The Faceless felt a chill run through her entire body. How... how was this possible?

She swallowed hard, lowering her voice, "What are you joking about? I'm Voltaire."

It couldn't be such a coincidence that the other party just happened to know her. There were so many mercenaries in the camp; could she possibly remember everyone's name?

Unexpectedly, a cold laugh came from behind her. "Is that so? I never knew magic could gather within a male body. Either you're a witch infiltrating the camp with ulterior motives, or you're an extremely rare male witch. But neither answer could be the Voltaire you speak of. There are no such oddities among the First Army's soldiers."

This person... can see Demonic Force? Afra's heart sank to the bottom. She knew why she had been discovered. There were more than four witches in the camp, and the woman behind her was also a witch, and she possessed a power similar to the Eyes of Truth. In the church's Magical Codex, such an ability was recorded—it was one of hundreds of derivative abilities, not conflicting with the primary ability.

She hadn't seen anyone approaching around her, so... was the other party's main ability to conceal herself?

"Kneel down now, hands behind your back, and I might spare your life," she commanded. "Do as I say!"

The mercenaries were still fighting on the periphery and hadn't noticed this scene happening in the central clearing, but the four witches by the campfire had sensed the abnormality here and turned their gazes over. "What's wrong, Nightingale? What happened?"

This was her last chance, Afra realized. Her specialty was assassination, not direct combat, especially without the God's Punishment Stone. Fighting witches with all sorts of strange abilities was not in her favor. It didn't matter if the flying witch ran away, but the witch who could heal the Evil Plague had to die here, otherwise she would pose a serious threat to the church's plans.

Of course, there was also the possibility that after killing the other party, she would also be unable to escape. Thinking of this, her heart couldn't help but tighten, but it soon turned into composure. The church had sacrificed many excellent warriors in its all-out effort to resist the devils from hell. If she could add a stroke to this goal, it would also be something to be proud of.

She believed that Heather would not forget her, and her name would also be in the future Codex.

"Don't come over yet," the witch behind her, known as Nightingale, shouted. "There's…"

At that very moment, she suddenly launched her attack, turning around and striking the other party's arm with her elbow, while lowering her head to avoid the weapon piercing her. No one can fully concentrate when speaking, hence the saying "holding one's breath and focusing." This was what the training officer had repeatedly taught her. Conversely, the best time to escape or launch a surprise attack was when the other party opened their mouth to speak.

The mechanism hidden in her sleeve was also triggered in the first instant, and a cloud of white powder sprayed backward. This alchemical powder released a large amount of heat when it came into contact with water. If it entered the eyes or mouth, it could instantly incapacitate the other party. Even if she was lucky enough not to inhale the powder, it would be enough to fluster her for a while.

Then, Afra pounced towards the four witches by the campfire. A blonde woman instantly flew into the air, while the witch who looked the oldest selflessly stood in front of the other two. She drew a thin, sharp short sword and stabbed directly at the leader. Since the three of them couldn't escape anyway, they would all die by her hand, so there was no need to distinguish the order.

Just as the short sword pierced into the other party's body, Afra saw an incredible sight.

A figure in white appeared to her side, her eyes under the hood flashing with anger, and that place had been empty just moments before.

Was it... Nightingale behind her?

Why hadn't that close-range powder spray affected her at all? The Faceless could hardly believe her eyes. She saw her raise her hands, and a silver, glittering weapon burst out a ball of flame. Her body was pushed hard by something, and she suddenly lost her balance and fell backward to the ground. No, there were still... two people to take care of. Afra wanted to stand up, pull out her short sword, and stab at the next witch, but found that even lifting her hand had become very difficult, and her consciousness quickly blurred.

What a pity... the last thought flashed through her mind.

...

Nightingale remained standing in place after firing the shot, watching the soldier who had been hit in the chest fall, her body beginning to twist and contract, slowly turning back into a strange woman.

This was the first time she had personally killed a witch.

It wasn't until Lily's anxious shouts rang out that Nightingale came back to her senses.

Suppressing the surging emotions in her heart, she put away her gun and ran back to Wendy's side.

"Where were you hurt?"

"I'm fine, I don't feel any pain," Wendy waved her hand, signaling everyone not to panic. "It probably didn't go in."

"The protective suit worked?"

"I think so," she unbuttoned her chest, and a slender short sword hung on the side of her clothes. As her coat opened, the short sword slid out of the hole and fell to the ground, with not a trace of blood on the tip. Only the outer layer of fabric on the protective suit had a small hole, while the soft inner layer remained intact.

"You... you really scared me to death," Lily breathed a long sigh of relief and sat down on the ground with her legs weak. "Don't rush up to help me block the sword! I don't need you to do this for me... I, I, I..."

"Okay, okay," Wendy touched her head. "Aren't I fine?"

Lily drooped her head and buried it in the former's chest, grunting in a muffled voice.

"I was also frightened and only cared about blocking in front, forgetting to use my ability," Wendy shook her head. "If I had blown a strong wind, she shouldn't have been able to stab me."

"It's normal that you couldn't react because you rarely fight with people," Nightingale comforted.

"Thank goodness for the protective suit," Echo said with a look of lingering fear. "Otherwise, it would have been dangerous this time."

Before setting off, Roland gave each witch a special vest and asked them not to take off the garment at any time. It was very lightweight to wear, but it looked a bit thick, seemingly divided into many layers. His Highness said that each layer of silk was painted with Soraya's Sky Coating, which was extremely flexible and difficult to be pierced by sharp objects, and had excellent defense against swords and crossbows. Without it helping to block this stab, Wendy would probably have had a hard time holding on until Nana Wawa's rescue.

Lightning slowly descended to the side of the killed witch. "Why did she attack us? Aren't we... of the same kind?"

Nightingale stared at the lifeless woman, unable to speak for a long time... The other party's eyes were closed, her long blue hair scattered on the ground, her expression serene, as if she hadn't felt much pain. But she would never forget that when the other party pounced on Wendy, there was not a trace of hesitation in her eyes, only resolution and a matter-of-factness. It was as if she wasn't killing someone, but practicing her lifelong beliefs. Perhaps in her heart, doing so was the most correct behavior.

"No," Nightingale sighed softly. "She is not our kind... just a pathetic person."