The Clay Witch, Lulu, focused her mind.

She wasn’t the only one; the other witches surrounding her maintained an intense concentration as well.

Young witches, old witches, middle-aged witches, even child witches—

Twenty-one witches stood in a wide circle, operating a glowing violet magic circle.

Hummmmm—

The magic circle flared brilliantly, its violet light blazing.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Massive bursts of magical flames erupted around them.

[Screeeech!]

[Hahaha!]

The spirits screamed or laughed hysterically as they were caught in the magical discharge.

Hoo—

A short pipe filled with mana-infused tobacco hung from Lulu’s lips, as she puffed on it without rest.

Puff—

Fwoosh.

The other witches followed suit, puffing on their pipes regardless of age.

Shudder.

When some of the witches began trembling violently—

“They’re nearing exhaustion. I’ll administer the injection.”

The priests of the Renslet Church, who were observing the ritual, approached and injected the witches in the arms.

“Haah…!”

The trembling witches, injected with a precious blue liquid—mana potions, more expensive than gold—immediately ceased their spasms. As if nothing had happened, they resumed puffing on their pipes and focused back on the ritual.

The witches were dealing with the black magic element of the plague, neutralizing its effects.

And this wasn’t unique to this city.

In Haven, Shuen, Lemme, Cadia, Narvik, and other major Northern cities ravaged by the plague, witches were conducting similar rituals.

“Maintain tight security! Protect the witches and priests!”

“Don’t let angry residents approach this area!”

Armed knights and soldiers stood vigil around the site, prepared for any unexpected incidents.

‘Why haven’t we seen the Bell-Wielding Witch or the black mages?’

Lulu and the other witches occasionally cast wary glances around.

Their greatest concern was the unpredictable arrival of black mages or the Bell-Wielding Witch.

‘The witches in other cities are quiet as well.’

As time passed, the situation grew stranger.

The black mages from the Demon’s Den, the instigators of all this chaos, along with the Bell-Wielding Witch, had yet to show themselves.

Despite the high-ranking knights of High Castle scouring the North and Winter Hawks conducting extensive reconnaissance, they remained elusive.

“Keep it up, everyone! The city’s condition is beginning to stabilize!”

A priest of the Renslet Church, returning after surveying the city’s situation, ran in with an encouraging shout.

The gray robes of the male priest were stained with patches of grime, a testament to his battles against the plague.

“So please, witches! Just a little more! We’re almost there!”

The witches responded with faint smiles and redoubled their focus on the ritual.

Time passed, though it was unclear how much.

‘Huh…?!’

As Lulu concentrated on the magic, she suddenly felt an unfamiliar, sacred energy that disrupted her focus.

‘Divine power?! Why is divine power here?!’

Her eyes widened in shock as she looked around.

She quickly identified the source of the divine energy.

‘Unbelievable! The priests of the Renslet Church are emanating divine power already?!’

The witches neutralizing the black magic and the priests tending to them—

Those priests, who had always been dismissed as impostors, were now glowing with a faint, radiant aura.

“This… can’t be!”

“So this is how divine power comes into being!”

“The saying that Northerners are cursed monsters abandoned by God will finally disappear.”

The other witches, just as astonished, stared at the phenomenon unfolding before them.

“We’re not needed anymore…”

“Guess we can finally rest.”

“Or, worst-case scenario, we might rest forever?”

“What?”

“Ah, never mind…”

The witches, including Lulu, looked at the priests with complex expressions.

“It feels like just yesterday that we helped establish that church…”

One of the witches muttered while observing the divine aura.

The witches had a wealth of knowledge—

In herbalism, healing, and agriculture, they possessed wisdom that wasn’t always tied to magic.

Thus, when the Renslet Church was first established, the witches had provided significant direct and indirect support.

“If not for Haran’s Curse, we could have grown our numbers and power like them…”

Another witch murmured in a low voice.

“Looks like the tables have turned completely.”

“Another one of our purposes has vanished.”

All the witches’ gazes were now fixed on the priests.

“Witches…?”

“Is something wrong?”

“Why do I feel so full of energy?”

It seemed the priests themselves had yet to realize what was happening.

Even as the witches’ concentration faltered, the black magic they were barely suppressing didn’t surge back to life.

Because no matter what, the greatest remedy for the black magic plague was none other than divine power.

***

The Renslet Church was a newly established institution, an artificial religion deliberately created by the government.

As a result, most of the priests in this church were essentially civil servants.

The vassals who had served the Renslet Ducal House for generations naturally had their own families and estates.

Primogeniture—or occasionally female primogeniture—was strictly upheld among noble families.

This meant that second, third, and subsequent children had to find their own means of survival upon reaching adulthood.

They usually ended up working as maids, attendants, knights, healers, bureaucrats, or merchants at High Castle.

Most of the priests in the Renslet Church had previously held one of these occupations before transitioning to priesthood, prompted by the viral success of Mary’s Blessing.

At the time, consecutive coups and purges had left Northern nobles anxious.

They desperately needed a way to prove their loyalty and avoid the winds of purges.

The Renslet Church emerged as a kind of absolution, endorsed by High Castle.

Serving in a church that worshiped the Renslet ardent ancestors was imbued with honor and legitimacy.

Noble families strongly encouraged—essentially commanded—their independent children to join the church.

Even for those who had technically severed ties, it was difficult to ignore the wishes of their blood relatives.

Overnight, they became priests of a fledgling church that lacked not only divine power but even a proper doctrine.

Despite this shaky foundation, the church thrived, supported by High Castle’s benefits and investments.

Mary’s Blessing won the hearts of farmers, and the church expanded its finances and influence rapidly, receiving treatment akin to a state-sponsored merchant guild.

And now—

The Renslet Church was undergoing yet another transformation.

“My hand! My hand is glowing!”

“When I do this… oh heavens! The wound is healing!”

At last, divine power had arrived in the North.

“Is that… actually working?”

I observed the priests manifesting divine power with wide-eyed astonishment.

Not all of the priests in the Renslet Church could wield divine power.

However, a significant number—over 40%—had begun to exhibit it.

“So, divine power isn’t tied to faith after all?”

These priests had started as mere civil servants.

Had they sincerely followed the doctrine and truly believed in the Renslet ardent ancestors? Of course not.

But the faint divine power now visible before my eyes made such questions irrelevant.

“This must be happening because so many Northerners have begun genuinely believing in the Renslet ardent ancestors,” Mary said excitedly beside me.

The North had never relied heavily on agriculture, and during the era of Mary’s Blessing, the faith and devotion of the populace were still immature.

This plague, however, was different.

It spared no one, cutting across all professions, and deeply embedded itself into the beliefs and faith of the Northerners.

“That makes sense. The phrase ‘crisis equals opportunity’ fits perfectly right now.”

High risk, high reward—it was undeniably true.

The North had gained much from this plague, despite the heavy toll it exacted in lives.

Many Northerners had died, but the price paid had brought undeniable gains.

“Still, there’s one question that puzzles me. The faith comes from the Northerners, but why is the divine power manifesting in the church’s priests?”

“Isn’t that the same for the Papal Palace or the Imperial Church?”

“Now that you mention it, yes. Do you have any theories, boss?”

“It’s likely due to a combination of mana sensitivity and mental conditioning.”

“Mental conditioning?”

Mary tilted her head, likely understanding the concept of mana sensitivity but finding the idea of mental conditioning unfamiliar.

“A sense of belonging and professional identity can accomplish more than you’d expect.”

“Ah…”

Her expression suggested she only half-understood my explanation.

“Is everything ready? If so, let’s begin.”

Setting her aside for the moment, I turned my attention to the activity ahead.

We were currently at the alchemical processing line in Factory No. 1.

Our employees and priests dispatched from the Renslet Church were working together.

“With divine power, potions can be made,” I observed.

They were producing potions.

At last, the North had the capability to manufacture potions domestically—and in large quantities.

‘In the original timeline, potions were never mass-produced. The church strictly controlled their production, and the proud priests never cooperated.’

If the mass production of potions succeeded, the mortality rate in the North would decrease dramatically.

While the cost of divine-powered potions wouldn’t be cheap, they wouldn’t be as prohibitively rare as before.

In most cases, Medi-Kits would suffice for treatment, and in emergencies, people could turn to healers or potions.

With this, the Northern population was poised to explode.

“President Arad, the shipment from Bishop Company has arrived,” Tae, the operations manager, reported as Mary and I observed the potion-making process.

“However… half of the items we requested are missing. They said they could procure them but wouldn’t send them to the North.”

“The Imperial Palace must’ve blocked it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tae handed me the purchase confirmation list.

Many essential raw materials for mana potion production hadn’t arrived.

“Well, it’s a good way to save money. By the way, what about the sand I asked for?”

“If you mean the sand for making glass spheres, it’s been delivered.”

“That’ll do.”

I casually brushed off the missing materials as I reviewed the confirmation sheet.

If divine power hadn’t manifested in the North, this situation could’ve been catastrophic—but now, it was irrelevant.

“By the way, is it true that the Emperor has died?”

I asked, shifting to the most talked-about topic of late.

‘Was this a coincidence, or was my luck stat acting up again?’

Even as someone who had mastered the Silver Era and possessed the unparalleled all-master skills of Arad, I hadn’t memorized the exact date of the Emperor’s death.

I’d only vaguely remembered that it was around this time.

“Yes! It’s caused quite a stir in the Empire. I heard the capital is preparing to receive condolence delegations.”

Tae recalled his conversation with the Bishop Company merchant.

“Condolence delegations, huh… No matter how much of an enemy he was, an Emperor is still an Emperor. We’ll have to send one.”

Thinking of condolence delegations brought to mind Count Gard, who also managed the Rune Company.

“Mary.”

I turned to her. She’d been quietly listening to my conversation with Tae.

“Have you heard anything from High Castle? Any news about condolence delegations or congratulatory envoys?”

With the Emperor’s death and the rise of a new one, the delegates sent to pay respects would likely remain for the coronation as well.

To be honest, I didn’t feel much about the Emperor’s passing. He had been on the brink for a while, and his death was expected in the original timeline too.

What mattered was how we could leverage this moment to our advantage.

“I believe discussions are still ongoing,” Mary replied.

“I see. Well, the North is preoccupied with fighting the plague right now. Still, they’ll need to send a delegation soon…”

“They might choose not to send one at all.”

Mary voiced her personal opinion.

“Why do you think that?”

“The Empire tried to send a legion to the North under the guise of a relief force during the plague’s chaos. That plan was canceled with the Emperor’s death, but…”

Her face hardened with anger as she spoke.

“And most of all, the black magic plague—no one doubts that the Imperial Palace and Church are behind it.”

Her reasoning was understandable.

While international politics shouldn’t be driven by emotions, in this world, it often was.

On Earth, international relations were influenced by public sentiment; here, they were shaped by the emotions of monarchs and nobles.

The Grand Duke of the North, Arina, and the Northern nobles hated the Empire more than anyone—sometimes even more than the common folk.

‘Mary might be voicing Arina’s thoughts here.’

Arina was a wise ruler, but she was also human—a woman who couldn’t fully suppress her emotions, no matter how much she strove for rationality.

“For that very reason, we must send a delegation,” I said.

“Why is that?”

“In situations like this, information gathering is critical. A condolence delegation is a legitimate form of reconnaissance that no one can block.”

“But…”

“Think about what we’ve suffered during this plague.”

“...!”

“The lesson is clear. Letting emotions dictate decisions and refusing to send a delegation would be a fool’s move. This is precisely when we need to bow our heads, deceive the Empire, and extract whatever information we can.”

I explained my reasoning to Mary, hoping it would reach the Grand Duke at High Castle.

“…I understand,” she said, nodding with a resolute look in her dark gray eyes.

‘Good. This will be conveyed properly.’

Seeing her expression, I felt confident the message would reach the right ears.

“Hah! What a relief! Truly, what a relief! There you are!”

Just then, someone entered the factory and called out to us.

Very few people could roam the industrial complex so freely.

“Sir Balzac? Sir Soon?”

Balzac, who had been searching the North for black mages and the Bell-Wielding Witch, and Soon, the guardian of High Castle, had arrived.

“Now that I think about it, today was the day you were set to return to High Castle, wasn’t it?”

“That’s correct! It’s such a relief we arrived just in time!”

“…?”

Balzac, looking genuinely relieved, directed his gaze not at me but at Mary.