Witch Monastery

The legends of evil witches they'd heard since childhood now surged through the cultists' minds, making their hearts tremble.

Most of them were natives of the South Harbor District—uneducated, barely literate, unable to even distinguish between undead and fiends. Naturally, they couldn't possibly discern that the so-called "witch" was, in truth, the same kind of being as the Master they worshipped!

"Master, if it's a witch, then grant us permission to exterminate her!"

The lead cultist suddenly spoke, his voice thick with hunger. "This is the perfect chance to test the statue's power!"

Ahead, Sophia's flagella swayed faintly, as if she were deeply confused and indecisive. "Mmm... Very well. Go."

The cultists immediately rose, working together to haul the completed statue onto a four-wheeled cart. Two of them began pushing it forward, their momentum furious as they prepared to charge outside and eliminate the "witch."

Sophia remained in place, eight cultists standing guard beside her. Meanwhile, the rest continued slicing open the brains of the investigation team members, crafting yet more statues.

No one heard the massive monster muttering to herself, her voice dripping with confusion:

"Ah... A witch who commands mosquitoes... So familiar... Who was she again...?"

...

Deep within the slums, Charles and a group of nuns raced toward the Timber Yard at full speed.

The three witches' collective mana recovery spell had worked better than expected—within just half an hour, his spell slots had gradually refilled to full. He was now completely combat-ready.

Without wasting another moment, he changed clothes and set out, following the path Andny had scouted earlier, heading straight for the Timber Yard.

As they hurried, Andny suddenly stiffened. "Master! New developments—Sophia is definitely at the Timber Yard!"

"Not only that... she seems to have founded some kind of cult. Right now, she's revealing her true form, accepting worship from those fanatics while dissecting captured investigation team members alive!"

Her voice trembled by the end. Though her worldview had been corrected, the sheer brutality of the scene still sickened her.

Yet instead of alarm, Charles' face lit up with relief. "The investigation team members are still alive? How many?"

This was genuinely good news. If the entire team had been slaughtered, even successfully purifying Sophia wouldn't prevent Blackstaff Tower from unleashing its wrath—dooming the South Harbor District to further chaos.

But with survivors, there was still room to maneuver. This disaster could still be contained.

"There are... ah—!" Andny suddenly cried out in pain, her face contorting as tears streamed down her cheeks. "Sophia attacked me. All the mosquitoes I controlled... they're dead."

"I'm sorry, Master. I couldn't get a clear count, but... roughly seven or eight are still alive..."

Her small frame shook with guilt. Her abilities had limits—anyone with moderately strong spellcasting could detect her controlled mosquitoes, destroy them, and harm her true body in the process.

Charles quickly reassured her. "You've done perfectly, dear. Now, what about Sophia's cultists? How many? Are they strong?"

Andny shook her head weakly. "Unclear. Best estimate... thirty to fifty."

"They're using the captured warriors' brains to craft some kind of massive magical statue. I don't understand its purpose, but it radiates powerful magic—definitely Sophia's work..."

A magical statue?

What kind?

Charles frowned. He knew of too many—gargoyles, cruciform idols, arcane constructs—and couldn't immediately place what the Insects Witch meant.

"Everyone, it seems we're not just facing Sophia's threat. Prepare for battle!" His tone turned grave. "Andny, how's your recovery? Keep scouting. I need more intel to plan our strike."

Wiping her tears, Andny forced her bloodshot eyes open. "Understood!"

Focusing, she summoned another swarm of mosquitoes and sent them toward the Timber Yard.

Then her expression twisted in shock. "Wait—Sophia's believers are fighting the Amazons!"

"And... there are twenty or thirty Amazons, but they're getting crushed!"

Charles paled. "We need to move faster. Now!"

If the cultists could overpower Amazons, their strength far exceeded expectations.

This demanded overwhelming force.

...

The streets outside the Timber Yard.

Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—

Globes of multicolored magical energy, each about the size of a football, streaked through the air before smashing into nearby walls, the ground, or fragile houses—then detonated with thunderous force!

BOOM—!

The dull explosions came in relentless waves. These magical orbs functioned like grenades, each producing different effects upon impact: some erupted in flames, others released shards of ice, bolts of lightning, or even sprays of acid and poisonous gas!

The raging fires illuminated the night streets, heating the surrounding air while a putrid stench mixed with toxic mist spread through the wind, assaulting everyone's senses. Even the approaching reinforcements couldn't help but gag at the foul odor.

Under this terrifying barrage of firepower, the hastily arriving Amazon warriors had no choice but to take cover behind buildings, forced into a frustrating defensive position as they waited for the enemy's magical energy to deplete.

Occasionally, one or two tried counterattacking with thrown spears—but their sporadic efforts were like trying to put out a wildfire with a cup of water. Not only did they fail to threaten the enemy, they only exposed themselves to return fire!

Taking cover behind one of the houses, Amazon executive Gale Porter ground her teeth in frustration.

With her experience, she immediately recognized the magical orbs being launched by the cultists—they were Chromatic Orbs, a 1st-level spell!

This spell had excellent range, formidable power, and could be tailored to any of the five damage types—making it perfect for battlefield adaptability or exploiting enemy weaknesses.

Aside from consuming spell slots and having a somewhat small blast radius (which slightly lowered its cost-effectiveness), it was practically flawless!

But this wasn't the time to critique spell efficiency. What weighed on Porter's mind was a far more pressing question:

How in the Nine Hells were all these enemies spellcasters?!

There had to be at least twenty cultists on the opposing side. Since when did the South Harbor District suddenly have twenty-plus spellcasters lurking around?!

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