Recalling the past week’s ordeal, Velrian felt a headache and nausea.
Not because she lost, but because the process was pure torture.
Though the witches were physically frail, they could easily create powerful golems, familiars, and other constructs to fight for them.
Combined with their own absurdly strong magical firepower, a witch’s formation was nearly impregnable, requiring humans to field several times the forces in grueling attrition battles to win.
But Eze flipped that understanding on its head.
Like using clunky golems, huh?
Can’t fight without a formation, huh?
Well, let’s see what real tug-of-war looks like!
He assembled a purely knight-based force, split into small units, using the open terrain of Anlin Plain for hit-and-run tactics, driving Velrian to her wits’ end.
Chase?
Hilarious—she couldn’t catch up.
Exhausted from chasing, her formation scattered, only to get hit by a counterattack, suffering heavy losses.
Defend?
Eze would strike first, hitting here and there, day or night, ensuring no one slept.
Split forces to encircle?
He was waiting for it—scattered witches lost their firepower advantage, letting Eze pick them off bit by bit.
Days of torment left the frail witches exhausted, unable to rest, their mana drained, unable to maintain their golems.
Eze seized that moment to go all-in, taking Velrian out.
The most infuriating part? It was a blatant, open strategy.
Velrian knew Eze’s plan.
Eze knew Velrian knew his plan.
Velrian knew Eze knew she knew his plan.
But she was utterly helpless.
All her counterattacks, under Eze’s precise micromanagement, were futile and laughable, leaving her eating his dust the whole time.
“Do you know how I felt then?”
As she spoke, Velrian’s expression darkened, her hand trembling, crushing a cookie she’d just picked up.
“On the fifth day, during that night raid when the magic stone storage was burned, I was thinking—what would I do if I caught the enemy commander?”
“After making me suffer like that, I wouldn’t just kill him easily, right? I’d keep him alive, put a collar on him, raise him like a dog, and train him properly—just kidding.”
“Uh…”
Velrian’s face was grim, her eyes devoid of humor.
Definitely not kidding.
A chill ran down Eze’s spine as he glanced around, looking for anything to end himself quickly and cleanly.
Of course, there was nothing.
Breaking a vase to slit his wrists was an option, but too slow—easy to get healed.
Velrian noticed his wandering gaze and the cookie crumbs on her hand, seemingly struck by a playful idea.
Raising her hand toward Eze, she said:
“Come, lick it clean”
“…Huh?”
“A little reward, no special meaning. Come on, be good”
“…”
Eze’s stomach churned.
This conversation was veering into dangerous territory; he quickly changed the subject.
“The Anlin Plain thing wasn’t that smooth. I… cough cough—I was just gambling, betting you’d crack first.”
That was true.
Harassing witches with mobility was theoretically sound but carried huge risks.
First, there was zero margin for error.
A single misstep—getting caught or surrounded—and his mobility-focused, lightly equipped team would collapse, wiped out completely.
Second, kiting tortured the enemy but also his own side.
His knights’ fatigue was no lighter than the witches’, relying only on a slight stamina edge to outlast them.
“If you’d held out two more days without slipping, my team would’ve collapsed first.”
His outward calm was a facade; he’d been walking a tightrope, one wrong move from disaster.
Velrian pondered, then shrugged, retracting her hand and wiping it with a handkerchief.
“I couldn’t tell you were gambling… Speaking of, I’ve got a question—what exactly did you mean by ‘slip’?”
“Mana exhaustion, formation breakdown.”
Mana exhaustion meant no golems or familiars, no large-scale spell barrages.
A broken formation left Eze free to charge Velrian without resistance.
But the witch smiled lightly and shook her head:
“Really? Just that?”
Eze’s brow twitched, instantly catching her meaning, but he played dumb.
“What do you mean?”
“Yesterday, when you attacked, my forces were indeed scattered. But if my reinforcements had arrived in time, you wouldn’t have won. They didn’t—they betrayed me, just watching as you took me down.”
Mid-sentence, Velrian popped another piece of cake into her mouth, her face blooming with a smile, showing no trace of anger or frustration.
As if talking about someone else’s story.
“Betrayal’s not surprising. What’s odd is—how did you know?”
Though a Great Witch, Velrian wasn’t from a traditional witch family; she appeared out of nowhere years ago.
With overwhelming strength, she easily defeated the previous Great Witch and subdued all opposition, securing her position.
Temporarily.
Her subordinates, cowed by her power, would betray or backstab her at the first chance—something she knew well.
But Eze, a hero on the human side, shouldn’t know this.
“You not only knew our internal conflicts but factored them into your plan. Heh, care to explain why?”
“No, it was just a coincidence.”
“Coincidence? Tsk tsk, the famously cautious Hero Eze relying on luck? Maybe we’ve got a friend of yours passing you intel?”
Velrian’s gaze pierced Eze, who remained outwardly calm but was inwardly reeling.
Unfortunately, she’d hit the nail on the head.
Over the past two years, besides planning tactics and securing support, Eze’s greatest achievement was building an intelligence network within demon ranks.
Demons, even more fragmented than humans, were rife with internal conflicts—some hated their own kind more than humans. Finding and collaborating with them wasn’t hard.
Through these partners, demon intel was largely transparent to Eze, enabling near-miraculous victories.
But only he knew this—not even Liya was aware.
For one, his partners’ safety demanded absolute secrecy.
For another, Liya, a devout Goddess follower, was fanatical about demons; she’d throw a fit if she knew about such collaborations.
Yet now, Velrian had guessed it.
For Eze, this was the worst-case scenario.
For his partners’ safety, he could only deny it to the end.
He sighed, feigning helplessness.
“This world’s been killing each other for millennia—both sides hate the other to death. Where would I find demon friends to pass me info?”
“Hmm”
Velrian’s smile deepened, clearly unconvinced, and Eze knew she didn’t buy it.
But so what? Deny everything and find a chance to end himself.
Eze kept spinning lies.
“Honestly, I tried reaching out, but all I got was ‘get lost’ or attempts to kill me on the spot. No connections.”
“Sounds convincing enough. Anyway, I… hm?”
Velrian suddenly paused, as if sensing something, closing one eye.
It was a spell called sensory synchronization, letting witches see through their familiars’ eyes.
That black cat, one of Velrian’s known familiars, had been tracking and watching Eze, how he’d identified her.
But what was she seeing now?
Velrian stayed silent; when she opened her eyes, a mischievous grin spread across her face as she studied Eze.
“…What do you want?”
Her changed gaze unnerved Eze, a strong sense of foreboding spreading fast.
“Nothing, just thought of something fun”
The witch stood, smiling, and leaned closer.
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