Chapter 60
Chapter 60. Witch × Young Lady (5)
Dark mages.
The End Order.
Public enemy of the continent who serve the eight evil gods.
Seeds of evil who find joy in fire and ashes, discover life's value in screams and bloodshed, and sing only of the apocalypse.
They offer humans as sacrifices to create 'Altars,' cast powerful curses, and
As if that weren't enough, they're madmen who release the evil gods' Minions into the world through 'rituals'...... but.
This public perception was entirely an unfortunate misunderstanding.
The End Order certainly praises the apocalypse.
However, the apocalypse isn't actually that bad.
It's the process of escaping a world built on falsehood and heading toward the gate of truth.
Defining the apocalypse as evil is because corrupt rulers cannot let go of the greed in their hands.
Human sacrifice is the same.
Humans are originally born from earth and return to dust ephemerally.
However, souls offered to the 'true god' enjoy immortal glory in the true world.
For unbelievers, what could be more gracious than this?
In that sense, summoning through 'rituals' was the greatest grace the Order could bestow, a door-to-door offering service.
Unbelievers who lost their lives to Minions summoned through rituals were processed as no less than 'offerings.'
For instance, if one 'servant' killed a thousand unbelievers, it meant a thousand unbelievers were saved.
In this harsh world, only the End Order was filled with such philanthropy.
As the Order's Archbishop, Hamel also possessed the mercy to pity sinners.
However, the witch currently igniting flames before his eyes and massacring monsters was a different story.
Witch of the Western Border, Isolde Blackwood.
She was pure, unmitigated evil with no room for salvation whatsoever.
The 'grand plan' that Priest Gerak had prepared for five years in the Labyrinth Demon Realm was to judge that wicked witch.
"The 'Witch' who has persecuted faithful believers for hundreds of years will finally pay the price today."
The method wasn't difficult.
Monsters spawned in large quantities during Red Moon.
And the witch always headed to the abyss alone without forming a team.
Excluding her main body's strength, she was full of openings with ample room to exploit.
However.......
"Is something unclear? Archbishop Hamel."
"Yes, certainly."
Something was strange.
According to the Order's information, the witch was a 9th Rank alchemist.
An expert who could easily suppress mere Crisis Class monsters rampaging and still have power to spare.
Even Archbishop Hamel couldn't face her head-on, which was why he was resorting to such tricks.
However, watching the witch handle monsters swarming over several hours.
"At most. 8th Rank, no, 7th Rank? It can't be this level."
The current witch was clearly weak.
It was hard to see as the work of a terrifying villainess—Hamel could suppress her without much difficulty right now.
"Is she hiding her power?"
Had she noticed the Order's plan?
If she was conserving power in preparation, it seemed plausible.
There was another reason Hamel harbored such suspicions.
A woman of marriageable age roasting corn by a campfire while the witch massacred monsters.
"Who is the woman beside the witch? Someone the Order planted?"
"No."
"Then?"
"She's not a special surveillance target. She wasn't on the persons of interest list either. Perhaps she just happened to accompany her......"
An extra who was neither an Order member, surveillance target, nor person of interest.
The fact that such a person happened to be accompanying the witch was most suspicious.
How had the witch stopped the avatar summoning before?
She used 'Life' to modify a colleague's circuits and sealed the avatar in that body.
It had been a terrible moment when decades of prepared aspirations ended ignominiously.
Perhaps Gerak's sudden unnatural death, the witch suddenly appearing at this location with an unidentified person.
Wasn't it all hinting that the plan had gone awry?
However.
This was a trial.
A trial given by the great one.
"No problem. Prepare."
To a servant, trials were nothing to fear.
***
Just because it was Red Moon didn't mean monsters poured out endlessly.
Should she say it felt like they poured out in regular cycles at about 30-minute intervals?
That she could think so leisurely was entirely thanks to Isolde.
Baaang! Baaang! Baaaang!!
For six hours now, she'd been handling Transformers with overwhelming magic as soon as they charged.
It looked too easy, so it appeared like simple work.
If Penelope had been standing there, she would have become minced meat in less than 10 seconds.
Isolde, who had seemed like quite an eccentric, was indescribably strong,
And also beautiful.
Her appearance was of course beautiful, but she meant the magic blooming from her fingertips was beautiful.
Scattering sparks, heat distorting into metaphysical forms, and full-color flames.
Exclamations naturally arose at how alchemy could be so beautiful.
Penelope lowered her head to look at her small, white palm.
"Only 5th Rank......"
The power she'd longed for so much.
The Unique Code 'Falling Petals.'
She realized how insignificant that power was.
The realm Penelope had once looked up to as an insurmountable wall was such small, feeble power.
"......"
The old Penelope might have just felt despair.
That the power she'd struggled so hard to obtain was so shabby.
She might have felt pathetic helplessness.
But not anymore.
Only pure wonder and admiration arose.
She felt no self-loathing or helplessness.
Learning with her eyes.
Actually, she couldn't just watch and copy it.
Penelope wasn't a peerless genius, and as Isolde said, she was only slightly better than average, wasn't she?
However, nevertheless, she captured it all in her eyes without missing anything.
The possibilities magic held, its infinite applications and beauty.
She could feel the limits of 'magic' she'd unknowingly defined peeling away layer by layer.
Though there were no kind explanations, she might be receiving a 'lecture' she couldn't hear anywhere else.
Before long, the surroundings became quiet.
She'd cleanly suppressed the rampage of who-knows-how-many waves of monsters.
A faint sulfur smell drifted nearby.
Isolde walked toward the camp with the campfire spread out, showing no signs of fatigue.
"Good work. I roasted the corn well."
Just as Penelope was about to offer the well-roasted corn.
Tat.
Isolde's body, about to receive the corn, suddenly moved like a beam of light.
She pushed Penelope's shoulder hard, almost at a hitting level.
"Ouch!"
Pain aside, since she'd pushed with her weight, Penelope fell on her bottom.
"Isolde......? What are you do......"
Space twisted right before the flustered Penelope's nose.
And.
—Crack!
Isolde's arm, caught in the twisted space, was crushed.
Fresh blood splashing upward reflected in Penelope's dilated pupils.
Isolde's arm bouncing up, severed below the elbow.
No, was that really an arm?
It was so tattered and twisted with what looked like beast bite marks all over that she couldn't properly discern it.
The arm spinning in the air disappeared into thin air before she could blink, as if someone had quickly swallowed it.
The twisted space returned to normal.
However, Isolde's arm didn't return to normal.
Blood dripped from the grotesque wound as if muscle and bone had been forcibly twisted and torn off.
"It hurts."
Despite an injury painful just to look at, Isolde didn't scream or panic.
She merely furrowed her brow.
Penelope, who'd jumped up, pulled out a handkerchief.
"I'll stop the bleeding. I don't know how, so tell me what to do."
"Already handled."
As she said, faint green magic power wrapped around the wound.
Penelope deduced amid the chaos.
Someone had attacked.
Since Isolde had pushed her away, Penelope only ended up with a bruise on her bottom, but because of that, Isolde lost an arm.
Was it a monster?
Could a 'Crisis' Class or higher monster perform such strange tricks?
No matter how much of a surprise attack, it tore off that Isolde's arm?
Clap, clap, clap.
The question was quickly resolved.
A boy walked out from that darkness, applauding dryly.
"Lady Witch, your senses haven't dulled. I was trying to eliminate the variable first."
A chillingly beautiful boy in white robes and dozens of people around him wearing white hoods.
Among nobles, there was probably no one who didn't know the identity of those wearing pure white robes and strange hoods.
A group all noble young masters and ladies were educated from childhood to absolutely never get involved with.
"Dark mages......?"
"Rather than such a derogatory term, there's a good substitute called End Order believers, lady."
"Lady my ass......"
A curse flew from Penelope's mouth, who rarely spoke harshly.
Because she knew that boy with an unrealistically beautiful appearance had just tried to turn Penelope into an unidentifiable lump of meat.
Separate from anger, fear crept in.
The danger level of dark mages was on a level that made the 'Undertaker' seem like nothing.
They were beings who created 'realistic tragedy' incomparable to evil dragons or wicked witches in fairy tales.
Isolde understood the danger more intuitively than Penelope.
"Bishop Hamel, you didn't die. I definitely killed you then."
"Shall we call it the power of steadfast faith? Ah, by the way, I'm an Archbishop now. I was promoted a few years ago. Compared to that, Lady Witch......"
A terrible smile rose on his angelic lips.
"You've become quite shabby since I last saw you."
"......"
"To think your rank actually regressed. Have your circuits broken from living too long?"
Isolde didn't answer.
There was absolutely no reaction showing he'd hit the mark.
However, what Hamel had observed so far was enough to gain certainty.
Whatever the reason, the ripples Isolde emanated, the level of magic she wielded, was 7th Rank level.
With this much preparation, even Hamel alone could toy with her.
"Well, it doesn't matter. Talking with a witch like you for long might defile my soul anyway."
Isolde looked back and moved her lips.
Magic power arose and a small clover colony bloomed like a carpet at Penelope's feet.
"Ferrantier. Don't move."
"It's Penelope."
"Anyway, you can't move from there. You can't run either."
Penelope bit her lips firmly and nodded.
This clover carpet seemed like some kind of protective measure but.......
Not even attempting to run meant it was dangerous enough that Isolde couldn't protect her.
This was the second time recently getting caught up in an attack.
That Isolde lost an arm in an instant.
Moreover, the opponents were dark mages said to be wickedly vicious, and the title was Archbishop no less.
Though she didn't know the exact classification, the atmosphere suggested even Isolde couldn't guarantee victory.
Just when things seemed to be going well lately, did the total amount of luck balance out?
Just when Cola seemed to be selling well, this mess happened again.
Should she say it felt like looking at a pile of gunpowder stacked high with a bunch of carelessly thrown cigarette butts?
'Death,' which always felt distant, approached like a nasty joke.
"Well then, shall we begin?"
Simultaneously with Hamel spreading his arms as if conducting, Isolde pulled out a catalyst from her Palette.
***
Not everyone deployed to the Demon Realm in preparation for Red Moon was a hero.
In simple ratio, 'heroes' were the extreme minority, the absolute majority were adventurers living ordinary lives.
"Ugh, this is draining."
"Breaking a sweat is fine. They say it used to be life or death. We don't even have any injured, right?"
"I know, but I'm saying it's hard."
"You worked hard. There's time until the next Wave anyway, so let's all gather."
Adventurers deployed to the 1st floor 'Barley Reward Room,' having finished one fierce battle, were gathered in small groups taking a rest.
Since it was the 1st floor, the class of monsters appearing was merely Minor Disturbance Class.
However, since there were so many, they had to swing weapons ceaselessly.
Stamina drained steadily, sweat was practically a flood—for ordinary low-rank adventurers, it was hellish work.
"To think we might have to do this for several more days. Even if we run around like crazy, the credit all goes to the higher-ups anyway, doesn't it?"
"But what can we do? If we don't participate in Red Moon, they don't issue permits."
"I'm so sick of this. Anyway, where did the rookie go?"
"I'm here!"
When the quick-witted rookie put down a large box, the other adventurers' faces brightened.
"Hehe, everyone take a sip and rest. It's very cold."
"Our rookie has great instincts."
"Kids these days only know how to slack off. We really picked well, didn't we?"
The 'ice box' the rookie put down was filled with ice and water, and bottles floating on top.
The beverage supplied as provisions, Cola.
"Rookie, you drink the coldest one."
"No way. Big bro should have the good one."
"Keuuu! I missed this taste. It feels like my bones will freeze."
"How did they make such a miraculous beverage?"
Cola was an innovative beverage even for adventurers.
Not only did it replenish stamina with sufficient sweetness, it also didn't intoxicate since it wasn't alcohol.
And the taste needed no further words.
It was the optimal beverage to replenish moisture in a body dried out from hard physical labor.
The only drawback—becoming tasteless when lukewarm—was overcome by the new invention called the ice box.
It wasn't strange that job recruitment welfare items included 'Cola provided, ice box available.'
"Let's rally and go back in!"
"Rookie! You rest lying down a bit more!"
Just as the adventurers were about to toast with faces full of cheer.
Swish.
Something like a darkish form passed by.
—Woooooosh
Following it, a strong gust blew fierce enough to make the ripe barley stalks all bend simultaneously.
The wind that suddenly left ghostly wails in the Reward Room subsided in an instant.
"Wh-what. Did something pass by?"
"Yes, I saw it too but it was a person...... wasn't it?"
"Right? It was a person, right?"
"Can a person run at that speed?"
The adventurers looked at each other, dumbfounded.