Chapter 112
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Translator: Xrecker
Chapter: 112
Chapter Title: Each to Their Own Battle
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Dorothea Gale was one of the Four Heavenly Kings of the Demon Lord's army.
Originally a first-class witch from the Ruby Tower in the south, she had reached the sixth tier at the age of twenty, becoming the youngest Archmage in the continent. She then left the magic tower and joined the Demon Lord's army.
She killed Elphaba, the previous Witch of the West, and took her title, rising through the ranks at an unprecedented speed.
Her specialty was fire, and with her naturally red hair and fire magic, rumors circulated that she was an incarnation of the fire spirit, Salamander.
That's how much Dorothea loved playing with fire.
But what she truly wanted to burn was not people or buildings, but the narrow-minded world that viewed her innate talent with envy and jealousy.
In short,
While she had softened since meeting Kaldrash, the original Dorothea was a ruthless witch, known for her cruelty.
—Just like now.
"GAAAAAH!"
"Help me!"
Soldiers, their bodies engulfed in flames, ran screaming before her.
A high-temperature inferno.
Since her main objective was to create a diversion, Dorothea was using a “moderate” temperature flame.
But it was still enough to turn the entire eastern gate district into a fiery wasteland.
This was one of her signature spells, "Salamander's Breath."
Unlike ordinary fire magic, it couldn't be easily extinguished with water.
A cursed flame that relentlessly consumed its target, then spread to the next.
The crimson flames licked at the air, searching for their next victim.
Just then,
"Mezzo forte!"
A familiar incantation, and a dolphin of water erupted from the ground, extinguishing the flames on the soldiers.
Dorothea recognized the spell.
She couldn't forget it.
It was the same spell that had inflicted a humiliating defeat on her on the Eastern Front, cast by Baron Bettendorf.
The Baron himself had been torn to shreds by Kaldrash’s magic, so this must be his direct disciple.
She spotted a middle-aged man with slicked-back white hair emerging from an alley and grinned savagely.
He bore a striking resemblance to a certain someone she knew.
"You, what's your relationship with Baron Louis von Bettendorf?"
The man, his eyes crinkled with deep wrinkles, narrowed his gaze.
"He was my father."
"Perfect. I owe that old man a debt."
Dorothea said, flames erupting from her hands.
"They say the son must pay the father's debts. What do you think?"
"…I'd rather not."
"That's not for the prey to decide."
Dorothea threw off her coat and crouched down like a four-legged beast.
She placed her hands on the ground, and her Spellweave Armament activated, her limbs wreathed in fire.
She had become a fiery cat. She grinned and said,
"It's for the predator to decide."
Having covered herself in various buffs, she wasn't about to miss this chance for revenge.
She would kill him. That was all that mattered.
"If you insist."
The Baron’s son said, drawing his staff.
It was a custom-made piece, clearly expensive.
Dorothea’s ruby-red shoes, on the other hand, had been looted from the Witch of the East.
She then kicked off the ground.
Fwoosh!
An explosion of flames propelled her forward.
As she closed in, the son, who was armed with a water-based armor similar to his father’s, launched a kick.
Their legs met in mid-air.
A cloud of steam erupted, and Dorothea, grinning, flipped in the air.
"Gehenna Sturm"
Dozens of fireballs materialized in the sky.
A hellish storm of fire and heat.
It was only a fifth-tier spell, but the son, unlike his father, was clearly outmatched, struggling to defend against her attacks.
"Pandemonium Krise"
Her superheated plasma claws raked across the ground.
A devastating spell that made the very earth boil.
"GAAAAAH!"
He tried to block, but his arm, along with the magic he had used for defense, was severed.
While his Spellweave Armament was slowly healing the wound, the cells had been destroyed by the intense heat, and the regeneration process was slow.
Dorothea decided to end it with her most spectacular spell.
Hop, step, jump.
She clicked her heels together, creating a beautiful melody.
A massive magic circle appeared around the Baron's son.
He tried to escape, but Dorothea’s casting speed was much faster.
"Katastrophe Elysion"
At that moment, a massive pillar of fire erupted from the ground, engulfing him.
The fire was so intense that not even a bone would remain.
Dorothea, watching him being incinerated, stood there, dazed. She then wondered what the others were up to.
Kaldrash is probably making his escape by now…
She turned her gaze towards the southern gate, where Vanessa was stationed.
"She must be on a rampage, too."
There was still plenty of time.
She was about to resume her destruction when—
BOOOOOOOOOOM!
A massive sword slash, accompanied by a deafening roar, appeared on the southern wall. Dorothea was forced to admit, I'm still not at her level.
The Demon Lord’s army had too many strong individuals.
***
The southern gate of the city.
A mysterious black knight in a tin-can-like helmet and black armor stood before it.
The most famous legend about Dullahans was that they were “death fairies.”
In the dead of night, they would knock on someone’s door. If the person opened the door, they would die a few days later.
Of course, it wasn’t the Dullahan who killed them; it was their fate.
Anyway, like Dorothea, she had decided to use force to buy Kaldrash time to escape.
A group of knights in white armor rushed towards her.
The Royal Guard, the elite unit Kaldrash had mentioned.
The kingdom’s strongest force.
"Halt! Vile demon! How dare you intrude!"
Vanessa, though slightly offended by their one-sided condemnation, decided to remain silent. There was no point in arguing.
No one here would believe that she was once a member of a prestigious knightly family of the empire who had become a Dullahan.
It had been 300 years, after all.
The situation was clearly disadvantageous.
While no ordinary person could withstand her sword, she was outnumbered.
So, she used a spell: Death Knight Calling.
Her elite unit from the Demon Lord’s castle.
A legion of ghostly knights, returned from the dead.
As the Death Knights materialized, the Royal Guards, who had been charging forward, faltered.
Well, this would be a more interesting fight, wouldn’t it?
The white-armored Royal Guard versus the black-armored Death Knights.
Vanessa thought, her hand on the hilt of her sword.
The Death Knights, their undead nature driving them to despise the living, roared and charged.
Massive Zweihanders swung, and flesh was torn.
The battlefield quickly descended into a chaotic melee. And amidst the chaos, only one could match her.
He was in his mid-thirties, with a dandy-ish goatee and blond hair. He instinctively sensed her strength and assumed a fighting stance.
A master recognizes a master.
He must be the commander of the Royal Guard.
Like the commander, Vanessa drew her sword.
A tense silence.
Ragged breaths.
And as the atmosphere reached its peak,
The two clashed.