Chapter 74: A Monster’s Retreat

‘Horace, that old bastard?!’

The old monster’s gaze fixated on the silver pendant adorning Lia’s chest, its continuous, radiant glow causing the blood to instantly drain from his face.

Within his murky eyes, malevolence and abject terror swirled into a tempest.

He distinctly recalled the unique magical fluctuations emanating from it.

He had also seen this pendant.

This despair-inducing magic was something he had personally encountered before.

Years ago, when he, in his arrogance, believed his life-stealing art had reached its zenith, and sought to transform a border fortress into his personal sustenance, this very power had instantly annihilated all his magical constructs.

Had he not fled with such haste and concealed himself so profoundly, he would undoubtedly have been reduced to dust by that individual.

Horace von Eisenberg.

The nine-ring Archmage, who regarded forbidden life arts as an absolute taboo and whose faith lay in the immutable laws of mathematics.

Now, the Guardian’s Heart, meticulously crafted by Horace himself, rested upon the very girl who had so thoroughly derailed his century-long machinations.

What did this signify?

It signified that Horace had long since been watching this very location!

A frigid chill coursed from the old monster’s tailbone directly to the crown of his head, causing both his body and his very soul to tremble.

He understood Horace’s temperament.

That old obstinate man, once truly enraged, would pursue his quarry to the ends of the earth with the relentless tenacity of a hunting hound.

Yet, he found himself without a path of retreat.

Centuries of meticulous planning, the fervent aspiration for eternal life, could not be allowed to culminate in failure now!

‘He must have it! Eternal life!’

His own desperate gamble now eclipsed his fear.

Horace was ensconced far within the royal capital; even if the Guardian’s Heart were to activate, it was utterly impossible for him to arrive in mere moments!

Provided he moved swiftly enough, he could dispose of the girl and obliterate all evidence before Horace could even begin to react…

He still had a chance!

‘What if she did possess high-tier scrolls? A seven-ring spell was already the absolute limit for her.’

‘She couldn’t possibly conjure an eight-ring spell at a moment’s notice, could she?’

“Horace, where is he now?”

The old monster’s voice rasped, as though he were desperately attempting to convince himself.

“He won’t make it in time to save you!”

Before the words fully left his lips, the air around Lia abruptly collapsed inward, the very laws of space forcibly warped, transforming into invisible, constricting tendrils.

A potent surge of alarm coursed through Lia.

Yet, not a trace of fear marred her expression.

A soft, resonant hum, akin to the gentle rustle of satin ribbons being untied from a lavish gift box, filled the air.

A profound, obsidian light erupted from within Lia’s spatial ring.

It manifested as a veritable deluge of black, intricate scrolls!

With a seemingly casual gesture, Lia plucked forth a voluminous stack of black scrolls, each intricately etched with runes of destruction, holding them with an almost dismissive ease.

Each individual scroll pulsed with a dreadful aura, potent enough to shatter the sanity of a seven-ring mage.

This immense power was, however, contained within the blacksmith’s shop by an invisible force field, ensuring not a single sleeping resident in the town was roused.

The old monster’s eyes widened, and his hand, which had been poised to strike, froze rigid in mid-air.

His eyes bulged from their sockets as he stared, utterly transfixed, at the formidable stack of black scrolls in Lia’s grip, his mind utterly blank.

‘No… you actually have them?!’

‘What in the hell…?’

‘Eight-ring… attack scrolls?’

His voice abruptly grew parched, each word emerging laced with a distinct tremor.

‘Damn it all, just how highly does Horace regard this girl?’

‘Could she possibly be his long-lost granddaughter, or something equally absurd?!’

The old monster’s gaze remained utterly glued to Lia’s hand.

When he had first encountered Lia, she had unleashed two seven-ring scrolls, prompting him to deduce that her background was exceptionally formidable.

Yet, never in his wildest dreams had he imagined a mere magic apprentice could produce a stack of eight-ring attack scrolls with such casual ease, as if merely pulling out a handkerchief!

What was more, at the very entrance of that minuscule spatial ring, several other scrolls, radiating an even more terrifying magical resonance, seemed to shimmer ominously.

‘Could it be… nine-ring?’

The old monster’s heart felt as though it had been seized by an icy, merciless hand, its frantic rhythm faltering to an almost complete stop.

‘Just how many high-level scrolls did she bring?’

‘Does she even comprehend the sheer destructive power these scrolls wield, casually holding them in her hand like this?’

‘Was she trying to wipe the entire Leafy Town off the map?!’

At that precise moment, his gaze inadvertently drifted to the other side of Lia’s chest.

There, nestled beside the silver pendant, another distinct medal was affixed.

A violet-hued medal, its surface catching the faint light, radiated a subtle, ethereal starlight.

The Violet Morning Star Medal.

The highest honor bestowed by the Kingdom’s National Academy of Magic, reserved for those who had made epoch-making contributions to the world’s understanding… for true *monsters*.

Boom!

Within the old monster’s mind, it felt as though a volcano had erupted with cataclysmic force.

The Guardian’s Heart.

The Violet Morning Star Medal.

And… eight-ring attack scrolls, potent enough to annihilate an entire legion.

He felt his entire worldview crumbling and fracturing, inch by agonizing inch.

Lia’s grip on the scrolls tightened, and fine beads of perspiration began to prickle at her temples.

While she harbored uncertainty about her ability to perfectly control such immense power, her gaze remained frigid and unwavering, conveying that any further hostile movement from her opponent would result in her unhesitatingly reducing the entire area to scorched earth.

The two remained locked in a tense, silent standoff.

The scales within the old monster’s heart swung wildly, precariously balanced between his fervent desire for eternal life and the stark terror of instantaneous obliteration.

Was he truly willing to provoke such an unfathomable monster, whose background and power defied all comprehension, all for the sake of a nebulous, uncertain future?

As Lia observed the volatile, shifting emotions on his face, a faint sense of calm settled within her.

“Who… who exactly are you?” the old monster asked hoarsely.

Lia did not reply.

She merely nudged the uppermost scroll in her hand forward by a mere fraction of an inch.

The magical fluctuations emanating from it intensified abruptly, turning feral.

The old monster felt a palpable, crushing pressure, one he instantly recognized as the very essence of death.

He knew he had no choice left.

He understood, with chilling clarity, that if he dared to make a move, the girl would unleash those scrolls without a moment’s hesitation.

With the Guardian’s Heart protecting her, she would emerge unscathed.

As for himself, and his centuries of painstaking machinations, their fate would be far less certain.

He didn’t want to gamble.

The old monster drew a deep, shuddering breath, forcibly quelling the tumultuous fear and bitter reluctance that roiled within him.

He slowly lowered his raised hand.

The suffocating, space-distorting pressure receded, washing away like a retreating tide.

Lia felt an immediate lightness permeate her body, and the sharp internal pain, a consequence of the magical confrontation, dissipated entirely.

The old monster cast one final glance at Lia, his eyes brimming with an utterly complex and inscrutable expression.

He did not utter another word.

With a mere flicker of his form, he completely dissolved into the encroaching shadows of the blacksmith’s shop.

‘Run, I must run immediately! This place is exposed, Horace could track me here at any moment!’

Lia’s tightly coiled body finally began to slowly unwind.

The scrolls in her hand simultaneously lost their ominous glow, and she carefully returned them to her ring.

She then turned her head, her gaze falling upon the three-ring corpse.

It remained standing there, utterly still, its dull, lifeless eyes reflecting the interior of the blacksmith’s shop with a dead calm.

Lia stepped forward, extending her hand, her fingertips gently brushing against its forehead.

“Rest in peace.”

She whispered.

A soft, ethereal white light blossomed from Lia’s fingertips, instantly engulfing the entirety of the corpse.

Bathed in the hallowed glow, the corpse’s form began to dissolve, fragmenting into countless motes of light that, like fireflies on a summer’s eve, slowly drifted and vanished.

The lingering wisp of soul, imprisoned for a century, had finally attained its ultimate liberation.