Chapter 75: The Mysterious Visitor

Several hundred meters away, on the surface, Kira and the Witch heard the explosion.

Kira stopped walking. The eye not hidden behind her bangs turned toward the direction of the blast.

The knight order was supposed to have been lured away by false intel. So why was there still fighting near the academy? The only explanation was another group. Or the cult had a second base.

Either way, Fenria and Lumina were in that direction. They were strong, but if they had to deal with the cult while potentially getting caught in a three-way crossfire with the knights, the numbers didn't favor them.

That's why the Scribe said all three of you should go together.

Kira drew a breath, turned, and bowed to the Witch.

"Lady Witch, I need to support Lumina and Fenria. I'm going."

The Witch looked down at her.

Kira's ears were still red. The eye beneath her bangs shone too bright. But her posture and tone fought to maintain composure. The girl had been tracing characters on the back of her hand the entire walk. She thought no one noticed. The fingertip motions in the air had given her away long ago.

The Witch didn't expose her. She had no idea what the girl was writing—probably diligent notes. Her eyes curved slightly as she nodded.

"Be careful out there."

Kira straightened, bowed again, then turned and sprinted toward the explosion, vanishing into the shadows at the corner.

The Witch watched her disappear, then turned and stepped into a nearby alley.

The alley was narrow. Dead vines crawled up both walls. Overhead, a sliver of night sky squeezed between two buildings.

She walked to the deepest part and stopped beside a stack of neatly arranged empty crates. She placed the cloth bundle on top.

Her fingers loosened the ties and pulled out the folded dress. A two-tone black-and-white design—short, fitted. In Uriel's eyes, it probably qualified as some kind of military cosplay uniform.

He'd measured the size himself. A gift from her precious child.

She remembered him hunched over his desk, drawing design sketches. Sometimes he'd pause, chew the end of his pen while thinking, then keep drawing. The dress had been folded in that bundle the entire trip. Now it was finally time to wear it.

The Witch held up the dress and looked down at her pants.

A thin veil of light wrapped her body. The old outfit dissolved into particles, then reformed. The Holy Sword Witch's uniform materialized on her frame. This time, she wore the dress Uriel had prepared as part of the ensemble.

She reached into the bundle and gripped the hilt of the western sword. The blade slid free. When she sheathed it, a clear metallic hum rang out. She clipped the scabbard to her belt.

Everything ready.

The hem swayed lightly at her calves. She looked down at herself and nodded with satisfaction.

Then she gathered the bundle and discarded clothing, reached into the void, and stored them away.

She raised her right hand. Her fingertip traced a line in the air. Space split along a narrow seam. The fissure widened into a gate large enough for one person.

The Witch stepped through.

The gate closed silently behind her.

The alley returned to stillness.

---

Underground, at that exact moment.

For Seraphina, there was no way out. No room for negotiation. The man in front of her didn't care about consequences.

He wasn't killing her for profit. Not for a mission. Just for fun.

Seraphina lowered her center of gravity. Her footwork wavered. The needle marks on her arm from repeated blood draws still throbbed faintly. The injection sites were ringed with purple bruises. Hungry. Arms weak. Days of blood loss layering exhaustion on top of exhaustion.

And her opponent was a decorated knight from the order, full health, fully armed.

She was barehanded.

But she still took a stance.

Kargas moved. He beckoned her forward with a finger. Letting her have the first move.

When she didn't attack, he drew his knight's sword and tossed it to her.

Seraphina caught the blade, settled into a mid-guard stance, then lunged forward with a thrust. Simple. Textbook.

Kargas let her strike him. The blade stopped at his skin, as though it had hit an invisible layer of armor.

Seraphina tried to retreat.

Kargas moved.

No windup, no telegraph. Just a straight punch to the gut— simple as breathing, but impossible to avoid.

Seraphina's pupils tracked the fist. Her body couldn't keep up.

A dull impact smashed into her abdomen—like being hit by a dragon's tail sweep. Her entire body launched backward, tumbling across the ground, rolling several times before her back slammed into the stone wall. The collision forced every molecule of air out of her lungs. She couldn't breathe.

She collapsed at the base of the wall. Her ears rang. Her mouth tasted like rust. Limbs wouldn't respond. The edges of her vision went black. The cold stone seeped through her back and into her bones.

Dust filled the underground corridor.

She coughed once. Heat surged in her throat. A dark red smear dragged across her skin. Internal bleeding. She knew immediately. Ribs probably cracked too. Breathing sent a sharp, stabbing pain through her right side, like a small blade scraping with every inhale. Her fingers scraped against the stone floor. Knuckles white. But her arms had no strength. Couldn't push herself up.

I'm going to die.

Kargas walked over slowly. He looked down at Seraphina with the same focused expression a child has when crouching by an anthill, poking at ants with a stick.

"One punch?" His expression lost some of its initial amusement. He stopped two paces away. "Pathetic. I thought you nobles had some spine. Guess the bloodline skipped you.. If your cousin took this punch, she probably wouldn't even frown. Are you two really from the same bloodline?"

Seraphina didn't answer. She was using every scrap of willpower to control her breathing. Shallow inhale. Slow exhale. Minimize chest movement. The blood in her mouth—she didn't dare spit it out. Afraid it would come out in a flood.

Kargas tilted his head, watching her. Waiting for something. After a moment, when she still didn't respond, he shrugged in boredom.

No need for a finishing blow. Just leave her here. Internal bleeding would finish the job soon enough.

A kidnapped noblewoman, dead in an abandoned cult base underground. The kind of thing that wouldn't even make headlines.

He turned to leave.

Then he heard footsteps.

He listened carefully for the direction.

From above.

---

The sound of shoe soles striking stone came from the ceiling. Step. Step. Step. Each one clear and crisp, rhythm perfectly even, like a metronome.

Kargas snapped his head up. Seraphina heard it too. She wondered if she was already hallucinating from blood loss.

The footsteps walked across the ceiling, one step at a time.

Out of the darkness, a glow appeared. Emerald green. The translucent green of new spring leaves. It emerged from the depths of the corridor, rapidly condensing into a fist-sized orb, then shot straight toward Seraphina. So fast Kargas didn't even have time to react.

As for Seraphina—no time to dodge. No strength to dodge.

The green light slammed into her chest.

Warmth spread from the impact point throughout her body. The dull ache in her abdomen faded. The knife-scraping sensation in her chest gradually faded. Breathing became smooth again. Blood stopped seeping from the corner of her mouth.

The pain was healing.

Not just that. The deep, marrow-level exhaustion from days of repeated blood draws—the inability to lift her arms, the dizziness from standing too long, the constant chill in her fingertips—all of it receded.

She'd seen healing magic before. But this speed, this effect—far beyond anything in her experience. This wasn't healing. This was life transfusion.

"Who's there! Quit the theatrics and show yourself!" Kargas bellowed. His voice ricocheted down the narrow corridor, making the torch flames tremble.

A figure emerged from the darkness.

Upside down.

Shoe soles pressed against the ceiling. But the hem of her skirt didn't flip over. It stayed fitted against her legs, defying gravity's most basic rule.

She walked fully out of the ceiling shadows. Each step planted firmly. When she reached the point directly above the center of the corridor, she stopped.

If Uriel had been present, he would probably be screaming internally right now.

What is she doing now.

Then she flipped.

A single, clean rotation. Her body traced a half-arc through the air. The hem finally fell with gravity. Her hair dropped back to her shoulders. The sound of her landing was as soft as a book dropping on a cushion.

She stood.

The hem swayed one last time, then went completely still.

She raised her face.

Silver hair glowed in the dim underground corridor like it generated its own light. Every strand shimmered with a moonlit luster. Her eyes were like polished gemstones—bright, cold, and utterly empty. No killing intent, because there was nothing human left to feel it.

Because killing intent requires emotion. And the face before them didn't need emotion. Her expression was so cold it felt detached from anything human.

Seraphina shifted, sitting up, tilting her head back to look at the woman who had walked down from the ceiling. Her lips moved. She wanted to say "who are you," but her throat hadn't fully recovered from the earlier injury. Only a faint syllable escaped.

Kargas's smile hadn't disappeared. He'd forgotten to retract it out of sheer disbelief.

He felt no killing intent. That was precisely why every hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

He'd seen Orichalcum powerhouses on adventurer guild battlefields. Seen dragon-kin. Seen runaway ancient artifacts. But he had never seen a person walk upside down across a ceiling.

Interesting.

Her mana wasn't suppressed. It simply existed.

Not overwhelming. Not weak.

It was the kind of presence that made numbers meaningless

Then she spoke.

"I am the Holy Sword Witch."

She raised her chin slightly. Her right hand gripped the hilt of the western sword and drew it slowly. The blade carved a silver arc through the air before pointing toward the ground. The motion was smooth, unhurried.

Every torch in the corridor burned quietly. No disturbance.

But Seraphina felt it.

All the air in this underground space had frozen solid the instant she opened her mouth.