Chapter 238: Leftover Witches and Other Threats

Amalia couldn’t believe what had just happened.

How could she have misjudged that man so catastrophically? Never in her wildest schemes had she imagined Thalion would have the audacity to launch an all-out attack—so openly, so mercilessly.

She had worried briefly when she failed to dominate the captured vampiress, but why attack now? That had seemed unthinkable. At the moment she was paying the price for her complacency and it was steep.

If she could manage to land a fully empowered mental strike, even Thalion might succumb to her charms. Her lips curled into a sly, wicked smile at the thought of kissing that man, binding his soul to hers like a chained puppet.

Securing Jim, a man blessed with a legendary gift, had already been a stroke of unimaginable fortune. But Thalion? He stood even higher than Jim. She had never suspected that the smallest of his forms, the eagle would be so nightmarishly powerful.

Now, most of her followers lay dead or dying, while Thalion showed no signs of exhaustion.

Any ordinary warrior would have been out of mana by now. That meant only one thing: his soul was abnormally powerful. Harder to dominate, yes—but not immune. Not if she struck in unison with the others. The only problem was landing the blow. The eagle refused to come close, instead circling high above, bombarding them with deadly precision, eliminating her allies one by one with ruthless efficiency.

Amalia still didn’t understand where the blue flames had come from—why every fire, even those conjured by her own mages, now burned with that unnatural azure glow.

And both portals—shut down. That was a serious issue. Not a single member of her coven had stayed behind in the city, thanks to Maike, that relentless bloodhound. The woman had hunted down every last one of her girls, forcing them to regroup. Some people still remained under Amalia’s control, but without constant reinforcement, their minds might begin to heal. That would take time—and worse, it meant they might recover fully. Amalia doubted there were any mentalists strong enough to repair the kind of soul damage she’d inflicted before the natural healing did the job.

The most terrifying part of her abilities, however, was how her soul fragments melded with her victims’—making them seem like an organic part of the soul.

Even severe damage would heal in time. Normally, she consumed their essence entirely, eliminating any risk of rebellion. With Jim, she had tried something different—feeding only partially, allowing him to grow in strength. It had proven quite interesting. Under her command, warriors like him progressed rapidly, their devotion fueling their evolution. But even now, with the formation enhancing him, Jim wouldn’t be a match for Thalion. That man... he was something else entirely. Amalia couldn’t fathom how he had grown this powerful so quickly or how he was still fighting at full strength without the slightest hint of fatigue.

Even those devastating lightning beams didn’t seem to drain him.

A normal mage would have collapsed after firing two. Yet he kept blasting ship after ship with no sign of slowing. Now, the skill she was charging was ready. Power surged through her body, her veins glowing faintly beneath her skin with dangerous light. She sent out a signal: all remaining fighters were to gather at the flagship. If they could concentrate his attention, they might finally draw him in.

But Thalion allowed no one to reach the main vessel unchallenged.

The last few ships were shattered mid-air, bodies flung into the void. Over half of her remaining fighters were already dead. Still, the eagle refused to show itself. Whatever ability he possessed to blend into the background made him nearly invisible—especially amid the surreal, flickering light of the blue fire that seemed to burn the very air.

Then suddenly he was there.

He surged upward from beneath the skyship like a storm incarnate, lightning already gathered in his beak. The blast vaporized fifteen fighters in a single, blinding instant. All of them had been looking the other way—unprepared, unaware. Amalia nearly released her attack into thin air, but by the time she refocused, Thalion was already soaring over a hundred meters above them, charging yet another cataclysmic strike.

“We need to bring him down!” she shouted at her inner circle, but none had an answer.

Another lightning beam shook the flagship, throwing burning wreckage into the sky and sending the next group of defenders to their deaths. Time was running out. If she couldn’t halt him, couldn’t stall him for even a moment, she would be forced to use her emergency escape token. And that would mean admitting failure.

“Activate the portal!” she screamed toward the shield team.

“You just need to insert the control rune—it’ll go live!” If they could bring the portal back online, it would force Thalion to act. He’d have no choice but to descend. Otherwise, they could vanish into the city and wait out the remainder of the tutorial. They still had plenty of pawns embedded in the civilian population. It was a gamble. But at this point, it was the only move left to play.

It seemed Thalion saw it the same way.

The eagle form didn’t dive again—instead, he soared above the battlefield, slicing through the air with wind blades aimed at the fighters sprinting toward the portal. None struck true. Jim hurled himself into their path, intercepting each blade with his sword, which pulsed with radiant light. But this display of gallantry only seemed to irritate Thalion.

With a flicker of mist, Thalion shifted back into his human form and reappeared directly in front of the portal. His sword gleamed as he unleashed a vicious arc through the air, cutting down those trying to activate the portal.

Perfect.

With Thalion grounded, focused on the skirmish at hand, Amalia seized her moment. She unleashed the mental assault she had been charging this entire time. Just before she released it, Thalion had felled her last remaining supporters with brutal efficiency—and wounded Jim so grievously that the man collapsed to his knees, his strength rapidly fading. Without the support buffs, he stood no chance. He would die within seconds.

A smile curled across her lips as her attack hit.

It landed fully—direct, flawless—and... nothing. Thalion staggered slightly, pausing just short of finishing off Jim, then shook his head as if clearing a fog. His gaze lifted. His crimson, glowing eyes met hers—and a wave of raw mental energy struck back. Amalia’s vision shattered like glass. Her knees buckled and she crashed to the ground, stunned.

How?

No one should be able to simply shake off a skill like that. Let alone retaliate with a counterattack of his own—especially not one that hit that hard. This wasn’t just unusual. It was wrong. Dangerous. She needed to flee before it was too late.

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With a mental command, she activated the fail-safe.

Every cultist around her simultaneously pulled out their emergency escape tokens, vanishing in flashes of white light. Jim barely managed to trigger his own just as Thalion’s blade pierced clean through his chest—he disappeared mid-impalement. The last thing Amalia saw before the light took her was the demon in black armor, bathed in now crimson red fire, staring at her with those burning, unblinking eyes.

<--

Meanwhile, at the edge of the dunes, Logan stood before the catacombs.

A jagged fortress of dark stone had been erected over the entrance, bristling with skeletal guards, undead patrols, and looming vampire silhouettes. For over a day, they had waited—hoping the main battle had pulled away reinforcements. But if anything, the undead seemed more concentrated than ever. It felt like every corpse in the region had been funneled into this hellhole.

Still, Logan couldn't turn back.

This mission had been sanctioned by his patron, and it had to be done. His force was formidable: over a thousand capable fighters. But the enemy held the high ground—and who knew how many abominations waited in the catacombs below? At least they had a strong unit of mages and archers who could support from the rear once the enemy's outer defenses began to break.

"Form ranks! We attack now!"

Logan’s voice boomed across the field. "Protect the mages and archers until the shields fall!"

Soldiers scrambled into position, unfolding layered magic circles across the sun-scorched desert. Runes glowed as power coursed into them, extending the range and potency of the support spells. Archers readied enchanted arrows while fire, frost, and lightning spells surged at their fingertips.

The undead didn’t move.

Instead, they focused their energy into reinforcing the barrier that shielded the fortress. Logan narrowed his eyes. Something didn’t sit right. The vampires on the walls weren’t even responding to the bombardment. The shield shimmered as it absorbed the first fireballs. Ice shards, thunderbolts, and all manner of elemental attacks followed, but the barrier remained unbroken.

Why weren’t they retaliating?

The walls should have been covered in auto-inscribed magic circles—at least that’s what Logan's base had included when he purchased it weeks ago. Surely the vampires had similar protections? And yet, no projectiles, no counterattacks. Just silence and shadows shifting atop the wall.

"They’re not even attacking. What are they waiting for?"

Steven—the light-blessed lancer—growled under his breath, clearly frustrated. Though he bore a legendary blessing, his strength had waned after weeks of fleeing from vampire squads. Once promising, now he was a shell of his former potential.

"It doesn’t matter why," Logan snapped back. "If they’re standing still, all the better. Don’t question good fortune."

He couldn’t afford doubt infecting the ranks. Not now. Logan was one of the strongest here and after visiting the system shop, his cultivation had jumped several realms. Countless discounted items had reinforced his body and granted him immense boosts to strength and endurance.

Magic circles etched into the sand finally flared to full power.

With the sun blazing overhead, the first empowered fireball struck the undead shield. The impact lit up the battlefield, but the barrier didn’t even flicker. Vampires continued to watch from the shadows—unmoving, unbothered.

They were planning something.

Logan could feel it crawling at the back of his mind. The tension in the air wasn’t natural. This wasn’t defense. It was patience. The calm before a storm of claws and fangs.

Still, it was too late to back down now.

Did he not understand the weight of his behavior around the weak? He internally swore at Steven for his comment before.

Even the young girl managed to keep quiet—her fear buried beneath a mask of fragile determination. Pathetic. And yet, the water mage was different. Cold. Unmoving. Her posture was rigid, her face unreadable, but her eyes burned with quiet resolve. Something had changed in her, perhaps in all of them. The tutorial, for all its cruelty, had a way of reshaping people into harder, sharper versions of themselves.

Hours passed beneath the scorching sun as the bombardment continued relentlessly. Though wall-breakers had been prepared for use, they hesitated to deploy them recklessly—sending one on a suicide mission now would be wasteful. Better to save them in case the tunnels beneath the catacomb had been sealed.

As daylight faded and the desert chilled, the vampires stirred. Still, they did not attack. Instead, the figures atop the walls turned and bowed toward the fortress within.

"Someone big is coming," Annie whispered into the tense silence.

A heartbeat later, they all felt it.

The aura struck like a wave of gravity.

Logan’s breath caught in his throat. He clenched his jaw, trying to maintain composure. Whatever presence lay behind those walls hadn’t yet emerged, but even its suppressed aura was suffocating. How could something like this be allowed in a tutorial? He had clawed his way to power—cut down allies when necessary, fought smart, bought upgrades at every opportunity. And yet... this? This was monstrous.

The gates creaked open.

She stepped out with the grace of an empress and the menace of a predator. Her smile revealed two fangs as she walked forward, each step echoing with dread. Her eyes gleamed with unrestrained hunger, a raw, feral energy radiating from her like heat from a furnace.

The bombardment ceased. Shock rippled through the ranks as the mages and archers faltered. None of the other vampires dared follow her. They remained bowed, unmoving, as Valeria Valencrest crossed the shield—unopposed.

"Keep firing!" Logan shouted, his voice ragged with urgency.

This was bad. Terribly bad. He knew deep down that even with his elite team, their odds were grim. Maybe, just maybe, they could overwhelm her with sheer volume and arrows plus spells amplified by magic circles and prayer. But even that was a fragile hope.

All eyes locked on Valeria. Her transformation began slowly, then accelerated like a nightmare unfurling. Wings of shadow erupted from her back. Her limbs stretched unnaturally long. Fingernails blackened and warped into claws. Her once-silken hair withered, her skin darkened like obsidian, and her form elongated into something wholly inhuman.

By the time she stopped walking, Valeria was no longer a woman—she was a horror made flesh.

The aura intensified. Logan could feel it physically pressing against him, crawling along his spine. His confidence wavered. Every soldier in the line had unknowingly taken a step back. For the first time in a long while, Logan questioned whether he should simply activate his escape token.

One of the mages—desperate and likely without a token—launched a massive fireball.

Time seemed to freeze. The searing sphere of flame hurtled through the air, aiming straight for the heart of the monster.

It never landed.

The vampiress blurred. One instant she stood afar, the next she was inches from Logan—grinning, claws raised.

“Fuck...” Logan managed to choke out.

A flash of agony tore through his chest. Her claws carved deep, slicing through skin, muscle, and even bone. Heat turned to numbness, and he stumbled back, watching in horror as his own blood rose into the air—twisting, dancing, obeying her will. It wasn’t his anymore. It never had been. It belonged to her.

An ice shard screamed past him. The vampiress tilted her head and darted aside.

From the corner of his eye, Logan saw Annie and Steven vanish in blinding light—escape tokens activated. No hesitation. Just survival.

He didn’t wait either.

Blood pouring from his chest, Logan reached for his own token and vanished just as the vampiress’s shadow fell over him again. He had no interest in playing hero. Not against something like that. Not today.

He only hoped the army would satisfy her hunger long enough for him to get clear and heal.

That night, across the dunes of the quiet desert, screams echoed.

Valeria Valencrest slaughtered an entire battalion—an army crushed by one single vampiress. And when the silence finally returned, it did so like a grave being sealed.