Chapter 102
Chapter 102
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 102
Chapter Title: The Creeping Wound
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‘It’s over now.’
Even the ever-optimistic Fanel thought so. Lucia, who was already pessimistic by nature, had long since given up hope. In truth, as far as the two of them could see, there weren’t many options left.
Fanel racked her brilliant mind and concluded that they had only three choices remaining.
Resistance, suicide, or surrender. They had to seriously consider whether to get beaten and captured, kill themselves before that happened, or surrender outright before even taking a beating.
The Demon Empress Harma El had been a tough opponent even when they were in peak condition. Now, their states were beyond words—utterly abysmal.
Fighting would only lead to overwhelming defeat and inevitable capture. It was best not to hope that the Magic Tower or the Holy Kingdom would pay a ransom to get them back.
No matter how much gold the Magic Tower offered for Fanel, or how many negotiation proposals the Holy Kingdom made to retrieve their hero, Harma El would never release a hero who could point a sword at her anytime.
Even if she did let them go, it would only be after thoroughly breaking them so they posed no threat ever again. These women, who once wielded mana of immense power, would be released as shells of their former selves.
That was no different from losing everything.
And that was only if they were lucky—if the Holy Kingdom or Magic Tower even wanted to take back a hero party reduced to invalids at great cost.
The chances of that weren’t zero, but they weren’t high either. They would likely abandon negotiations, and what came next was obvious.
They’d end up as circus monkeys, the laughingstock of all demonkind. Turned into propaganda tools for the demons, subjected to who-knows-what humiliations.
Better to commit suicide here than endure a lifetime of torture and abuse. They might even end up begging for death later.
‘Should I just die...’
The two elders who had arrogantly called themselves Grand Masters had been forced into decades of seclusion after taking hits from dark aura techniques. Even pouring the palace’s resources into recovery like water hadn’t restored their former prowess.
Without the holy sword and Demon Killer, Lucia and Yurinel were several levels below Rayman and Geher. Those two could still wield some master-level power, but now these two felt utterly bound by invisible chains on their limbs.
Fanel was in slightly better shape, but only slightly. Her mana core was overloaded from prolonged abuse and couldn’t perform at full capacity.
It had gone beyond what time and effort alone could fix. Even with ample time, recovery seemed doubtful—and Harma El certainly wouldn’t give them that luxury.
“Why don’t you open that impudent mouth of yours again, Lucia Western? Why’ve you suddenly turned into a mute? You used to yap so arrogantly before.”
Harma El, who had been itching for this, lightly flicked her fan. A gentle breeze swelled into a raging storm of mana.
The two women were tossed like autumn leaves, tumbling helplessly across the ground. Lucia clenched her lip and swallowed her rage.
Isn’t it true that in family squabbles, the sister-in-law who holds you back is more hated than the mother-in-law who strikes? So how much more despised must one be who aids the blows instead of stopping them? Right now, the wench before her eyes was more loathsome than Grimudo, the true culprit of all this.
The fight with Grimudo had been, frankly, an utter defeat with no excuses, even if they had ten mouths.
He had appeared before them squarely, even giving them time to prepare their attacks, then crushed them purely with overwhelming strength.
The phoenix he’d brought along had just watched; he’d beaten all three of them single-handedly from start to finish.
With victory so clear-cut, what excuse could they make to fool themselves? Had the opponent cheated? Were they in poor condition? Fallen for some scheme?
There hadn’t been any scheme. They’d simply lost. Like it or not, they had to admit it. But Harma El?
Look at her—this viper who’d dug a meticulous trap, dragged Grimudo into it, then struck when they were at their weakest.
From the loser’s perspective, such a victory was impossible to accept.
Naturally, fury boiled inside, but cursing her cowardice didn’t change the outcome. They’d suffered total defeat without even landing a blow. No way to turn the tide.
Desperate, all-out combat wasn’t an option either—not when the power gap was so vast the enemy could subdue them effortlessly.
An ant charging with its life means nothing; a human can squash it anytime, or capture it alive with a bit more effort if inclined. That was likely what would happen.
“Keep staying so quiet, and I might just sew your mouth shut with a needle. Scream something—anything—while you still have a mouth. How about kneeling before me now and begging forgiveness?”
Though she wielded a fan, Harma El specialized in finger and long-range techniques. She jabbed a finger at the air, and a single grayish-white dot formed like white jade. Within that tiny orb, the shape of a white dragon flickered into view and vanished.
“But then, surrendering from the start wouldn’t be any fun. I hope you keep that spirit up a while longer. That way... I’ll actually enjoy tormenting you.”
Jade Dragon Bullet. Just as the small projectile bearing the jade dragon’s form was about to launch from her hand, a sudden agony grazed Harma El’s head. Her skull throbbed as if splitting, leaving her unable to think straight.
“Argh!”
At the scream, Lucia and Fanel reopened their eyes in shock. Yurinel, barely managing to stand, was equally stunned.
They hadn’t done a thing, yet Harma El was shrieking—it was impossible not to be startled. Even the larks took flight in alarm, and Harma El herself shivered.
Fumbling, she dispelled the Jade Dragon Bullet and clutched her head. But there wasn’t even a bee-sting mark. No snake bite, no venomous insect—yet this head pain felt familiar; she’d experienced it once before.
“Grim... Grimudo...!”
The ominous suspicion drained her arrogance, flooding her with fear. Was this a mental attack? Had that bastard been toying with her from beginning to end?
Harma El pressed her throbbing head and scanned around, but Grimudo was nowhere. It didn’t seem like he’d struck again.
Surely he wasn’t assaulting her mind from some distant, unknown place. It seemed plausible for Grimudo, which terrified her, but it was overthinking. If he’d wanted her dead, he’d have done it already.
“What’s wrong with her all of a sudden...?”
“If we attack now... maybe...”
“No. We need to run first.”
Yurinel, shakily rising and steadying her trembling legs, muttered urgently without pausing to marvel at their unexpected luck.
“Looks like Harma El took mental damage from Grimudo back then, and it’s flared up again.”
“Even so, her power’s still intact. Charging in would be suicide. Right now... even if the Demon Empress stood there letting us hit her like a doll, we couldn’t do a thing. Running’s our only option.”
Yurinel hit the nail on the head. Just as physical attacks leave wounds on the body, mental attacks scar the mind.
Humans are tougher than they seem—body or mind can regenerate to a degree after injury.
But overexert an arm already slashed by a blade, and does grit make it heal super-fast? No—the wound reopens worse, spelling disaster.
Likewise, a wounded mind needs rest to recover. Force it before the scar heals, and the damage tears open again, just like this.
The three exchanged glances and bolted without another word. The Demon Empress watched them flee wide-eyed but couldn’t lift a finger. She could only snarl venomously.
“Hurry up and come here!”
“Would you go if she told you to?”
Long ago, in an era when everyone knew mental arts—mastering offense and defense—it was common knowledge about mental recovery.
Even then, healing spells for damaged minds existed.
Now, mental healing was legend, and mental attacks themselves were myths. Harma El was the first to experience one.
Naturally, such “common knowledge” was unknown to her or anyone.
Only after suffering it did she realize how vicious mental attacks were, but her pounding head offered no relief. Right now, she truly couldn’t do anything. Her mind wouldn’t focus.
“Those bastards...”
Gritting her teeth as the pain finally subsided, Harma El seethed. But her rage wasn’t aimed at Grimudo—it fell on the three women and one bird who’d exploited the opening.
She halted mid-pursuit, face paling in fear. The recent episode made it clear: something was wrong with her mind.
It wasn’t irreversible—with rest and no mental strain, she’d recover. But pushing herself would only worsen the wound, eventually overwhelming her natural healing.
‘No... I can’t become a drooling idiot emperor. What’s the point of the throne then?’
Her becoming mentally crippled? The mere thought horrified her. No matter her power, a crumbling mind meant a crumbling self—Demon Empress or emperor, what did it matter?
Imagining herself defecating on palace walls sent chills down her spine.
Desperate not to end up that way, she held off pursuit and surveyed her surroundings.
Fortunately, this wasn’t the Demon Realm but close enough. She could summon soldiers, surround the area, and smother them.
‘Rejoice for now.’
The Demon Empress burned with vengeance.
‘Once you’re in my hands, I’ll make you pay dearly for this humiliation.’
Then the ground trembled, and a massive explosion echoed from afar. Harma El dismissed it as auditory hallucination from the mental attack’s aftereffects—loud noise, no impact.
The Calderan supervolcano lay far south; only its eruptions’ booms reached here. No lava, not even ash yet—the distance was too great.
“I can’t tell if I’m dizzy or the world is. Seems like my mind took a fatal blow.”
She mistook the quaking earth for another幻觉 from the mental damage. A reasonable mistake, if misguided.
Her terror deepened. How bad must the mental issue be for everything to shake, her vision to swirl like a drunkard’s?
Frightened out of her wits, the Demon Empress shelved the chase. The hero party gained a brief reprieve, but it wouldn’t last. Harma El still had her sights on them.
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