Chapter 771: Even an Invisible Spell
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 771: Even an Invisible Spell
The Apostle didn't feel a sense of crisis yet, but judging by how they had collapsed the fortress wall, he recognized they weren't to be ignored.
He raised his hand, and two women with glittering eyes stepped forward from behind him.
“This is only the second time this place has collapsed since it was built,” one of them remarked.
She stood on the left from Encrid’s perspective, her eyes a piercing blue. To be precise, it looked as if blue stones had been embedded directly into her sockets. There were no pupils; instead, vivid blue pebbles seemed to have been shoved into her skull, emitting a faint, flickering light.
Described in words, it might have sounded stylish, but seeing it in person, she simply looked like a monster. If she had done that for the sake of fashion, it was pure insanity.
Encrid read the momentum of the two women.
Witches.
He was right. They were the subjects of the dark rumors surrounding the Crystal Prison. Not just their eyes, but parts of their bodies were made of glittering stone. The rumors in the village about being "trapped" in the Crystal Prison actually meant becoming the playthings of these two.
Though the wall of thorn-shrouded wraiths had fallen, the master of the black lightning, the jailers of the Crystal Prison, and the one responsible for all of this remained.
“I think I’ll make him one of my collectibles.”
The Red-Eyed Witch, who had been silent, stared intently at Encrid before suddenly speaking. It was a sign she liked his looks. For a brief moment, a heavy silence fell over both groups.
Normally, Sinar would have snapped back at such a comment, but she merely glared at the Demonic Spirit, her hand resting tight on the hilt of her Leaf Sword.
Ropode, finding the sudden quiet awkward, chimed in. “A fatal charm that even seduces witches.”
Everyone turned to look at him. Their gazes were unanimous: What is wrong with this guy?
“...Are you trying to fill in because the barbarian isn't here?” Pel scolded.
Ropode shut his mouth, immediately regretting the comment. Anything more would just give them ammunition to tease him.
Encrid blinked. Seduce? What was he even talking about? He was seeing these witches for the first time in his life. Shifting his gaze back to the front, he replied politely.
“...I’ll pass.”
“Sure. See you in a bit,” the Red-Eyed Witch replied, brimming with confidence.
“Who was the first?” Luagarne asked out of nowhere.
The witch’s comment about this being the second time the wall had collapsed had piqued her curiosity. Someone else had actually thought of bringing down the fortress wall besides her? The Frog Kin couldn't help but ask.
The Castellan glared at Luagarne, silently swearing to roast and eat her alive, and waved his hand.
At his gesture, a chilling sound like a blade scraping against a whetstone—shhhring—echoed from behind the Demonic Spirit. A golem-like entity clad in murky, pitch-black crystal armor rose to its feet, wielding a matching crystal sword. It was the same creature that had blocked Encrid’s javelin earlier, but up close, it was clear the armor was made of solid crystal. Though smaller than Audin, it looked dangerously agile.
“You fools, intoxicated by your own power, have marched straight to your graves,” the Castellan declared.
Instead of replying, Encrid raised Dawn Forge and swung it through the empty air. To an onlooker, it would have seemed utterly bizarre—slashing at nothing. But there were no ordinary people present.
Everyone sensed it: Encrid had just severed something invisible.
Ping.
The sound didn't actually echo, but the Blue-Eyed Witch felt it resonate within her soul.
“You...?”
Just a moment ago, she had secretly begun a curse-dispensing spell, but it had been cut short mid-cast. And with a single swing of a sword, no less.
According to everything she knew, this was impossible. The sword strike had merely cut through empty air; surely, another mage must have interfered. That had to be it. Or perhaps they possessed an artifact that blocked spells. The sword swing had to be a coincidence. And yet...
“Mine too,” her companion, the Red-Eyed Witch, spoke up.
The man in front of them had just swept his downward-slashed sword back upward. At that exact moment, the flow of her mana was severed. It wasn't that impurities had disrupted the spell; the spell itself had been cleanly cut. It seemed absurd to think a spell could be physically cut, but—
That’s exactly what it feels like.
The Blue-Eyed Witch stared in shock, while Encrid had a different thought.
This is getting a bit easier now.
His experience of cutting down the Walking Fire, his prior experience of slashing through fireballs, and the time spent training with Esther—all of it was condensing into this moment. Encrid could now cut even an invisible spell.
Sachsen, who was particularly sensitive to such things, perceived what Encrid had done more clearly than anyone. “Did you cut it?”
“Yeah,” Encrid replied briefly.
“...How on earth?” the Blue-Eyed Witch muttered.
When a knight fights a witch, the knight usually holds the advantage in a direct duel. However, a mage holds the upper hand when they can manifest spells in a location they have already prepared.
Now was exactly such a time. For these two witches, this place was their front yard. They had buried spell-assisting tools all over the grounds. The collapse of the thorn wall was a separate matter—that had been a "gift" from their master and hadn't truly belonged to them. Its disappearance actually made it easier for them to cast. The conditions were highly favorable.
“O Red Foot!”
The Red-Eyed Witch was skeptical. Even if it happened twice, she refused to believe it. Cutting a spell? It sounded like an established fact to his companions, but it could still be a trick.
She chanted the epithet of the demon she served, unleashing her mana. The artifacts buried in the ground reacted to her call.
Rumble!
The air vibrated, and a massive, circular ring formed in the air above Encrid. A crimson light flashed within the circle, followed immediately by a deafening Krak-boom!
It was lightning—but not ordinary lightning. It was a forbidden spell known as Firebolt. It was a spell that required substantial preparation and sacrifice. To manifest it, the Red-Eyed Witch had consumed three of her buried artifacts, which crumbled into dust.
She had not spared her resources. Yet, the outcome she desired did not occur.
“...Ah.”
An emotional gasp escaped her lips. Beneath her skin-tight, stone-textured black leather outfit, her chest—hardened by repeated modifications—trembled. The Red-Eyed Witch recalled an emotion she had long forgotten.
Fear.
*
Just before the sky split and the crimson light rained down, everyone reacted. None of them were ignorant of how to deal with spellcasters. The basic rule was simple: once a spell manifests, escape its area of effect.
However, the Firebolt was a forbidden art designed to negate such reactions. If the Walking Fire was a flame that burned slow and long, the Firebolt was a flash that incinerated its target in an instant. It was forbidden because its sacrifice required a spiritual, intelligent being to be used as a mana reservoir, their life force burned away in a second.
It was a spell so fast that no knight, no matter how swift, should have been able to evade it. The Red-Eyed Witch had pulled out a trump card. She was seasoned in battle; she knew it was better to use it and regret it later than to die hoarding it.
Encrid’s thoughts accelerated the moment the witch opened her mouth. It wasn't intentional; his Will reacted on its own. He knew the reason why before he even asked the question.
“No matter what they have prepared, a spell always has warning signs. A chant, a gesture, or simply the movement of mana. If you can feel that, you can know in advance.”
Those were Esther’s words. She had taught him that a mage’s battle was a contest of hiding mana manifestation. If swordsmen used every means to win, mages were no different. All roots lead to the same source.
Encrid applied this to the witch. He felt the flow of mana. As his five senses merged, the domain of the sixth sense opened. His blended senses coalesced into a visualization.
Right in front of him, a single black line was on the verge of rising to pierce the heavens. Should he call it prediction, or insight? It didn't matter.
Encrid’s cognitive process had begun before the witch finished the first syllable of her chant. To him, her words sounded like an agonizingly slow crawl—“Oooo Rrrreeeeddd Fooooooottt”—and because time had stretched in his perception, he was able to move in advance.
Originally, he intended to dodge. But as he moved, Dawn Forge let out a low hum, reacting to his Will. It was as if the sword were speaking to him.
Dodge? Why? the sword seemed to ask.
Encrid was at a loss. If he dodged here, the lightning would lose its target and might strike his companions instead. He had already learned the knack when he cut the Walking Fire. What more did he need?
Nothing.
His partitioned thoughts converged. His resolve rose to bolster his Will.
Before the witch could finish her sentence, Encrid took a step forward and to the left, planting his stance. His surging Will gathered in his eyes, capturing the falling lightning.
A long, crimson mass of flame tore through the air in a zigzag pattern. Its tip appeared blunt, but the moment it touched anything, it would unleash catastrophic violence, reducing dozens of people to ashes instantly.
Pouring his Will into Dawn Forge, Encrid aligned his blade against the falling Firebolt and slashed.
The Red-Eyed Witch couldn't even see the start of the movement. To her eyes, there was only a man who had suddenly stopped in a post-slash stance, gripping his sword with both hands the moment the Firebolt fell.
Ruuuumble!
The forbidden Firebolt split into two in midair and scattered. Its remnants lingered, casting a brief, crimson flash across the sky. Sparks larger than a fist flew in all directions, like red lanterns lighting up the night of the Demon Realm.
A thunderous roar followed—the sound of lightning striking—but the lightning never hit the ground. A madman had literally cut the spell apart.
The Red-Eyed Witch stared at the man. He was still and silent, and the sight filled her with dread. It felt as though his blade could sever her very existence.
Fear fed her anxiety, and that anxiety caused her to lose control of the mana backflowing from the failed spell. The energy tore through her innards.
Retch!
The witch coughed up dark, monster-like blood.
Steam rose from Encrid’s mouth and forearms. He remained motionless. He had overexerted his Will twice now—once for the wall, and once for the spell. He needed a moment to catch his breath.
Sachsen moved at that exact moment. Mages were terrifying head-on, but they were vulnerable from the flank.
The one who noticed him was the dark-blue-skinned elf—the Demonic Spirit.
“Behind you!” the spirit shouted, just as Sachsen made his move.