keeping his voice low. The tip of his crossbow bolt was almost pointed at her chest.

“You don’t have to believe me,” Isolde said softly. “But if your brother is inside, and you kill me now, Gray Dove Monastery will go into lockdown immediately.”

Colin’s face turned ugly at once. He hissed, “Shut up! What do you know? You don’t know anything!”

Hervin snapped his head around. “Colin. Stand down.”

Colin’s eyes were red, and his chest rose and fell hard. He wanted to argue, but Hervin’s stare pressed down on him, so he could only grit his teeth and step back.

Isolde did not look at him again.

This young witch-hunter had already been pushed close to the edge. If she kept touching that nerve, he really might lose control and fire.

She opened her palm and drew out a thin thread of teleportation residue.

A faint white glow gathered at her fingertip, then was wrapped in a Purifying Light formula and slowly dragged toward another patch of snow.

The white light sank into the snow like a tiny spark, then slid along a shallow ditch toward the depths of the forest.

Cold sweat formed at Isolde’s temple.

The holy light clashed with the dark mana inside her. Even through the Purifying Light disguise, guiding it hurt badly enough to feel like it was drilling into her bones.

The older witch-hunter frowned. “She’s using her own mana.”

Hervin’s gaze fell on her hand.

The burn mark was spreading. Tiny beads of blood were rising along the edges of her skin.

Colin saw it too. His expression froze slightly. He opened his mouth, but in the end, he said nothing.

The footsteps in the distance stopped.

Someone said, “The residue went that way.”

Another voice hesitated. “But there’s the smell of a snow wolf here.”

“Just a northern stray. The Silver Robes said tonight’s priority is the intruder.”

The footsteps gradually shifted away. Lantern light swayed between the trees but never reached the shadow where they were hiding.

Isolde held on until the last trace of holy light disappeared. Only then did she slowly lower her hand.

Her fingertips had gone numb. Without changing her expression, she hid the injured hand back inside her sleeve.

Hervin watched her for a while before saying, “You know how to mislead Holy Lamp tracking?”

Isolde took a breath. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have accepted this commission.”

She did not explain too much, because this knowledge came from the original Isolde’s memories.

When Valen was alive, he had collected information on many Holy Court items. Perhaps that was exactly why he had preordered the unicorn’s body.

“You said your client never showed their face. If they never showed their face, how did they give you the commission?” Hervin asked coldly. “There isn’t much truth in your mouth.”

Isolde looked up at him. “Truth doesn’t need to be plentiful. It just needs to be useful.”

Colin frowned, as if he wanted to speak again, but the older witch-hunter pressed a hand on his shoulder.

The next second, a short scream came from the forest.

Every witch-hunter’s expression changed at once.

Hervin turned sharply. The sound had come from the direction Isolde had led the patrol toward.

Isolde looked over. The white light in the forest had gone out.

Colin’s face turned ashen. “Captain…”

Hervin did not answer.

He crouched down, and a faint glow surfaced in his eyes as he peered through the gaps between the trees. His face sank to a terrifying degree.

“It’s the Black Tower.”

A thick hatred surged into Colin’s eyes. He forced the words out through clenched teeth.

“They’re here too.”

When Isolde heard the words “Black Tower,” her heart slowly sank.

Orren had said another group would go to Gray Dove Monastery.

Northern Witch-Hunters, Black Tower warlocks, and Descenders.

Now the witch-hunters were already here, and the Black Tower had made its move.

Then where were the players?

Hervin suddenly turned around, cutting off Isolde’s thoughts.

“You have two choices.”

“First, I nail you here and take you back to the Northlands for trial after everything is over.”

“That sounds like it would take a while.”

Colin snapped, “You think this is a dinner invitation?”

Isolde’s expression remained calm. “Then what’s my second choice?”

Her indifferent attitude enraged Colin. He opened his mouth to curse, but Hervin raised a hand and stopped him.

“Second, you lead us closer to Gray Dove Monastery. You know the Holy Court’s protective arrays, and you know the corpse road. If you try anything on the way, I’ll cut off your hand first.”

Isolde nodded lightly. “Deal.”

Hervin made a gesture, and the witch-hunter team quickly shifted formation.

Two moved ahead, three stayed behind, and the rest spread into the snow-covered forest on both sides.

Isolde was placed in the middle, like she was being protected and escorted under guard at the same time.

This position was not far from Hervin.

It was not far from Colin either.

Convenient. She could hear them speak.

According to the route map Orren had given Isolde, they moved southeast.

The snow between the trees grew deeper as they walked, and the distant bells became clearer.

Each time the bell rang, the Purifying Light disguise on the back of Isolde’s hand trembled softly, as if something far away was examining her.

Before long, the first monk’s body appeared in the snow.

He knelt before a black pine, head lowered. His holy robe had no tears, and there was no blood on his face.

Only the shadow beneath his feet was missing half of itself, as if someone had cut it away with a knife in one clean slice.

Colin’s breathing immediately went uneven.

Hervin crouched and checked the corpse’s wrist, then lifted the monk’s eyelid.

The white of the eye had turned completely black.

The older witch-hunter said quietly, “He died recently.”

Isolde’s gaze fell beside the body.

There was a thin black mark in the snow, like the unfinished stroke of some spell formula.

She could not read its full meaning, but she caught a similar image in the original Isolde’s memories.

The people of the Black Tower were experts at manipulating shadows. In the original Isolde’s memories, their shadow arts usually carried a powerful backlash.

At first glance, it looked like a stray mark. In reality, it might be a hidden trap. Whoever touched it could be dragged into the abyss.

She pulled her gaze back and looked into the distance.

Hervin walked to her side, his voice lowered.

“What do you see?”

“The Black Tower got here ahead of us,” Isolde said as she stood. “They killed the patrol, but they didn’t take the Holy Lamp.”

Colin immediately looked beside the corpse’s hand.

A silver-handled holy lamp had fallen in the snow. The holy emblem on its glass cover still glowed with faint white light.

The older witch-hunter frowned. “The Black Tower belongs to the Dark Path. They have no reason to take it.”

Isolde glanced at him and said calmly, “Which means it is perfect for us.”