"Witches!" the Excalibur swordsman shouted, his blade gleaming with flame.
Two witches appeared at the edge of the forest, riding twisted wooden sticks.
"But we haven't even seen one yet," the Axe Swordsman replied, gripping his heavy weapon tighter.
"Could be an ambush," his voice was low, tense.
"That's what makes it worse," the Marksman muttered, notching another arrow. "They're hiding... watching... waiting."
A low hum filled the air—then a sharp screech, like a tear in reality.
Suddenly, from the shadows ahead, one of the witches raised her twisted wand and conjured an orb of black flame. It spiraled through the air before coming toward them with violent speed.
BOOM!
The dark fire smashed into our Light Barrier, and with a shattering sound like breaking light, the shield cracked and burst apart into fading light.
"The shield's down!" the Priestess cried, her voice rising in panic.
The monsters came without hesitation—twisted beasts of flesh and bone, crawling and snarling through the shadows like they had been waiting for the barrier to fall.
The Marksman fired rapidly, his Holy Light arrows streaking through the gloom and exploding in brief flashes of light. Each shot pushed back the creatures—but they kept coming.
"I'm running low on magic energy!" he warned, voice strained, sweat streaking his face. "I can't keep this up much longer!"
The Priestess aimed her scepter at the witches, her palm glowing faintly. "I will cast Light Magic spell—just hold them back!"
A loud rustling rose beneath our feet as thorny vines burst from the soil—alive and hunting. The thorns coiled like snakes—curling, twisting, and snapping at anything within reach.
"It's the other Witch's magic! They're trying to trap us!" the Axe Swordsman yelled, hacking at the vines.
"Don't let the thorns reach us!" the Excalibur swordsman commanded, slashing through the twisted roots with radiant arcs.
He and the Axe swordsman hacked relentlessly at the vines, their blades flashing through the dark growth until every last thorn was cut down and the path was clear.
Dark laughter echoed from the trees.
The witches were near.
The witches flew into our area, riding twisted wooden sticks that circled above us—like the Soul Snatchers we fought before, but this time, the fear was different.
They swung their hands, fingers stretched wide—nails long, black, and curved like daggers, glinting in the dim light.
They couldn't come too close—not with my companions standing strong.
But it sucked that I couldn't do anything to help them. My wooden arrows were all gone. I was useless.
Then it came—a chilling cackle that echoed through the air, sharp and broken like shattering glass.
A chorus of cruel, unnatural voices rang out from above. It wasn't just sound—it was a curse, pressing into our skulls, making it hard to think... hard to breathe.
"Kekekekekeh!"
"They're coming closer!" the Marksman shouted.
One of the witches dived, her sharp nails aimed straight at the Priestess—fast and deadly.
But before she could strike—
SLASH!
The Excalibur swordsman lunged in, cutting across with a radiant arc of his blade, intercepting the attack in a flash of light.
"Ahghh!" the witch screamed, her hand severed mid-air, black blood spilling from the wound.
The witches descended lower, drifting just above the ground now. Their bodies were wreathed in strands of dark mist, faces twisted in rage and hunger.
They hovered across from us, joined by snarling monsters at their side—smiling, grinning, eager for blood.
Their presence made me tremble. My knees felt weak. My heart pounded too fast.
Then the wounded witch raised her head. Her eyes locked on us, and a wicked grin stretched across her face.
She pointed her wooden wand—etched with strange glowing crystal—toward her severed hand.
The wand flared to life, pulsing with dark light.
And before our eyes, her hand began to regenerate, flesh twisting and reforming like it was being rewound by black magic.
We stared in shock.
They couldn't be killed so easily.
"I'm done channeling my Light Magic!" the Priestess exclaimed, her voice ringing with urgency.
She raised her scepter high, its crystal glowing brighter with every heartbeat. Sparks of divine energy danced around her as the power surged.
Then, with fierce resolve, she pointed it toward the witches and the monsters.
"I summon thee-O radiant light, from holy realms, shine with purity strike and illuminate the wicked!
"Light Magic: Light Beam!"
Spell Description: Holy Art / Ranged / Charging / High- Intensity / Line Attack / Offensive
(Light Beam is a concentrated blast of radiant energy channeled through holy weapons or relics such as a scepter. Once fully charged, the caster releases a brilliant beam of searing light that tears through darkness, burns corrupted creatures, and purifies evil. When unleashed, the beam fires in a straight line with the roar of thunder, leaving a glowing trail in its wake.)
"I know they don't like Light Magic!" the Priestess said.
The monsters charging into the area shrieked as they were engulfed by the light—some turned to ash, others collapsed, blinded by the holy radiance.
But the witches didn't even flinch.
Dark flames and thorned magic surged around them, forming a shield that deflected the beam.
"What? I've been practicing that Light spell ever since I became an Adventurer…" the Priestess whispered, her knees hitting the ground, eyes wide in disbelief.
Just then—
"Haaaahh!!" the Excalibur swordsman let out a fierce roar as he charged toward the witches, his blade igniting with blazing fire.
"Flames, rise with my blade! Let the ember surge forth and burn all that stands!"
"Surging Slash!"
Skill Description: Fire Art / Melee Skill / Ignition / Charge Attack / Weapon-Based / AoE (Area of Effect) / Arc Slash
(Surging Slash is a melee skill that channels intense fire magic into the user's weapon. With a single, forceful swing, the blade releases a large, flaming arc that cuts through the air and scorches everything in its path. The flaming slash bursts forward like a wave of molten heat, capable of slicing through enemies and igniting the ground behind it.)
A large slash of flames struck the thorns and the dark flames, shattering their defenses in a burst of light and heat.
"Caleb!" his companions shouted—the name of the Excalibur swordsman echoing through the chaos.
Caleb surged forward, blade blazing with divine fire, charging straight at the two witches. Any monsters that dared block his path were cut down, their twisted forms scorched and broken in a single swing.
"Lorde, back him up!" the Marksman called out to the Axe swordsman without hesitation.
Without a word, Lorde charged in, his heavy axe raised high, cleaving aside the snarling beasts that tried to flank Caleb.
Meanwhile, the Marksman stayed in his position in our area, firing Holy Light arrows rapidly, taking down smaller monsters approaching from the sides. I could see the exhaustion weighing on him—his breathing ragged, hands shaking from overuse.
I just kept watching their battle, silently praying they'd win this one. The clash of steel, the roar of flame, the shrieks of monsters—all of it surrounded me, yet I couldn't move.
I stood frozen—useless. Every swing of Caleb's blazing sword, every arrow fired by the Marksman, every thunderous strike from Lorde's axe—it all unfolded like a legend I had no place in.
I had never faced witches before. I'd only heard stories whispered in my village. Even the Blood Moons were rare—terrifying omens that turned the sky red and awakened dark things from beneath the earth.
Every Blood Moon, monsters come into our villages, knocking and willing to barge into our houses, but they couldn't enter because of the lamb's blood on the door. I've never seen witches.
So why now? Why here?
And these witches... they weren't just spellcasters. And judging by their power… these weren't ordinary witches. They were something far more dangerous.
Even with all our strength, we were barely holding them back. I could feel it—their presence didn't just threaten our lives—it threatened our very souls.
I clenched my fists on my wooden bow.
All I could do... was hope.
Hope that my companions wouldn't fall.
Hope that light would prevail over shadow.
Then—a screech from above.
The witches rose into the air once more, mounting their twisted flying wood sticks, black mist trailing behind them as they ascended like carrion birds returning to the sky.
The two swordsmen were still fighting monsters below, their weapons clashing against claws and bone.
I looked up and saw the witch who controlled the dark flames—her lips moving as she chanted an incantation under her breath. A small black flame emerged in her palm, flickering ominously.
Then, without warning, she hurled it toward us. The small flame surged through the air, growing larger and larger as it approached.
"Above!" I shouted, pointing urgently to the sky to alert the Marksman and the Priestess.
"Vangeline!" the Marksman yelled.
The Priestess had already begun chanting her incantation a counter-spell—but from where I stood, I knew she wouldn't make it in time.
The dark flame had already grown massive, roaring through the air like a meteor. Just before it hit us, the Marksman lunged and dragged both of us aside, narrowly dodging the blast.
The dark flame exploded, striking the spot where we had just stood. A wave of force slammed through the ground, and flickering embers scattered in every direction like cursed sparks.
Then I saw it—the Marksman's back, touched by one of the burning fragments.
"Fred, your back!" the Priestess exclaimed.
The flames burned away his clothes, turning them to ash, and they didn't stop—licking at his bare back, leaving his skin red, blistered, and burning under the heat.
Without thinking, I reached out and touched the dark flame clinging to his robe.
"Aghhh!" I cried out.
Pain shot through my hand—the flame burned deep, faster than normal fire. My palm was instantly scorched.
Both of us groaned and gritted our teeth in pain, trying not to scream.
"These aren't ordinary flames," the Priestess said, panic creeping into her voice. "They can't be put out by normal means—not even ordinary water."
She knelt beside us, holding my hand and Fred's back carefully.
"These flames can only be dispelled by Divine Magic or Water Magic," she continued. "If your party doesn't have a Priestess or a Water Mage, this kind of flame can be fatal."
Putting her scepter in the ground beside her, she began chanting, her hands glowing softly with sacred light.
"By the grace of Raphael, the healer divine, With your healing touch, take away all pain."
"Divine Magic: Divine Heal!"
In moments, the divine glow washed over our wounds. The flames vanished, and the pain began to fade.
The burns were gone.
Meanwhile, the two swordsmen continued battling across the field. We had been pushed all the way into the crops in the farm area, the fight scattering us.
And from above, the witches laughed again—their cruel, mocking voices echoing through the smoky air as they prepared another spell.
The Priestess, trembling, stood back up and began chanting again, her voice shaky but determined.
I could tell.
She was nearing her limit.
After all the Divine and Light spells she had already cast…
She was running out of strength and magic energy.
We looked to the sky and saw the witch who uses dark flame magic beginning her chant once again. Her voice echoed with power as she whispered an incantation—then she blew a breath into her palm.
We watched, uncertain of what she had just cast.
But the Priestess, despite her exhaustion, managed to raise a Light Barrier around us, shielding us from whatever was about to come.
"Light of the divine, become our shield!
By the grace of heaven, let no darkness pass!"
She quickly chanted the incantation.
"Light Barrier!"
Inside the barrier, I noticed tiny flecks of black ash floating in the air—dust-like flames drifting slowly around us.
We stared at them, puzzled.
Then suddenly, those harmless-looking specks ignited into a wave of dark fire, swirling like a storm and crashing into our barrier.
The circular Light Barrier held, pushing back the flames—for now.
"I can't hold it… the flames are too strong... I'm running out of magic energy!" Vangeline cried, her voice strained.
The golden light of the barrier flickered and began to blur, weakening with every second. We were seconds away from being exposed—completely vulnerable.
"Ahahahaha... oh, how fragile your light is!" the witches giggled from above, their voices proud and triumphant.
Out of nowhere, a powerful stream of Water Magic surged forward, colliding with the dark flames. The corrupted fire hissed and evaporated into mist. The Water Magic had come just in time, washing away the last of the curse before our barrier collapsed.
The Priestess, spent and trembling, let her head fall gently against the Marksman's shoulder, barely staying conscious.
My eyes darted around, searching for the source and trail of the stream of Water Magic swirling and floating mid-air.
Then I saw her—a woman appearing through the crimson night.
A figure stood calmly on the road ahead, her wand glowing blue—its tip pointed straight at us.
From it streamed the Water Magic I had seen earlier, still swirling and floating mid-air, as if waiting for her command.
I still couldn't make out her face clearly because of the lingering smoke in our area.