Chapter 108
Chapter 108
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 108
Chapter Title: Ea's Defeat and the Duke's Reply
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1.
“Ugh... hngh... ugh...”
Ea staggered unsteadily to her feet.
Her body—rolled across the ground no better than a beast, forcibly raped under sheer brute force—was covered in red handprints, clumps of dirt, and dried, shriveled moss.
Between her two legs, which she could barely plant on the earth while tottering, semen flowed endlessly downward.
Every time Ea's buttocks, ravaged roughly for a full two hours straight, twitched involuntarily, it pumped out droplets of thick white seed like a faucet.
He had stolen her magic again and again.
Compared to the start, the power drawing forth the spells engraved in her stigma had weakened, so it hadn't been quite as effortless as claiming her maidenhead.
Even so, Ea had lost one more magic formula.
The 'Vessel' she had gained long ago from hunting Duke Tiphereth's apprentice witch.
“Yaaawn...”
Siwoo stretched out a lazy yawn and plopped down on a nearby rock, paying Ea no heed whatsoever.
He was waving his hand through the air, confirming his spoils of war.
They were far too lavish for him to spare any attention elsewhere.
“Another... another hierarchy...”
13th hierarchy.
Her lower abdomen, once densely packed with stigmas, now lay bare.
In a mere two hours, a hierarchy that would take at least a century of desperate hunting to ascend had plummeted.
She had become a half-baked witch whose autonomous defenses wouldn't even trigger.
Ea ground her teeth and glared daggers at Siwoo as he scrawled something into the empty air with his finger.
“I'll kill you.”
This place was overflowing with mana essence.
She lacked the time to fully assimilate the mana she had absorbed, but if she bore just a little risk of damaging her mana circuits, she could launch a second round.
Her nose bridge wrinkled deeply in frustration as she shot Siwoo a venomous glare—then she whipped around, turning her back on him.
It hadn't even been long since her emotions had overridden her judgment and led to disaster.
Every instinct in her body, every gut feeling, every ounce of combat experience she had amassed screamed the same thing.
No matter what preparations she made, this fight was one she definitely lost.
“Kuhk...! Just you wait! I'll pay back this humiliation a hundredfold, no a thousandfold—no, a billionfold!”
Ea bellowed at the top of her lungs toward Siwoo, who didn't spare the vanquished foe so much as a glance.
His gaze flicked briefly her way at the racket.
“Eek...!”
His form, utterly dominating the magical duel without so much as a disrupted breath.
His form, mercilessly raping her.
His form after, ripping away her precious magic.
That mere brushing glance reignited the terror hammered deep into her bones.
For this Ea.
For Ea Saldmelik to feel terror from a mere human man.
That was even more humiliating than the rape itself.
“J-just you watch!”
Ea staggered off in lurching steps, eyes locked on Siwoo until she vanished into the rift torn open by the barrier splitter.
The narrowing gap soon reflected Latifundium's tranquil vista once more, as if nothing had ever transpired.
All that remained was Siwoo, perched on the rock, lost in contemplation.
2.
Amelia had hauled her belongings to the laboratory annex to resume her research when she felt a leaden weight crushing one side of her chest.
No matter how she tried to distract herself or light up a cigarette, the same regrets and sorrow kept circling relentlessly in her mind.
She knew this grief, this torment, would eventually grow numb someday.
Just as before, time would wipe away the scars of loss like some cruel lie.
Someday she'd forget it all—and someday, even forget that she'd forgotten.
Apart from that hollow consolation, however, her thoughts kept replaying a single scene over and over.
“You dog-like... bitch...”
Siwoo, hurling those venomous words at Amelia the moment he awoke.
Even then, he hadn't been in any state to properly perceive the world.
His mind had operated solely for magic, relegating all other emotional faculties to the fringes.
How much must he have hated her?
How much loathing, how much disgust, to spit curses even in that condition?
Every time the thought surfaced, Amelia felt her heart tearing asunder.
Like it was being drawn out thin, fraying and snapping thread by thread.
“.........”
Back then, Amelia had vowed it.
She wouldn't give up until he could forgive her.
She'd wait until that day came.
But was that truly the right choice?
When he finally regained his senses, could she really cling to the Siwoo who despised her so—to beg and plead until her lone affection wrung an apology from him?
Deep down, Amelia knew the truth.
He was a good man.
Diligent and kind, too.
He couldn't bring himself to hurl harsh words at someone tearfully begging for absolution.
Wasn't her decision perhaps calculated around even that facet of his nature?
Leaning on his softness, his gentleness, to absolve her own guilt-ridden flailing?
If so, it was selfish. Cowardly.
Forcing something unwanted on him yet again.
Wanting his forgiveness was Amelia's wish, and hers alone.
Wanting to join him in the modern world was Amelia's wish, and hers alone.
Wanting to confess her love—that too was Amelia's wish, and hers alone.
Siwoo's own will had no place in any of it.
After weeping over her regrets, was she on the verge of committing the same sin anew?
“I... disgust myself...”
She knew it was all futile delusion.
Siwoo remained in a state of unknowable recovery, after all.
Self-mockery fed on self-mockery in an endless loop, spinning her into deeper gloom.
As she drew a habitual sigh—
The door flew open with a bang.
Amelia scowled.
She had explicitly instructed no visitors for the foreseeable future.
“P-pro... professor!”
The panting intruder was Catherine, the researcher handling Trinity Academy's administration.
“What's wrong?”
Amelia would normally bristle at the interruption, but she lacked even the energy now.
She replied in a listless tone and eyed her—immediately sensing something grave had occurred.
Catherine was infamous among witches for idolizing and aping Baroness Merrygold.
Despite her modest means, she dressed in knockoff versions of Amelia's gowns and mimicked her perfume rotations to a tee.
Of course, that included her cold, aloof mannerisms and half-baked barbs.
For her to come charging in, abandoning her whole persona—it was no trifling matter.
“Re... re... re... re... reply...”
“Slowly. Clearly.”
Amelia grew urgent in tandem as a pristine white envelope was thrust into her palm.
A spotless envelope the size of Amelia's hand, sealed against prying eyes with stamped wax.
A crown-emblazoned seal.
Catherine, hacking like an asthmatic in the throes of an attack, finally bellowed out her report.
“A reply from the Ivory Tower!”
This missive hailed from Duke Keter herself.
3.
Ask the witches of Gehenna to name the realm's second-most beautiful edifice, and their answers will diverge wildly.
The Versailles-evoking seat of learning, Trinity Academy.
The Levana Grand Bathhouse, a refined recreation of Rome's public baths.
The First Red Roof Salon, abloom with flowers across all four seasons year-round.
Duke Tiphereth's Hanging Gardens, renowned for their exquisite aesthetic.
And so on—each nominates per her tastes.
But bid them name the most beautiful, and every witch will unhesitatingly invoke the Ivory Tower, soaring proudly at Ars Magna Town's heart.
Legend holds that Duke Keter herself designed and built the tower alone, fashioning it solely from special alloy marble and stained glass.
Such sparse words suffice to describe it.
For no florid praise can do it justice.
The Ivory Tower adheres to no architectural style of any age.
An unprecedented, singular form, erected to flawless golden ratios via exacting calculations—utterly devoid of defect.
A structure existing not for critique or comparison, but pure awe and admiration.
Duke Keter, its sole resident, defies assessment or rank in kind.
All witches revere her without cease.
The supreme—the mightiest, the eldest—witch to attain thirty hierarchies without a single stigma succession.
Eighty-two years had passed since her seclusion within, her face unseen anywhere—yet supplicants still swarmed the tower's environs, begging her tutelage.
They came in person, and fully one-fifth of Gehenna's post converged upon it too.
Of course, tales of actually receiving a reply from Duke Keter were unheard of.
Amelia herself had sought audience in vain and dispatched over seventy letters—met only with silence.
Catherine's eyes brimmed with curiosity, but Amelia shooed her out firmly.
No cause existed for Amelia to indulge even legitimate inquisitiveness.
Amelia produced a silver paper knife and delicately broke the seal.
She unfolded the letter within—pristine white paper, utterly blank.
Gehenna's correspondence doesn't always arrive fully formed.
This was a 'remote letter': twin sheets magically linked, such that ink on one manifests upon the other—like facsimile or messenger.
Duke Keter, shrouded in layers of secrecy and mystique, replying via such rudimentary magic felt oddly quaint.
Amelia gripped her pen with tense features and waited; soon, words began materializing upon the page.
[How have you been?]
Cursive script in a disarmingly casual tone, as if from old friends—despite their first exchange.
Exquisitely graceful and refined, like a scribe's masterwork.
[A poor choice of words. I read each of your letters, so I can well imagine the depth of your anguish.]
Amelia hesitated over her reply—then dashed one off upon reading that the duke had perused her pleas.
[Are you replying to grant my request?]
[In sum, yes. My talents suffice to heal your beloved with ease.]
Amelia's heart pounded fiercely.
It felt like emerging from fathomless dark into blinding light at last.
Yet that joy nosedived as a single doubt welled within her breast.
Was this truly what he wanted?
This abnormal state—repugnant to her eyes—might be his newfound bliss instead.
Stripping away his freshly won magical prowess: whose desire was that?
Amelia yearned to honor his choice.
In that fleeting pause, fresh words appeared.
[Today at noon, I examined him in my gardens.]
[To see such aptitude and prowess lost would grieve any true witch.]
She had inspected him personally?
As Amelia puzzled, a decisive line surfaced to steel her resolve.
[Yet left as is, he will perish. Since time immemorial, talent that overtaxes the flesh heralds an early grave.]
She hesitated no longer.
[What must I do?]
Duke Keter ignored hundreds of daily letters—pity wouldn't compel aid for a stranger like Amelia.
This was a proposition. A deal.
[Splendid. We understand one another well.]
Amelia knew, beyond doubt, that Duke Keter smiled behind that paper as she set down the period.