The deafening crash reverberated through the valley, bouncing off the narrow cliff walls and shattering the night's tranquility with an ear-splitting din. Birds and beasts in the woods outside the valley were startled into a frenzy—flocks of birds took flight with shrill cries, circling the night sky and gazing down at their homes in confusion, utterly bewildered by the sudden commotion.
The Cyclops were no different.
Right beside the spot where Ophelia had crashed to the ground, a Cyclops had been sleeping soundly. When the thunderous blast jolted it awake, the brute felt no sense of danger whatsoever. On the contrary, it rubbed its groggy head, lumbered to its feet, and stared at the dust-choked ground with its single eye, too dim-witted to grasp what was happening.
But Ophelia had no intention of waiting for it to figure things out.
Just as the Cyclops was about to take a step forward to investigate, a shadowy blur lashed out from the swirling dust and struck it square in the chest.
*CRACK!*
With a crisp, resounding smack, the Cyclops—over three meters tall—was sent hurtling backward as if pummeled by an invisible giant fist. It let out a muffled grunt, slammed into the cliff face, and slid down to the ground. Even then, the brute couldn't help but cough up a mouthful of blood before its eyes rolled back in its head and it slumped unconscious. A deep, sunken whip mark now marred its thick, muscular torso.
It works!
Relief washed over Ophelia at the sight. Her fighting style was unlike anyone else's. Knights like Black relied purely on their physical strength when clashing with foes. But Ophelia was different—her body was a pure construct of magical energy. In other words, the extent of her strength was determined by how much magic she chose to channel. The same principle applied to spectral warriors like Judy, but with one crucial difference: as knights, Judy and her kind were not skilled at controlling their magic. They could only draw upon the power they had possessed in life. Ophelia, however, was blessed with a shadow affinity that allowed her to condense pure magic to its utmost potential. What's more, her innate magical reserves were astronomical—and after learning how to meditate from the twin sisters these past few days, both the quality and quantity of her magic were far beyond the reach of ordinary people. If she were to unleash her full power with a single swing, she could level a small hill without breaking a sweat.
But that was all just theory. Ophelia had never enjoyed fighting, and as a young woman, she had no taste for brute force and direct confrontation. She had only learned these theoretical principles as supplementary knowledge to understand her newfound abilities, never giving them much thought. Now, however, she had no choice but to put theory into practice. Of course, out of caution, Ophelia hadn't held out much hope for her offensive skills. But when it came to defense, she was more than confident—after all, she had been beaten to a pulp countless times in life-or-death training sessions. It would have been absurd if she hadn't picked up a thing or two.
So she had prepared two contingency plans before the battle began. First, if her attacks proved as effective as the theory suggested, everything would proceed smoothly. If her offensive power fell short of expectations, she would fall back on her defensive capabilities and implement Plan B. Now that her first strike had gone off without a hitch, things couldn't have been more perfect for Ophelia.
*ROOOOAR!!*
At the sight of their fallen comrade, the Cyclops that had come running at the sound of the commotion let out enraged bellows. A human would have hesitated, unsure of what they were up against—but these mindless brutes felt no such doubt. They roared, charged forward, and swung their fists and crude weapons, determined to crush the tiny figure standing before them.
But they were destined to fail.
Despite her nervousness, Ophelia remained remarkably calm in the face of the oncoming horde. Ordinarily, even the bravest soldier would panic when facing real danger for the first time, no matter how well they had performed in training. But this rule did not apply to Ophelia. She had already died once, after all—and during her sparring sessions with the twin sisters, she had danced on the edge of death countless times. That "training experience" had honed her instincts, allowing her to intuitively understand and respond to all manner of threats. The Cyclops might have been huge and terrifyingly loud, but Ophelia felt no fear or panic whatsoever. On the contrary, she often felt that way when facing those two smaller girls.
*CRACK!!!*
A flash of black light streaked through the air.
In the blink of an eye, every Cyclops charging at Ophelia froze mid-step, then went flying backward like their unfortunate companion, crashing heavily to the ground. The gust of wind from her powerful swing scattered the lingering dust—and at long last, Ophelia's figure was revealed in full.
She stood calmly on the ground, the slender diamond-shaped metal plates that had hovered behind her now fully expanded, forming a pair of wing-like shields that guarded her body. In her hand, a long, slender black metal whip coiled on the ground, its surface etched with intricate patterns and crisscrossed with scratches, faintly visible in the firelight.
This was only the beginning.
"A woman? Another woman?"
A cold, sibilant voice cut through the air. Moments later, the robed mage's figure materialized not far from Ophelia, his face hidden in shadow. His tone dripped with unmistakable irritation.
"Are you the commander here?"
Ophelia turned to face him, her voice steady. The mage let out a cold chuckle but did not answer immediately.
But Ophelia didn't need his reply.
"To catch the bandit, first capture the ringleader"—a maxim Black had drilled into her time and again. She was well aware of its meaning. What's more, she had gleaned some intelligence about this robed mage from the spectral maids. Even if he wasn't the leader of this encampment, he was undoubtedly an important figure. So before the mage could utter a word, Ophelia's black whip lashed out, streaking toward her distant target with blinding speed.
Her timing was impeccable, and her Illusionary Armament was an extension of her own magic, as familiar to her as her own limbs—its power was beyond question. Yet to Ophelia's astonishment, despite her near-perfect strike, her whip did not send the robed mage flying. He didn't even attempt to dodge. Instead, the whip passed straight through his body and slammed into the ground behind him?!
An illusion!
Ophelia's heart skipped a beat. At that very moment, the cold, shadowy voice echoed again.
"Pathetic."
As soon as the words left his mouth, a tiny black dot materialized out of thin air and landed beside Ophelia. In an instant, an impenetrable cloud of thick black mist erupted outward, swallowing everything in its path.
This was the exact same attack that had overwhelmed Lante and the others earlier. This magic-infused mist did more than just obscure vision—it completely numbed the senses. That was why Lante and his companions had been unable to resist and had been captured without a fight. It wasn't that they hadn't wanted to fight back—it was that they had been utterly helpless.
"Hmph."
The robed mage sneered as the black mist spread, shrouding Ophelia's figure from view. In truth, he had woken up the moment Ophelia arrived. But instead of revealing himself immediately, he had hidden in the shadows, observing the situation quietly. He had clearly seen Ophelia's face—undoubtedly a stunningly beautiful young woman, and quite possibly a powerful warrior. Her attire was certainly peculiar, and her whip possessed formidable power. But the mage paid these things little mind. Mages rarely deigned to take warriors seriously. What's more, there was no glimmer of soul energy emanating from Ophelia's body, indicating that she was not a mid-tier warrior—hardly a threat in his eyes. Judging by her equipment, she was likely a magic warrior of some sort. Her bizarre armament had piqued his curiosity, though. He had already decided that once he captured her, he would dissect her gear and study it thoroughly.
For this reason, the robed mage had not taken Ophelia seriously at all. Now that she was trapped in his black mist, he grinned triumphantly and immediately issued orders to the nearby Cyclops, commanding them to seize the woman. Of course, he didn't forget to warn them not to act recklessly, lest they repeat the disaster with the black-haired maid.
But just as the mage finished giving his orders, a new commotion erupted. The roars and bellows of Cyclops echoed from the valley's entrance, leaving the mage stunned.
What's happening? Could it be another attack?
The thought made him glance instinctively at the cage where Lante and the others were being held. He had long suspected the captives' true purpose. After all, the Crimson Fortress was currently under complete lockdown—sending troops all the way to this remote location was next to impossible. So why had these people come here?
The mage had originally planned to interrogate the captives, but the black-haired maid's death had soured his mood, and he had put the matter on hold. He'd figured he had plenty of time. Now, however, it seemed time was running out… The only silver lining was that he had finally figured out why these people had come.
Damn it all!!
The mage gritted his teeth. He had no idea how they had navigated the valley's labyrinthine paths to find the encampment, and these idiotic Cyclops hadn't even noticed their approach. What the hell were these brutes doing?!
Complaining aside, the mage knew when to set aside distractions and focus on the task at hand. He shook his head, then quickly barked out new orders.
"Reinforce the entrance at once! Hold the pass and kill all intruders!" But even as the words left his mouth, disaster struck.
A fierce gust of wind sliced past the mage's body. A moment later, the heavy thud of a Cyclops slamming into the cliff face rang out, followed by a bone-rattling crash. The mage jumped in alarm, his gaze darting back to the battlefield—and his eyes widened in disbelief.
The beautiful young woman with violet hair still stood calmly in the same spot. The Cyclops he had ordered to capture her lay sprawled on the ground in a tangled heap. And the magical black mist that should have trapped her was nowhere to be seen.
What in the world is going on?