"It sounds a bit like usurping a throne… is that where the name comes from?"
"You could put it that way," Magic replied. "But you can rest easy—Duels for the Throne only occur between witches of the same divine lineage. And the difference in rank can't be too great. For someone like you, who holds a Supreme God's Authority, only true gods would even qualify to challenge you."
"So that means my potential opponents are just five witches—the ones tied to Death's pantheon: the Goddesses of the Underworld, the Netherworld, Calamity, War, and Plague?"
Hel recalled the information she'd learned from Niv earlier and quickly summarized the deities within the Death pantheon.
"No," Fate said suddenly, her lips curling into an ambiguous smile. "There are only two."
She spoke slowly, eyes glinting with hidden amusement.
"The gods of the Underworld and the Netherworld are already complete—no more witches can inherit their divine fragments. And the last Witch of Plague died over a thousand years ago, consuming the final trace of the Plague God's scattered divinity.
So your only remaining opponents are War and Calamity.
Though from what War said earlier, you've probably realized it yourself—Calamity's whereabouts are unknown. No one knows if she's alive or dead.
That means you only need to watch out for War."
After everyone's explanations, Hel gained a much clearer understanding of the Witch of War.
First of all—she was a newborn witch.
That term referred to witches who had awakened their powers within the past century.
They hadn't yet reached the full potential granted by their divinity, nor had they begun their own path to apotheosis.
Which meant, in short—their raw power wasn't that high yet.
A newborn witch's strength generally ranged from Archmage to King-tier Mage.
Yes, witches started at Archmage level by default.
A fast learner could reach that level within a single year of awakening,
while slower ones might need three or four.
Still—far faster than any ordinary mage could ever dream of.
War had joined the Witches' Court about ten years ago.
That meant her baseline strength should be at least Archmage, possibly even King-tier.
No one knew exactly how strong she'd become—
not only was she part of the Court, but she'd also joined the Supreme Church.
Compared to the Witches' Court—a loose association of independent witches—
the Supreme Church was far more structured, like a true magical organization.
Hel also took the chance to ask about the situation in the Free Nation.
The summary wasn't great.
The Witch of Yomi had recently broken through to the Saint-tier,
and not long after, she'd encountered the Hand of Judgment—a high-ranking enforcer from the Judgment Church.
The two had fought from the Free Nation's capital all the way to the border.
Their final clash—when both unleashed their trump cards—
had obliterated nearly half of the Watchwall, the massive border defense line.
After the explosion, the Witch of Yomi disappeared—rumor had it she'd fled into Beastman territory.
The Hand of Judgment, meanwhile, was found gravely wounded and taken back to the Imperial Capital for treatment.
Then came the Beastman invasion.
Sensing an opportunity while the Watchwall lay shattered and reinforcements hadn't yet arrived,
the Beastman tribes launched their assault and seized control of the breached sector.
However, the Free Nation's lands were crawling with undead, so instead of charging deeper, the Beastmen turned inward—pillaging the interior along the Watchwall's path.
The first to suffer were the Nation of Sacrifice in the north and the Ocean Kingdom in the south.
And sandwiched between them—right along the southern border of Sacrifice—lay Heim Territory, separated from the Free Nation by just a forest. Naturally, that made Hel's domain the first in line to face the invasion.
Bad news: the Beastmen were coming.
Good news: there were still two Viscount territories between them and Heim.
Sure, those two might crumble easily…
but with the Church's warning and the Mandrake Grand Duke's preparations,
there was hope he wouldn't just let the Beastmen run rampant—
...Right?
Then again, that old snake might actually do just that.
After all, his attempt to poison Hel had failed,
and Hel had not only reclaimed all of Helm with overwhelming force
but had also eradicated the Black Mountain Bandits entirely.
Anyone could see now—Hel wasn't acting alone.
There had to be some mysterious power backing her.
Which meant the Grand Duke had a problem:
how to quietly remove Hel and seize the Mithril Mine in her territory.
He couldn't just wait her out—she'd outlive him.
And what if she eventually produced an heir?
Then the Heim lands would be secured, and the mine lost forever.
After all, the Duke still didn't know that Hel had turned female.
So if that old bastard was even slightly decisive, he'd likely seize this chance to kill with a borrowed knife—let the Beastmen do his dirty work.
He could just hole up in his castle, defend his own lands, and no one could fault him afterward.
After all, who could blame a mere duke for failing to stop an invasion from an army strong enough to rival the Three Human Empires?
So Hel needed a plan—a way to save herself.
Direct confrontation was out of the question, but she could try to stall for time.
The Watchwall garrisons wouldn't just stand by and let Beastmen rampage unchecked.
And with the forests and distance slowing them down, the first Beastmen wave would probably prioritize capturing the Watchwall completely—coordinating with their kin outside to crush the remaining defenders.
Once they secured that stretch of the Wall, they wouldn't have to fear being flanked and could safely push deeper for greater spoils.
But to do that, they'd need to commit most of their forces to the frontlines—meaning fewer troops would be available to raid nearby territories.
In fact, most of their troops would likely be redirected to intercept the Imperial reinforcements heading their way.
Because if the armies of the Three Empires arrived in time, the Beastmen might never take the Wall at all.
Which led Hel to one unpleasant conclusion.
For War to be so confident she could find Hel even amidst this chaos—she must have some kind of advantage, something that let her track Hel faster than anyone else.
The more Hel thought about it, the worse it sounded.
Maybe… it was time for a strategic retreat.
Because the last thing she wanted was for the Witch of War to discover—
to her absolute delight—that the soft little target she'd been hunting
was sitting right on her own doorstep.