Eternal Undying Chronicles

Chapter 158 Nothing I Haven't Seen Before

Alicarde scoffed, glancing at the three beautiful witches.

"I've heard better lines from a shitty movie… don't you have any originality?"

His tone was soft and condescending, clearly looking down on the witches, though he remained on guard, mentally noting every detail.

They didn't carry the overwhelming mana he sensed in the warlocks before, yet he sensed an immense control over magic—a telltale sign of seasoned spellcasters. These witches were elders in the coven, not novices.

Malefica stood silently, frowning. The limitations of her "Triple Reload Goddess" spell were evident—it took too long for her actions to snowball into significant results, and her curse prevented her from using her full spell-casting abilities outside Evergreen City. Plus, the hex she cast on the coven had halved all powers, weakening even her Triple Reload spell.

'Seems I'll have to rely on Alicarde again,' she thought.

Alicarde positioned himself protectively between Malefica and the three witches, watching them closely as the violet-haired witch stepped forward.

Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

"He sure got you, Helga… What an amusing man. If Cassandra hadn't asked us to kill him, I'd have loved to have him."

The emerald-haired witch, Helga, glared at her.

"Shut up, Madera… this isn't time for your games. We need to do this quickly and get back to the village."

Alicarde observed them, noticing the auburn-haired witch frowning.

"Can you both shut up? You might reveal something crucial."

Helga covered her mouth, glancing at the auburn-haired witch,

"Right, sorry about that… Vidalia."

Vidalia nodded, turning her gaze to Alicarde.

"Apologies, but we have to kill you… can't risk you making a mess of things, but…"

Her gaze softened momentarily as she looked back at the others.

"I'm willing to bend the rules a bit. Hand over Lady Malefica, and leave. We'll pretend this never happened."

The other two witches blinked, surprised.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Madera hissed, frowning.

"That's not our orders."

Vidalia waved a dismissive hand, "I know. Just seems unnecessary to start a battle over nothing."

The emerald-haired Helga seemed unconvinced but stayed quiet. Alicarde looked at Malefica, smirking.

"These guys sound like they're selling snake oil… and here I thought you were the only scammer among witches."

Malefica rolled her eyes.

"I have half a mind to join them and kill you right now."

He smirked under his hood. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't."

Helga's irritation flared as she watched them.

"Are you two ignoring us…?"

She glanced at the others, raising her hand. "Enough of this small talk—just kill him!"

With a wave, a spellbook materialized in Helga's hands, the others following suit. Alicarde remained unfazed.

"Neat trick," he said, drawing his sword.

"I can do even better…"

He took a defensive stance in front of Malefica.

"Say, professor, they say the pen's mightier than the sword… does that apply to books too?"

Malefica sighed, her tone exasperated. "You'll find out soon enough."

Alicarde pointed his sword toward the witches. Malefica's hazel eyes grew colder as she gave him a stern warning.

"Don't kill them…"

He nodded, his expression fierce, as she added,

"I'll support you."

The air between them was thick with tension, both sides wary and biding their time. The witches hesitated, their caution clear—Alicarde had defeated the warlocks, and they didn't know the limits of his power, especially with that ominous presence lurking in his shadow.

What should have been a three-on-two battle was an even three-on-three.

With a faint whistle of wind, a leaf drifted down, touching the ground, and in that instant, all hell broke loose.

The forest trembled from the violent clash of magical forces. Alicarde's mana radiated like a storm, far surpassing the power of any typical mage. Malefica, with her thousand years of wisdom and triple Reload Goddess powers, wielded a force few could fathom.

Then there was Wrath—the internal bicorn, infamous for decimating the mightiest warriors of the Nightshade Tribe. Together, their power could reshape landscapes.

The witches, on the other hand, were no less formidable. Each was a seasoned elder, steeped in ancient knowledge and dark magic. The clash of power was explosive, colors bursting across the forest, blasts echoing like thunder.

Helga, the emerald-haired witch, was the first to strike. She chanted, and a stream of corrosive green energy hurtled towards Alicarde.

He reacted instinctively, dodging the initial beam as it crackled past him, scorching the earth where he once stood.

He wove through successive blasts, his movements agile and precise, each sidestep a fraction of a second from disaster.

But as Helga increased her onslaught, her beams closing in on all sides, Alicarde realized he was surrounded. He swung his sword in a wide arc, intending to deflect the beams, but as the blade cut through them, the magic dispersed effortlessly, as though it were air. Helga's beams scattered, dissipating like mist against the black steel.

Alicarde paused, just as Helga froze, eyes wide with shock.

'Did I just… cut through her magic?' Alicarde thought.

His grip on the sword tightened. He'd known this weapon was special, but he'd never been forced to wield it against sorcery or test its abilities in such a manner. Until now, his training had been restricted to other blades, none imbued with anything beyond the mundane.

"Damn… what do you know," he muttered to himself, marveling at the blade.

Around him, magical explosions continued as Malefica and Wrath held their ground against the other two witches. Alicarde's mind clicked into place; he wasn't just any warrior wielding a sword—he was now the very bane of magic. And Helga was his prey.

He smiled mischievously.

Helga's shock evaporated quickly. Her eyes narrowed as she flipped through the pages of her grimoire, fingers tapping on a specific incantation.

Alicarde felt a strange sensation in his body, as though his organs shifted, though there was no pain. Before he could react, Helga murmured under her breath, summoning ghostly orbs that danced around her, transforming into identical clones of herself.

Each doppelganger was a mirror image, her original body fading into mist, reappearing among the copies.

"Think you can tell which one's the real me?" she taunted, a gleeful malice in her tone.

Alicarde grinned beneath his hood, sidestepping another violet beam that flew his way from the nearby brawl between Malefica, Wrath and the other witches.

"Nah all look like single sluts to me"

He noticed Malefica's feet hovering just off the ground—she was conserving her power, clearly planning to save her strength for the final showdown with Cassandra.

She was buying him time, so Alicarde had to dispatch these small fry quickly, though calling a witch of Helga's caliber a "small fry" bordered on madness.

She fumed unleashing another assault.

The witches' assault continued without pause. Helga's clones hurled a barrage of spells toward him, each one a distinct incantation—a flurry of curses, elemental blasts, and hexes streaking through the air. Alicarde's sword flashed, slicing through the glowing arcs of magic as he moved, each stroke dissipating the attacks into harmless wisps.

He weaved through the chaos, focused and unrelenting. But one spell—a cunningly concealed curse—sank into the earth around him. The ground erupted into jagged spikes, rising up to skewer him. Alicarde barely had time to twist midair, using gravity control to angle his body away from the lethal spikes.

But rather than retreat, he used the momentum to hurl himself toward the auburn-haired witch, Vidalia.

His speed doubled, centrifugal force propelling him like a missile, his trajectory calculated.

She realized the threat a split second too late, her eyes widening before she vanished, attempting to teleport away.

Alicarde pivoted his gravitational pull, instantly shifting his direction mid-flight, his gauntleted fingers brushing against her as she reappeared. The razor-sharp claws on his fingers sliced across her chest, tearing through her robes.

Vidalia stumbled back with a startled yelp, collapsing onto the ground as she clutched her chest, her face a mixture of shock and embarrassment as she struggled to cover her exposed skin.

Alicarde, landing in a crouch, couldn't help the small smirk that played across his lips as he took in her disheveled state.

"Damn!"

Madera, the violet-haired witch, glanced at him with an amused smile.

"Well, well… I knew this one was a beast."

Helga, however, looked at him with absolute disdain, her voice dripping with contempt as she snarled,

"You animal… how dare you debase a woman like that?"

In the midst of the battle, Malefica sighed, her palm meeting her face as she rode Wrath, clearly exasperated.

Alicarde felt the need to defend himself, raising an eyebrow at Helga's judgment.

"Excuse me, you were the ones who attacked me first! If anything, you're sharing the blame here."

He turned his attention to Vidalia, who was still trying to conceal her modesty, her pale skin flushed red.

"And besides, it's not like I haven't seen it all before… what's the big deal?"

His attempt at reassurance, however, only made things worse. Vidalia's face scrunched up as her eyes filled with tears, her shoulders shaking as she burst into sobs.

Alicarde's mouth dropped open, caught completely off guard by her reaction. He struggled to process the sight—this powerful witch, now reduced to a teary mess.

His astonishment was almost comical, though his face was obscured beneath his hood.

'Did I… really just make her cry?'

He thought in disbelief, mentally kicking himself.