Murphy knew all too well that if she succeeded just once—creating even the tiniest crack—the chains of dominion that maintained their complex balance might begin to loosen, ultimately leading to an unpredictable collapse.

That wouldn’t just mean losing control of Margaret. It would plunge him into a state beyond redemption.

And he wasn’t alone. He had Aurora, and Kane...

Therefore, for eleven years, he had never once let his guard down.

VMMM!

The river of green stars in Margaret’s eyes grew ever more brilliant—the external manifestation of her Spiritual Power, condensed to its absolute limit. It was a direct reflection of the maximum power of her Magic Model, a result of honing the *Control Human* magic to the point of near instinct.

At the same time, the darkness in Murphy’s eyes grew more profound, like a darkness that could encompass all things, end everything—an absolute nothingness.

This was the absolute dominion he wielded when he powered *Control Human* with his Black Light Mana, a power of a higher essence.

In the unseen spiritual dimension, two similar yet contradictory powers had long since collided, locked in a perilous struggle of annihilation, infiltration, and counter-corrosion.

Margaret’s Spiritual Power moved like a thousand venomous serpents—cunning and insidious, striking and probing from every conceivable angle, frantically searching for the slightest weakness in Murphy’s chains of dominion.

For eleven years, she had poured more heart and soul into this magic than anyone could imagine. Every quiver of her spiritual tendrils held the ruthlessness, subtlety, and unyielding will forged through countless days and nights of arduous Cultivation.

Yet Murphy’s defense and counterattack were far more solid.

His Spiritual Power didn’t scatter to meet her attacks; instead, it formed a flawless, perfectly integrated Dominion Force Field.

Margaret’s assault, powerful enough to make her peers collapse in an instant, crashed against this field like a raging torrent against an ancient reef. It kicked up a thousand shimmering sprays of spiritual energy, but failed to shake its fundamental nature in the slightest.

What made Margaret’s soul tremble, however, was that with every collision, Murphy’s more refined Spiritual Power would seep back along the path of her own assault. Like the finest, most tenacious rootlets, it would entwine itself with her energy, further reinforcing the chains of dominion branded on her soul as if they were being reforged.

The reason for this was just as simple.

No matter how strong Margaret was, she had ultimately failed to cross the great chasm and become an Official Wizard.

*Control Human*, as a top-tier Apprentice Level magic, had a Magic Model Coefficient of 2—the absolute limit for an apprentice.

As a Witch, Margaret had cultivated her Control Level for this magic to an astonishing 105%—a figure far beyond the limits of most Wizard Apprentices.

But the quality of one’s Spiritual Power at the apprentice stage ultimately had an insurmountable bottleneck.

Her Spell Power was calculated with the formula: Spell Power = (Spiritual Power + Magic Model Coefficient) × Control Level.

With her current Spiritual Power of approximately 2 and a Control Level of 105%, her Spell Power was (2 + 2) × 1.05 = 4.2 points.

This was a figure that would allow her to reign supreme among Third-Class Apprentices—a number that would drive others to despair.

But against Murphy, it was nowhere near enough.

Although Murphy didn’t use the traditional Casting methods of a Wizard, when he powered *Control Human* with his Black Light Mana, the formula changed to: Spell Power = (Magic Power Quality + Magic Model Coefficient) × Control Level.

His Black Light Mana Quality was 2.9 and his Control Level over *Control Human* was 95%, so his Spell Power was a staggering (2.9 + 2) × 0.95 = 4.665 points.

This gap of 0.465 points represented a power disparity of over ten percent—more than enough to create an overwhelming numerical advantage.

Therefore, in the face of Murphy’s superior power, Margaret’s exquisitely refined assault was like delicate crystal striking solid steel. It could do nothing but shatter.

This silent, yet utterly intense, spiritual standoff continued for an unknown length of time.

In the violent friction between their souls, time itself seemed to lose all meaning.

Margaret’s upright spine began to tremble faintly, almost imperceptibly. Fine beads of sweat appeared on her temples and the tip of her nose, sliding down her fair, smooth skin and dripping onto her dark green velvet skirt, blooming into dark, damp patches.

Her breathing grew ragged, each inhalation a monumental effort. It was a clear sign her Spiritual Power was being rapidly consumed, nearing utter depletion.

But the emerald river of stars in her eyes burned ever more fiercely. The desire, the struggle, and a kind of self-destructive fanaticism in its glow threatened to spill out.

Finally, at a critical point.

The brilliant river of green stars in her eyes began to flicker violently before slowly ebbing away like a receding tide.

The emerald light, so full of vitality and mystery, receded from the edges of her irises. It dimmed rapidly, like dying embers, before vanishing completely into the depths of her black pupils as if it had never existed.

The instant the green light vanished, the air of elegance, composure, and faint majesty that marked her as Duke Temeris dissipated in a flash.

A moment ago, she had been sitting upright in her chair, locked in a standoff with Murphy.

The next, she was off her chair, her knees hitting the cold marble floor as she knelt.

Her long, dark green velvet skirt spread out around her like an exotic flower blooming in the dawn.

She kept her back straight but bowed her head low, leaving her face completely exposed to Murphy’s gaze. It was pale from the immense drain on her Spiritual Power, but still exquisitely beautiful.

It was as if all the strength had been drained from her body. She could only support herself by bracing her hands on the floor, her slender shoulders trembling uncontrollably as she gasped for air. Sweat had nearly soaked the dark hair at her temples.

Yet, in this state of utter disarray and weakness, the corners of her lips curled into an irrepressible smile.

It was a smile of near-contentment, of near-bliss, and even a touch of something morbid.

"Master..."

Her voice, when it came, was utterly different from the gentle, elegant tone she had used when speaking with Eleanor earlier.

It was lower, softer, and held a faint, almost imperceptible tremble.

She paused, seeming to steady her ragged breathing, before finally uttering the rest of her words:

"Maggie... has missed you so much."