Into the Graveyard Gate
Entering the gate was easier than I'd expected. Everyone nearby had already evacuated, so there was no need to worry about prying eyes—I just walked right in.
"This place is way too gloomy..."
A purple sky shrouded in thick fog. Gravestones dotted every corner. Anyone could tell this was a graveyard. No monsters or people in sight, no matter how I looked around. The only living things were the occasional bare, leafless trees.
I'd charged in without a second thought, but truth be told, I knew zilch about gates.
"Guess I'll poke around some more?"
Standing still wouldn't get me anywhere. I got moving right away. Luckily, the fog wasn't too dense, so scouting the surroundings was a breeze. I could see about fifty meters in every direction with the naked eye. The road was uneven but well-paved with stones, making it easy enough to walk.
Graves lined both sides of the path, but they didn't creep me out or anything. If something like this gave me the shivers, I'd have to ditch the witch title on the spot. Witches and graveyards—what a perfect combo, right?
The popular image of a witch is some evil old hag cackling in a dingy shack built in a place like this. Well... honestly, I've heard tales of witches living in graveyards to snag corpses for research materials, so fair enough on that front. But cackling? Witches are people too—we laugh when we're happy. Evil? That's a personality flaw, not our fault. And old hag? Witches don't age like that.
Our bodies are so attuned to mana that unless we actively suppress it, we never get old enough to be called grannies. At worst, we're "mature ladies." It varies by individual, but even I wasn't quite at that level—people often called me "miss" or "young lady."
"Even thinking about it now, I can't figure out the criteria... Genetics? Nah, no way. Just look at Macaron."
The benchmark for when a witch's growth stops has nothing to do with genetics—that much is obvious from Macaron Pruschya, one of the Seven Pillars witches like me. She looked like a middle schooler at best, while her Pruschya sisters had properly developed figures. She claimed she was still growing... but at over four hundred years old? Yeah, right. Sometimes you have to face harsh truths whether you like it or not. Poor senior...
Lost in thoughts of our tragic, a new sight emerged through the fog. Black silhouettes sharpened into view. Towering buildings with razor-sharp spires pierced the sky ahead of me.
"A cathedral?"
Built to honor gods, those spires symbolized humanity's desperate reach for the divine. Not some modest Korean chapel—this was a massive one, straight out of a textbook with frescoes on the walls.
"Yeah, jackpot. Can't get more suspicious than a giant cathedral plopped right here in plain sight."
I headed straight inside.
The moment I stepped in, a faint smell of burning embers greeted me, along with candles struggling in the darkness. The building was absurdly huge; ground-level flames couldn't hope to illuminate the vaulted ceiling. Unless something was lurking up there, I didn't need to worry about it.
Clack—
As I glanced upward, the sound of rods clashing echoed from somewhere.
Clack— Clack—
The noise grew more intense. I cast a low-level spell, [Light], toward the source. A humanoid figure gradually came into view, revealing the culprit behind the rattling.
It had once been a person approaching me. Now, its flesh had rotted away entirely, revived by necromancy—a skeletal warrior.
"Whoa, skeletons? In a cathedral? What gives?"
A single skeleton wielding a two-handed sword appeared before me. Such an odd pairing. A holy place brimming with divine power, crawling with undead summoned by dark sorcery... Talk about contradictions.
Clack— Clack—
With no cartilage left, bone scraped against bone, the echoes filling the cathedral. The louder it got as it closed in.
"Tch, these things are just brittle—no fun smashing 'em..."
The skeleton raised its two-hander overhead and lunged to cleave me down.
Crunch!!
I beat it to the punch, driving my fist into its ribcage first. The skeleton shattered into fragments. Bone shards and its orphaned sword clattered across the floor.
And there I stood, staring blankly at the mess.
"......"
......Boring as hell.
Just like I'd figured, it was no different from a training dummy—hard and dull. I wasn't looking for fights without thrill or payoff. Moving the body was fine, but this lacked any entertainment value, like the difference between running and tag. Should've hit up a hotel for a movie instead...
Sorry, skeleton bro. You were less fun than a one-hour documentary.
I let out a deep sigh, flexing my fist and rolling my shoulders in a stretch.
"Well, my goal was mana depletion anyway... From here on, skip the efficient hand-to-hand and go for mana-guzzling spells."
Situations like this were rare for a witch. Mana is our lifeline—wasting it recklessly exposes our weakness. That's why we obsess over maximizing efficiency with minimal mana. It's the calling of those blessed by mana.
Clack. Clack. Clack-clack. Clack-clack. Clack-clack.
Skeletons had surrounded me before I knew it. Armed with two-handers like the first, plus one-handers, axes, spears—full arsenal.
Seeing them, my lips curled into a grin.
"Respawn rate's impressive."
I spread my arms wide and began silent casting. No ambient mana, so double the usual cost. And inefficient mana burn to boot. Baseball-sized lava orbs started orbiting me, multiplying over time. Soon, they formed a Saturn-like ring, bathing the dim cathedral in red glow.
"Hehe, [Chasing Lava] x50—go!"
The chant complete, the orbs rocketed toward the encircling skeletons at blinding speed.
Deep within the cathedral.
The three hunters who'd rushed into the gate first weren't from some big-name guild, but they were solid C-rank veterans on average.
But...
"Huff...! Huff...! Huff...!"
A man sprinted through the darkness. He'd just gotten promoted to B-rank.
Boom—!!
"Gahhh...!!"
Something flew past him and slammed into the ground, knocking him sideways from the shockwave. He groaned, struggling to rise, but collapsed again upon seeing it embedded in the floor.
A massive greatsword, drenched in fresh blood over two meters long. Dripping still. He knew whose blood it was—his freeloading junior he'd dragged to the Han River embankment for a "successful hunt," and his clueless buddy who'd tagged along. Both gone now. They'd been toasting with canned beer just thirty minutes ago.
Thud— Thud— Thud—
Something enormous approached, shaking the earth. His brain screamed run, but terror had locked his body. Stay here, and he'd rust on that blade too.
"Fuck...!! Move...!! Move, damn it...!!"
No dice. Legs frozen. He crawled using his upper body instead.
Dragging through debris wasn't ideal—sharp stones gouged his forearms, bruises bloomed everywhere. But for survival, it was nothing.
Drip— Drop—
Footsteps halted; rubble shifted. He glanced back slowly. A colossal figure retrieved its sword.
The greatsword's owner. No— to it, that wasn't a greatsword. Just a one-hander. It swung the blade in a wide arc skyward.
"......Ha... Haha... Ha."
All he could muster was a hollow laugh. B-rank or not, he was powerless.
'Fuck... Should've ignored this gate and hooked up with that chick earlier... Who cares about achievements...'
As he gave up, awaiting the descending blade—
Whoosh—!! Kaboom—!!!
Fireballs streaked toward the giant skeleton from his escape direction, smashing into it dead-on.
Crash—!
Bones melted; it toppled, losing balance.
Too fast to process. Then, not the heavy thud he'd feared, but light footsteps approached.
They stopped. From his prone view, women's canvas sneakers entered sight.
"Ugh! Fake Golden Sun shoes?!"
Her face twisted like she'd stepped in filth.