The Magic Spirit possessed knight-level combat ability, and this was the Demon Realm. Just as fairies were nourished by the essence of the forest, for her, the very air of the Demon Realm served the same purpose.

This land, this battlefield—was her home turf.

The corrupted fairy who fired black lightning believed she could slice through several of them on her own.

Sure, they had just hacked down the fortress wall and killed one of the witches—but fighting people directly was a whole different matter.

Besides, her specialty was one-on-one combat.

Though surprised earlier, she now regained her composure, radiating a calm confidence.

Even as she seethed from Shinar’s insults, she didn’t let it shake her.

All of this revealed just how dangerous her combat prowess was. Anyone who’d ever wielded a sword or been in real fights wouldn’t miss those cues.

“I’ll handle this alone. This is my duty.”

Still, Shinar declared to the others that she would fight alone.

Ragna hadn’t cared from the beginning. Audin and Teresa knew how to respect another’s will.

Enkrid glanced at Shinar, then turned his eyes toward the blue-eyed witch.

Has that one still got something hidden?

It certainly looked that way. Judging by their behavior, it was likely.

And the Apostle wouldn’t be sitting idly by either.

The Magic Spirit looked past the lowborn in front of her to the others behind her.

There were many opponents.

Some were fighting off the modified monsters; a bear beastman was tearing apart the crystal-armored golems barehanded, crushing the grotesque mass of mutated flesh that spilled from their shattered interiors.

“The Lord welcomes all!”

The beastman shouted, madness laced in his voice.

Elsewhere, a man was calmly crossing the battlefield, heading straight for the Apostle.

And the rest of them—all of them fought well.

“More than three at once would be difficult.”

So what should she do? Gather mana from afar, shoot arrows, and pick them off one by one. Aside from her skill in duels, her speed was one of her main advantages.

The Magic Spirit instantly calculated the order in which she would deal with them.

“One arrow for the man approaching the Apostle, two for the bear beastman. Then, find a gap to kill the half-breed with the shield, and flank the two fighting monsters.”

The remaining witch would buy her enough time to execute that plan.

A strategy forged in a heartbeat, crafted to secure a sure victory. She was clever—and on the surface, her reasoning was sound.

But just because a plan sounds good doesn’t mean it’s going to work.

“You’re scheming.”

Shinar said, watching the Magic Spirit’s eyes shift and calculate. Even while furious at Shinar’s insults, the corrupted fairy remained cool-headed. She wasn’t some dumb brute.

What annoyed Shinar, though, was that the fairy wasn’t even looking at her anymore. She had clearly decided Shinar didn’t even need to be dealt with—like some weed that would just die on its own.

“Oh, right. There was a lowborn here.”

The corrupted fairy—Magic Spirit—turned her gaze back toward Shinar at those words.

Shinar had guessed right. The corrupted fairy hadn’t considered her a threat. While technically another species now, corrupted fairies and normal fairies still had many similarities.

They all came from the same root.

And that meant the Magic Spirit knew exactly how useless a fairy without spirit energy could be.

She figured she could slit her throat in passing and move on to the next.

Maybe she’d even rip that foul mouth wide open and remake it—because that tongue was way too sharp.

Reading her opponent’s intent, Shinar’s lips curled into a small smile.

The Magic Spirit said no more. She simply advanced and swung her sword.

Her steps were simple, her movements direct—but their speed and unpredictability weren’t so different from what Jaxon had shown moments earlier.

No sound of footfalls. No sound of the blade cutting air. She came straight forward and swung, every motion flowing as naturally as wind itself.

Just as you couldn’t stop the wind with your hand—you couldn’t stop her blade that way either.

The blade fell—and the fairy with her inhuman beauty had her face sliced in two.

There was no sound. Only a blur of motion left behind.

That blur leaping aside was Shinar. She moved with a faint smile still on her lips and swung her Leaf Blade.

It was called the Sword of the Four Seasons. The blade passed from spring to summer, autumn, and finally arrived at winter.

The leaf symbolizing spring transformed into a needle—sharp and pointed, the embodiment of winter.

All of this was possible because her weapon was infused with spirit energy.

The blade Shinar now held had shifted—its slim body becoming a long, narrow Needle.

That needle thrust out straight toward the Magic Spirit.

She raised her blade—dark, mottled in black and gray—to block it.

Tchk—

A small sound rang out as Shinar froze in a lunging pose. The Magic Spirit held her blade horizontally, blocking the strike, the edge resting just below her lips as she stared at Shinar.

Her pupils, filled with malice, now brimmed with raw desire—the hunger to kill, to tear flesh apart.

Dark energy pulsed in her eyes, oozing into the air. At the same time, a green light shimmered in Shinar’s own gaze—and began flowing through the needle-like sword in her hand.

A refreshing scent, clean and grassy, began to drift into the foul, blood-tinged air of the Demon Realm.

“......”

The Magic Spirit’s eyes widened. Her expression was clear—surprised once again.

Shinar kept her smile in place as she spoke softly.

“Did you really think I came here unprepared? My name is Shinar Kirheis. For all the children of flowers and trees, I will claim the life of one who once betrayed our kind.”

Blade pressed to blade, Shinar relished the spirit energy infused into her sword.

She hadn’t come unprepared—not at all.

She just hadn’t used it until now because she couldn’t afford to.

She had poured the essence of the forest into her weapon before ever arriving.

So when she had laid her head on Enkrid’s shoulder, complaining of headaches from the Demon Realm’s air—it hadn’t been an act.

“Feigned illness...”

Of course, from afar, Enkrid was probably thinking exactly that.

“After hiding something like that, she still acted like she was sick?”

He thought it twice over.

That’s how much Shinar had whined until now.

She seemed less like a several-hundred-year-old fairy—and more like a twelve-year-old brat.

And yet now, seeing her like this—she didn’t just look fine.

She looked like she was thriving.

Soon, the blades of two warriors—each of a different color—began to clash and harmonize. Two colors traced lines as they struck and recoiled.

Thunk.

The sound was small. But its impact wasn’t.

A gale blasted between them. A strange wind, half reeking of blood and half scented like forest air, swept through the surroundings.

At a glance, Enkrid didn’t think Shinar would lose.

Of course, all fights must play out to the end—just because there’s a difference in skill doesn’t guarantee victory.

Still, Enkrid trusted Shinar. He respected her wish to step up and settle this herself. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

Above them, the embers that had been crackling and dancing across the sky dimmed. The flickering light went out. And just before the last trace of that fire disappeared—

“I’LL DEVOUR EVERYTHING!”

It was the shriek of the remaining witch.

The death of the red-eyed one had ignited the fury of the blue-eyed witch. She waved her hands again and again, following Jaxon’s trail.

With each movement of her hand, telekinetic energy condensed and storm-winds shaped like blades surged forth.

Jaxon responded with the first rule of fighting a caster: Get the hell away and stay out of their line of sight.

Which meant he zigzagged away, curving his path to break her targeting.

In other words, he ran hard enough to make his feet sweat.

But the witch didn’t lose track of him. Rather than trying to follow him with her eyes, she simply cast a spell across the entire area.

“You cannot soar alone among crows.”

It wasn’t a borrowed spell, calling upon a being’s power—it was a creation spell.

As the spell spread, Jaxon realized hiding his body was now meaningless. Well, he could force it, but...

“There’s no real need to push it here.”

The witch’s spell scattered a fine dust through the air—any movement left a trail.

No matter how well he masked his presence, he had a physical body—this wasn’t something that could be bypassed.

So Jaxon had no choice but to focus solely on evasive maneuvers.

And so he did.

When an armored skeleton got in his way, he dismantled a few bones without hesitation, kicked ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) it aside, and kept weaving through the barrage of spells.

Just then, light flared from the witch’s hand—sensing danger, Jaxon grabbed one of the skeletal soldiers and rolled across the ground, using it as a shield.

The burst of light left only a flashing afterimage in his eyes, scorching the monster in its path.

BOOM!

Fragments of bone burst from the light blast. As a few of them clattered past, Enkrid finally began to move.

He hadn’t coordinated anything with Jaxon, but they’d spent enough time fighting together.

While Jaxon kept the witch’s attention locked forward, Enkrid quietly walked toward her from behind.

It was a classic pincer movement.

“Not a bad position.”

He and Jaxon were placed just right.

It was easy to scatter her focus.

He was in decent shape, too.

No serious injuries, and his Will was mostly recovered. Not in perfect condition, maybe—but Enkrid, who had eaten steel and slept on stone his whole life, knew this:

Now is always your best condition.

You won’t always get to eat well and sleep soundly before a fight. So you have to believe: this moment, right now, is your peak.

That was one of the truths he’d learned through pouring out Krona, listening, learning, and surviving.

And that mindset alone helped his Will flow stronger.

That a knight’s oath affected Will only proved how much the heart mattered.

His forearm, still steaming, ached—but that was just warm-up pain.

“Dare... how DARE... HOW DAAARE YOUUUUU!”

The blue-eyed witch screamed, half insane, flailing her hands and feet. Then, her voice abruptly turned calm as she chanted another spell.

Like a textbook case of split personality.

“Dog of Fuarin.”

This clear display of dual nature only made her seem even more deranged. Wind rushed up from beneath her feet, sending her hair flying and inflating her robe like a balloon.

As she reached out, thick, dark liquid dripped from her fingertips—and from the ground, black hounds began to rise.

Magical lifeforms born from soot.

It was a spell he’d seen before.

Had it been in the west?

It was a spell often used by cultists—and she wielded it well.

The only difference this time was that the creatures were tinged crimson-black, making them look fiercer, wilder.

Still, Enkrid remained unfazed.

And why wouldn’t he be?

All he had to do was keep walking, swing, and cut them down.

The magical beasts lunged with pitch-black fangs, and Enkrid’s sword danced.

He slashed again and again, smooth lines tracing through the air.

Everything cleaved by the dawn-forged blade scattered like dust.

Apparently not a fool, the blue-eyed witch switched to physical-impact spells.

Through the shattered walls, a massive boulder rumbled up into the air and flew toward him.

The problem?

It was way too slow compared to those black lightning arrows.

He had noticed and deflected those too—so dodging a flying rock was laughably easy.

Enkrid sidestepped, braced, and pushed against the boulder with one hand, redirecting it.

The stone crashed through a pack of monsters—those wingless, dog-faced things with fake wings—flattening seven or eight of them as it rolled.

“KYAAACK!”

The witch shrieked and whipped her eyes around in panic. But she couldn’t stop it.

While Enkrid approached, slicing apart spells, and as soon as she showed an opening, a silent dagger came flying in.

The witch tried every trick she had against the two of them closing in from front and rear—but she couldn’t stop their advance.

Then, just like the red-eyed one, she began to change.

Crack—!

Bones twisted, and her body transformed.

Black, foaming blood erupted from her swelling torso—and six more arms burst from her back.

Each of those arms formed different seals in sequence, performing a new ritual.

To be precise—it was a summoning spell to invoke part of a demon’s power.