The body I now inhabit, Arad’s, is non-combative. That’s why I must prioritize safety and self-preservation to survive in this world.

If I were still on Earth, things might be different, but here, in a land teeming with wilderness, barbarism, magic, and curses, I have to tread carefully.

“Looking back now, I can’t believe I did something so reckless.”

Racing a golden carriage deep into the Abyssal Rift—what kind of lunatic was I back then?

Mary remained silent, likely worried about Arina, who was still at the Hall of Glory.

“It’s alright, Mary.”

To reassure her, I clasped her hands firmly in mine.

“!!”

Startled, Mary looked up at me.

“Her Highness will be fine. Didn’t I also give her a set of magical armor?”

Looking into her deep gray eyes, I continued,

“Trust in Her Highness, Mary. Trust in the Grand Witch of Spring, Sir Balzac, Sir Sun, and the knights of the North who stand by her side.”

Her eyes quivered slightly as she listened.

“And lastly, trust in the magical artifacts I’ve created.”

While comforting her, I couldn’t help but note the texture of her hands.

“So many calluses? Did she practice swordsmanship? She’s not just a mage; she’s a magic swordswoman! Impressive.”

Now that I thought about it, this was the first time I’d held Mary’s hands for this long.

“Wait… did the Snowfield Witch from the game ever wield a sword?”

Her traits seemed slightly different from the original timeline, making me tilt my head in curiosity.

“Yes, I’ll believe you,” she finally said, lowering her head.

Under the magical lights of the factory, her ears appeared particularly red.

I was about to release her hands, but I couldn’t.

“Hmm…?”

This time, it wasn’t me holding on—Mary was clutching my hands tightly.

The Hall of Glory, Inner Chambers of the High Citadel

In the private quarters of Arina Rune Renslet, Duchess of the North, a secret door, known only to a select few within the High Citadel, creaked open.

One by one, eleven shadowy figures entered the room. All wore pitch-black robes, their bodies wrapped in bandages, with glowing green eyes piercing through the darkness.

Jingle—jingle—jingle—

Only one stood out—a frail, skeletal witch with a bell that rang softly as she moved.

Step. Step. Step.

The dark sorcerers surrounded the bed where Arina lay.

Upon the bed rested a beautiful woman with silver-blue hair, sleeping soundly, unaware of the world.

“So it’s true that her core has been gravely injured.”
“Even with protective wards, she’s become so vulnerable.”

They exchanged grim whispers before beginning their incantations.

Ssssssshhhhh!

Purple, green, and red orbs—disturbing in appearance—began to condense in the air.

“This will sever the chain of grudges at last.”
“Finally! The bloodline of those two enemies will be erased.”

Without hesitation, they unleashed their concentrated hatred upon Arina.

The strike, imbued with acid, decay, and destruction, obliterated the bed.

Boom!

The bed vanished without a trace.

“...!”

The sorcerers didn’t celebrate their success.

“It was an illusion?!”

They realized, too late, that it had been a fake.

“Such a convincing illusion spell….”

It had been so meticulous that it seemed to breathe, pulse with mana, and even emit the faintest trace of a soul.

Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.

The sound of slow clapping echoed from the doorway.

Whoosh—

The fresh scent of mana-infused tobacco wafted through the air as an older witch, replenishing her mana via an intravenous drip, stepped into view.

“Isabel.”

One of the dark sorcerers recognized her immediately and called out her name.

“Long time no see, Isaac,” Isabel replied, seemingly unperturbed.

“You’ve figured out how to break Haran’s prohibition, haven’t you? Fascinating.”

Isaac’s gaze shifted from Sun’s shield to Isabel’s smoking pipe and the mana potion at her side.

“Think what you will,” Isabel said dismissively, not bothering to correct his assumptions.

“Isaac, is this another one of your proxies?”

“A woman like you, who understands what a lich’s life vessel is, dares to ask such a question? What’s your game?”

“Game? I think I know where your life vessel is.”

“Ha! Do you really?”

“Inside the white serpent, Jormungandr. Isn’t that right?”

“...!”

“Did you think our witches have been idly farming all this time?” Isabel continued.

“I’ve already issued orders to prepare for an expedition to the Far North once this is over.”

“And what if the white serpent isn’t in the Rift?”

“Then it’s obvious where it must be.”

“...Ugh.”

“Soon, you and that white serpent will be annihilated. This long-standing curse and grudge will finally end.”

“Do you really think that’s possible?”

“Not easily. But it’s not impossible, either.”

Isaac scoffed.

Jingle. Jingle.

The bell rang again as Haran’s mummy began to move.

For a moment, Isabel’s expression faltered. Despite bracing herself countless times, seeing Haran’s remains in person struck a nerve.

“You think I don’t know where your life vessel is, Isabel?” Isaac sneered.

“Life vessel? I’m no lich, Isaac.”

“You’re not a lich, but you’re something akin to one, aren’t you? Even with fairy blood, no high-ranking witch can live for over 200 years without… something.”

“...Enough.”

“Haran—this mummy—must be your life vessel, Isabel.”

Isaac stepped back as Haran advanced toward her.

“Hah…”

A long exhale escaped Isabel’s lips, forming a cloud of mana-infused smoke.

“If that’s the case, it’s almost comforting. Fulfilling, even. Unlike someone I know.”

Her response came two beats after the smoke had dissipated.

Step. Step. Step.

At the same time, high-ranking knights and Frosthand soldiers emerged from the gaps between the windows and walls of the chamber, weapons aimed at the dark sorcerers.

Each knight wore pauldrons embedded with mana stones.

Thud. Thud. Thud.
Clink. Clink. Clink.

On either side of Isabel stood Balzac and Sun, as if guarding her.

All the Northern elites, who should have been scattered across the region, were now gathered in one place.

“Hehehehe….”

Isaac, now completely trapped, began to laugh like a madman.

"Attack."

Isabel's cold voice cut through the air in the chamber.

Whirrr—Zap-zap-zap!

Surprisingly, the first to react to her command were not the knights but the dark sorcerers. They had begun moving mere moments before Isabel’s icy voice echoed.

[Curse of Corrosion!]
[Chains of Agony!]

Spells were cast immediately, requiring no incantations, as magic circles glowing with ominous runes activated from their artifacts—staffs, orbs, and talismans. It seemed they had memorized the spells in advance.

Flash! Zap! Crackle!

Deadly black magic spells shot out toward the knights encircling them, each one powerful enough to be a serious threat to even high-ranking knights.

But.

“??”
“?!”

The spells vanished the moment they reached the knights.

Pop! Flash!

The attacks disintegrated upon contact with an invisible barrier, leaving no damage behind.

Clang—Slice—Schwing—

Before the dark sorcerers could process what had happened, the knights retaliated.

In less than a second, all the dark sorcerers in the chamber—save for Isaac and Haran—had their heads severed.

It took less than three seconds after Isabel's command for the room to be cleared.

Shink, shink, shink.

The knights drew their swords and aimed them at the remaining intruders. The mana stones embedded in their pauldrons pulsed faintly.

"Those magical tools... Did Arad make them?"

Using Haran’s mummified body as a shield, Isaac glared forward, his green eyes glowing with malice. His gaze was fixed on Sun’s massive kite shield, which bore a mana stone that no longer emitted light.

"A magical artifact capable of blocking fifth-circle spells… it’s like something from the Golden Age of Magic."

Isaac’s remark was met with silence. No one in the room responded.

Zap!

Instead of pressing for an answer, Isaac fired a spell aimed at breaking through. It wasn’t so much an attack as it was an attempt to create an escape route.

But it was effortlessly blocked by Sun’s shield.

Huff.

Watching this, Isabel exhaled a cloud of smoke from her mana-infused tobacco. She carefully analyzed the situation.

"The spells they just used were memorized fifth-circle and fourth-circle magic, with Isaac himself casting a fifth-circle attack."

Memorization involved pre-casting spells and storing them in magical tools like staffs or orbs. However, this technique was limited to spells at least two circles below the caster’s level.

"Isaac hasn’t reached the eighth circle yet. The limits of a half-baked lich are apparent."

Isabel coldly assessed the situation. She estimated Isaac’s level to be seventh-circle, the same as hers. The now-dead sorcerers had been between fifth and sixth-circle.

"The Dark Hollow will suffer greatly from this failure."

With this crushing defeat, the Dark Hollow would be unable to trouble the Northern Grand Duchy for at least twenty years.

"I’ll finally be able to leave with peace of mind."

Isabel smiled faintly as she turned her gaze to Haran.

"Deliver punishment to the dark sorcerer and grant the Bell Witch her final rest."

At her command, the knights raised their swords, ready to strike.

"Attack me? Really?"

Isaac retreated further behind Haran’s corpse, his voice rising in desperation.

"Do you think it matters? This is a chimera body I created!"

"That doesn’t mean it won’t hurt," Isabel replied evenly.

"Haran’s body and this one are synchronized! If either is attacked, both will take damage!"

Isaac’s panicked voice confirmed Isabel’s earlier suspicions: destroying either body would be devastating to him.

"If Haran’s corpse is released, Isabel, you won’t survive unscathed either!"

Hearing this, the knights hesitated for a moment.

"I told you already, Isaac. That outcome is exactly what I desire," Isabel said calmly.

"Do you want to die? Do you really?" Isaac sneered. "I’ve fought you for over two centuries, Isabel. I know the Spring Witch better than anyone else."

"Do you think I’m a fool like you, desperate for eternal life?"

"Ha-ha-ha! Even if you don’t crave immortality, surely you don’t want to die now."

Isaac smirked, his tone dripping with malice.

"You wouldn’t want to leave now, just as the North begins to flourish. You’d want to see Renslet rise to its rightful place."

"…!"

Isabel fell silent for a moment, unable to immediately retort.

"Where is the Duchess of the North hiding?" Isaac pressed, dropping his mocking laughter.

"…Do you think I’ll tell you?"

"Even now, when victory is within my grasp, she hasn’t appeared. She must not be here in the Citadel."

Isaac ignored Isabel’s defiance and continued, "She must be... at Arad’s Factory."

"Sir Balzac! Kill him!" Isabel shouted without hesitation.

Squelch!

Balzac’s cold blade pierced Haran’s chest and skewered Isaac’s heart in one swift motion.

Thud. Thud.

Jingle… jingle… jingle…

Isaac and Haran’s bodies crumpled to the ground like puppets with their strings cut.

"Is it over?" Sun muttered to himself.

"For now," Balzac replied curtly, cleaning his sword.

Haran’s body, being soulless, could be cremated immediately. As for Isaac’s chimera body, Balzac briefly considered sending it to Arad, but the risk of corruption made him decide to burn it as well.

"Huff, huff, ugh..."

Suddenly, Isabel began trembling violently, her body convulsing.

Balzac and Sun quickly moved to support her.

"Don’t worry about me! Hurry to the factory!" Isabel rasped, pushing them away.

"I’ll go to the factory. Sun, you stay here and watch over the Spring Witch."

"No, both of you must go!" Isabel protested, using the last of her strength.

"Don’t worry, Spring Witch," Sun reassured her. "We checked the factory earlier. It’s currently the safest place in the North."

"Indeed. Rest assured and take care of yourself," Balzac added.

"Well… if it’s Arad…" Isabel finally relented, her tense shoulders relaxing.

"Take me… to my mentor’s resting place…"

The exhausted witch, her breath shallow, made a final request.

"Is there a way to help her?" Sun asked as he supported Isabel.

She didn’t answer. She simply held her mentor’s remains close and closed her eyes.

A deep silence filled the chamber.

"I’m heading to the factory. Knights, follow me," Balzac commanded as he turned to leave.

With somber expressions, Balzac and Sun paid their respects to the two legendary witches before parting ways.