Sacrifice.
Solis had not performed such an act for a long time. After the failure five years ago, he knew that the Lord of Fate would hardly be pleased with the failure of the Hand of Truth.
The Lord favored changeable processes but despised outcomes that slipped beyond control.
Having served Fate for many years, Solis naturally understood his master’s temperament. To avoid punishment and to show his resolve, he had not once actively sought power during those five years.
But now was different.
The Lord of Fate would not tolerate a second failure.
…Yet Solis would never know that the master he served loyally had no intention of telling him that Reese had already left.
The exalted Sovereign cared little for his loyalty and even less for his determination.
Mortals were nothing more than disposable tools—like pollinating insects. Once they completed the “fate” set for them, they were to be decisively discarded.
And the more this happened, the more these lowly mortals blamed themselves, fostering even stronger faith.
Who could resist such a surefire scheme?
“No… No! Master, why do you abandon me?”
The moment the trigger was pulled, Solis realized something.
Fate did not respond.
The power within the Sovereign’s domain was stirred by the profane words, condensing into a strange blue crystal upon the remnants of the Hand of Truth’s body—but this power did not extend to Solis.
Yet the trigger had already been squeezed.
Like a flying knife thrown at a clown during a circus act, the bullet’s immense force instantly blew open the soldier’s head, blooming a red spider lily inside his brain.
Then, his lifeless body fell stiffly to the ground.
Staring at the absurd scene, Ina was momentarily stunned.
…She had thought he was about to unleash something huge, but it was actually suicide?
If Loki were here, he could have explained the process of sacrifice to her.
As a ritual to please the Sovereign, the practices varied between different faiths.
As a slave of the Lord of Fate, Solis’s way of sacrifice was “escaping the destiny of death.”
If the ritual proceeded normally, once Fate glanced at him, Solis’s pistol would jam or misfire, and he would receive a blessing for a limited time.
The blessing of Fate granted the believer enhanced physical attributes and the power to foresee the future.
With this, Solis, skilled in close combat, could dodge every spell with speed too fast for Ina to react and close the distance to his advantage.
Unfortunately, he was abandoned.
Fortunately, the Sovereign did not let him die in vain.
The blue crystal, cast into this world, greedily absorbed the souls of the profaners.
Those profaners who lunged at Ina or were still regenerating after having half their bodies blown off by spells suddenly scattered like dust.
“No—”
Ina quickly realized the situation was not improving but worsening rapidly.
She pressed a button on the staff’s handle, and the metallic rod emitted a mechanical “squeak” as it slowly unfolded like an umbrella, revealing its original menacing form, exuding a cold and cruel beauty.
As a tool to amplify and stabilize spellcasting, the staff was essential for any caster, and its form naturally evolved with the times.
Like cigarettes, there were traditionalists and innovators.
The staff in Ina’s hand, beyond its original function, also boasted the practical advantage of “still working well.”
—In summary, what Ina now held was a cannon.
The jewel-encrusted protrusion at the staff’s tip was actually a spell shell.
Its power was enough to breach the city defense spell shield of Caesania.
But don’t misunderstand—not all casters were as “lucky” as Ina to obtain such an expensive experimental weapon.
“I hope it doesn’t fail me now… Deep breath, then… aim.”
As a knowledgeable witch, Ina naturally knew what would hatch from the crystals on the profaners’ bodies.
—Demons.
As mentioned before, profaners were cocoons waiting to hatch.
Once the cocoon hatched, a demon was born.
Regrettably, this cocoon was impure.
Though Solis believed in Fate, not all remnants of the Hand of Truth shared the same faith.
With such a mixture, the creature born would not be a pure demon, but a messy stew of misfits.
—The space warped.
A huge quadruped beast appeared.
It had metallic-colored claws, but where its head should have been was a purple fleshy blossom like a starfish, extending numerous spiked tentacles.
Its body was strong and hard, covered with many rusty armor plates.
On its back were a pair of incomplete, decayed wings, stuck with large patches of blue feathers.
It was by no means a “creature,” but a completely irrational, illogical, and unnatural “creation,” as if hastily painted with a brush.
“Fire…!”
Fear and disgust escaped Ina’s breath, then she exhaled the negative emotion.
Even encountering this abomination for the first time wouldn’t leave her mind blank; after all, the Witch Academy never spared her mental training. Ina had witnessed far stranger scenes.
She pressed the button again, and a silver meteor howled through the air, rushing forward.
Although the newly born monster sensed the threat, any reaction now would inevitably be too slow.
The shell struck the creature’s body.
Then came the explosion.
Flames and thick smoke roared upward, filling the entire underground space.
The ensuing shockwave and violent tremors could have shattered anyone nearby.
Fortunately, Ina immediately raised her shield after firing, sparing herself from becoming a helpless puppet.
The blast caused further collapse in the already fragile experimental site.
Ina exhaled in relief but glanced nervously at the staff’s charred tip.
The spell shell was naturally not designed for close combat… next time, she’d use it from farther away.
But it was not yet time to celebrate. That thing was probably not dead.
Judging by its strength, the demon’s rank was not very high, but their advantage lay in terrifying blood defense stats and special mechanisms. Even the most basic third-rank demon required a five-person squad of ordinary soldiers to match.
…Not to mention this one had absorbed many profaners and Solis himself, making it at least rank eight.
“Roar!”
A deafening roar blew the smoke away, revealing the monster’s body, riddled with holes.
Even so severely wounded, it retained formidable combat power.
The humiliation of having its spring sealed filled it with rage, and it charged the culprit head-on. Its metallic claws and strong limbs crushed obstacles like a bulldozer.
Worse, the explosion had left Ina no room to maneuver, and the creature’s destructive forelimbs were already inches from her face.
Endure it…?
Even an old man wouldn’t survive the force of this beast stomping his back.
Still recovering from the cost of firing the spell shell, Ina doubted her shield could withstand the incoming attack.
But the monster suddenly stopped.
Ina looked at the claws just a few meters away.
If she didn’t move in the next second, she would be brutally sliced in two.
What could possibly make this furious giant halt?
She raised her head, narrowing her eyes.
In the flesh blossom that served as the creature’s head lay a bloodied finger—
Encased in pitch-black, icy flames that radiated a deathly silence, making the witch instinctively want to cross her arms in a protective embrace.
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