Chapter 161
Chapter 161
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 161
Chapter Title: Red Cliff (5)
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1.
What is combat using magic?
Numerous apprentice witches pose this question during lessons.
In response, many witches draw a comparison to a single game.
A miniature war unfolding on a cramped 64-square board: chess.
Magic battles bear a striking resemblance to chess, demanding a clash of wits to read each other's intentions, along with calculations and strategy.
Yet, this analogy always comes with a crucial caveat.
Magic battles aren't fair games where opponents alternate turns with identical pieces, time, and rules.
The stage is no mere 64-square chessboard, but one spanning 10,000 squares—or more, depending on the fight. The number of pieces each player commands, the moves they can make, and even the pieces' capabilities all vary wildly from one to the next.
Your mana reserves dictate "how many pieces you can field in a single game."
Your proficiency in wielding mana limits "how many pieces you can move per turn."
The caliber of your spells determines "your pieces' movements and power."
With all these variables arrayed on the board, it becomes a cerebral contest to see whose magic is more refined, more keenly honed.
In every respect, Della utterly dominated Siwoo.
Della, a 20th-rank witch who had polished her spells over countless years.
Siwoo, a crude, improvised witch slapped together in a single generation.
Comparing the two was almost painful.
When players' skills differ so vastly, the hands they hold naturally diverge into chasms.
However...
"Urk!"
The fight, predicted to wrap up in under a minute, kept dragging on.
Siwoo's blade, swung with all his might, clashed against the "Hardened Flame" Della had conjured.
A ferocious strike that could cleave a massive granite boulder in two fell short of breaching Della's defense, judged purely by raw strength.
At the same instant, Siwoo blocked the retaliatory burst of flames with his shield. Before the fire licking the shield could fade, he unleashed another full-force swing of his longsword at the wall of flames guarding Della.
"What in the..."
Back when Siwoo first charged at her, Della had respected the decision.
Of course, it was the condescending judgment of a superior force confident in its overwhelming advantage.
Della's sole vulnerability lay in the fact that her spells manifested through "relay sigils," which required intervals between activations.
The stronger the spell, the more relay sigils it demanded—and the longer the delay.
Thus, for Siwoo, outmatched in mana, control, and spell quality alike, the optimal strategy was to press Della relentlessly, denying her any openings.
Deny her breathing room with a barrage, preventing major attacks.
Anyone could think of it upon seeing the situation.
But executing it was another matter entirely.
Della's "Hardened Flame" functioned like an autonomous defense system, automatically counterattacking in kind.
Any assault triggered a matching torrent of fire.
As intelligent beings, they instinctively recoiled before such ferocious flames.
Even blocking them left vision obscured by smoke and heat, skin scorched, prompting fearful retreats.
Yet once more, the shadow blade collided with the flame wall.
Sparks rained down, hot tendrils grazing Siwoo's cheek.
His face, exposed beneath the half-shattered helmet, was already blistered red from burns.
In a fleeting gap amid the blaze, Della locked eyes with Siwoo.
His black pupils and golden-odd-eyed gaze stared back unyieldingly.
Even in a scenario where a single slip could mean grievous injury or death, he pursued his quarry like a hound, unwavering, unrelenting in his assault.
Only then did Della become certain.
This man wasn't new to such battles.
He was a veteran who'd faced similar predicaments before.
"Are you truly Count Gemernai's secret weapon...?"
The doubt was reasonable, but no answer came.
It wasn't dismissal.
Siwoo, swinging in a near-trance, couldn't hear her over the din.
Unaware of that, Della ground her teeth.
Just five seconds—no, three—of retreat would let her reduce this trash to ash. Instead, he bared his fangs, eyeing her throat hungrily.
More infuriating still: she couldn't shake him off.
Della glanced aside, spotting the cause.
A single black ribbon, originating from Siwoo's lower back, twisting freely through the air like a spear.
Moving with viper-like speed, it pierced sigil cores, shattering formations into glass-like shards with each hit.
"Eeeek...!"
Relay sigils were Della's prerequisites for spellcasting.
She needed a sufficient number to unleash anything beyond paltry spells like Hardened Flame—grand magic required more.
Siwoo targeted them from the start, as if he knew, disrupting and destroying their deployment.
She hadn't exceeded forty since the fight began.
As time wore on, Della's once-relaxed expression hardened.
Disrupting relay sigils wasn't free.
Magic demanded mana costs.
Endless pointless expenditure was slowly draining her reserves, like clothes soaking in a drizzle.
"You wretched cur!"
Della cried out involuntarily.
This wasn't a duel.
A proper duel pitted honed self-generating magic against each other in a sophisticated clash of intellect and skill.
Dragging it into mindless mud-wrestling like a dog biting at limbs was insult enough.
"Fine. I have a way too."
Della reformulated her magic while maintaining the flame wall.
Continuing like this would play into his rhythm, and she could already see the end.
The word "defeat"—unthinkable until now—flashed vividly in her mind.
She dialed back the mana cost at the expense of power.
Her new formation: "Dancing Flame."
A middling spell that ensnared limbs and roasted them golden.
With physical restraint, it would at least hinder Siwoo's frenzy.
"Ignite!"
Della swept her arm; several scattered relay sigils vibrated.
Dancing Flame required a minimum of five; she'd just squeezed out sixteen fresh ones.
Plus thirty-eight already afloat.
Even if the merciless ribbon culled over half the new sixteen, any five survivors would trigger it.
She'd morphed the spell's form in that instant, layering insurance and deception.
Della was a 20th-rank witch, bearer of the "Great Witch" title.
She wouldn't crumble helplessly.
Perfect.
This interminable stalemate ends now.
So she thought.
Until the black ribbon, piercing sigils at random, zeroed in exclusively on the sixteen for Dancing Flame.
"......How?"
Her ace in the hole—half her remaining mana wrung out—vanished in a blink.
No mere luck explained that precision.
He wasn't shattering sigils randomly; he selected and dismantled the critical ones in sequence.
In that moment, it clicked for Della.
This man, who appeared frailer than an upper homunculus.
This man she'd deemed leagues beneath her.
What if he hadn't baited a brawl from the outset?
What if she'd hesitated even slightly in this deadlock?
Victory's goddess would have kissed her cheek without remorse.
But reality unfolded oppositely.
He plunged into the inferno without hesitation the instant combat began.
Exploiting the tiniest flaws, seizing control, refusing to yield.
From crushing disadvantage, he'd overturned the tide.
The decisive factor was simple.
While Della pondered the game leisurely, arms crossed, he'd staked his life on a deathmatch.
Could an untrained soul pull this off?
Impossible.
The ring marking him as a guest of House Gemernai.
A man bearing a stigma.
Fearsome combat instincts.
Unusual shadows disrupting spell formations—and weapons forged from them.
Eyes that likely read mana flows.
A ribbon covering blind spots.
Undeniable.
He was House Gemernai's secret weapon, crafted to bolster witch shortages by hunting homunculi or foes.
Nothing else explained her cornered state.
This transcended raw power comparisons.
He was a nightmare opponent, specialized for great witch duels.
Della acknowledged Siwoo.
He merited her full might unleashed without restraint.
A worthy adversary demanding peak performance.
Preconceptions of his apparent strength and gender had veiled the truth until now.
"Very well. You want a dogfight? I'll indulge you."
Mana remained scarce.
This would likely be her final gambit.
Seizing the moment Siwoo raised his shield, Della dismissed the flame wall of Hardened Flame.
She redirected its mana to bodily enhancement.
Mana raced through circuits webbing her form.
Her astral body's durability maxed out.
The quickest mana application was, without doubt, the witch's own flesh.
She poured every last drop into amplifying her body and autonomous defenses.
She stepped forward, slipping into Siwoo's guard just before his sword arced down.
Melee.
Unthinkable for the usual Della, but victory outweighed pride now.
His mechanical hammering of the flame wall left ample gaps for close quarters.
If he craved infighting, she'd mirror it.
One blow? Her autonomous defense would parry.
Then rebound to create distance, buying time to activate scattered sigils for the finishing strike.
With resolve hardened, she lunged.
Coincidence?
Their eyes met.
Locking with the fierce gaze from his half-ruined helmet, Della knew instinctively.
Even this desperate, pride-shattering ploy was transparent in his eyes.
"Wait...!"
Siwoo, who'd clung ferociously thus far, halted his assault the instant she committed—widening the gap.
This was the unfolding she'd craved before, but not now.
Her mana was fully committed to enhancement and defenses.
He had to strike for them to trigger, buying time to reactivate sigils and counter fatally.
Instead, she'd wasted it pointlessly.
Della frantically rerouted mana from her body.
Desperate to salvage her vanishing chance, she scrambled to ignite the dormant sigils.
A half-beat too late, the black ribbon speared her flank.
Never intervening directly before—always shredding sigils—it timed a perfect cross-counter.
Utterly unanticipated.
"Gack!"
A grotesque shriek escaped with spittle as Della's body folded midair sideways, tumbling wretchedly across the ground.