"What… am I… doing?"
Morrigan stared blankly at the little skeleton in her grasp.
Her mind had descended into chaos — words refused to form properly, her thoughts collapsed into a jumble of noise, and even her language system itself was breaking down.
She could no longer piece together a complete sentence in her own head.
Worse still, her memories were slipping away. She couldn't remember who she was, or why she was even here.
"You are—"
Hel had only managed to say two words before abruptly looking into the distance, her tone softening into a murmur.
"I was planning to run a few more experiments on you, but it seems that won't be possible now. Well then, my dear Miss Morrigan — I hope you enjoy my little gift."
[Intermediate Death Magic: Soulfire]
As soon as the spell was invoked, the little mage's body was engulfed in pale-blue flames.
In the blink of an eye, her entire form turned to fuel, feeding the fire and making it burn even more fiercely.
Morrigan, holding the mage, was scorched by the first wave of the blaze. Acting purely on instinct, she waved her hand — and a surge of black energy burst out, snuffing the flames in an instant.
But before she could make sense of what had just happened, a deafening roar echoed from afar:
"That wicked aura—! You must be one of those scum from the Cult of Ascension!"
The voice arrived before its owner did. A heartbeat later, Augustus, in his massive dragon form, came barreling across the ruins like a living storm.
He showed not the slightest hint of mercy — one massive claw slashed downward toward Morrigan, the gale of its descent carrying a crushing might that could split mountains.
Under that colossal claw, Morrigan looked as fragile and helpless as a small white rabbit.
Anyone watching would think she'd be pulverized in the next heartbeat.
Yet, against all expectation — the moment the claw descended, Morrigan instinctively lashed out.
Countless black tendrils erupted from her shadow, writhing upward to meet the dragon's strike.
With a thunderous boom, the two forces collided.
A massive shockwave ripped through the air — Augustus's enormous body was hurled backward, crashing into the earth below.
But the shadowy tendrils didn't fare much better; they dissolved into puddles of tar-black blood that splattered across the ground.
"I… wha… am… I…?"
Morrigan mumbled incoherently again. Her vacant eyes stared into nothingness — she couldn't even form a proper word anymore.
Then, a teleportation array bloomed under her feet.
Before she could react, she was swept away in a flash of light.
When Augustus returned, the dragon's eyes fell upon the fading magic circle where Morrigan had been.
With a roar of fury, he slammed his claw into the ground, sending tremors echoing across the land, his voice rising into a thunderous dragon's howl that shook the heavens.
Meanwhile, far to the southwest of the Aira Royal Court, deep within a canyon — a beautiful young girl completed a teleportation ritual, summoning Morrigan to her side.
The moment she saw Morrigan's twisted, vacant expression, her face went pale. She hurried to help her — but as soon as her hand brushed against Morrigan's skin, her own eyes glazed over.
Within seconds, the girl stood frozen — just as blank and lifeless as Morrigan.
The other girls nearby gasped and immediately backed away several steps.
One of them, her expression grave, said:
"Don't touch them. Don't connect to their memories. And whatever you do — don't destroy them.
If you do, both their clone and their real body will be contaminated."
Another spoke up, worry clear in her tone:
"This contamination is troublesome. Joy merely linked her mind with Angel's for a moment — and she was infected instantly."
"We can't touch them, but we have to contain them somehow."
"Ugh, what a headache. Let's wait for the main body to arrive. I don't want to end up like that."
"Shut up, Phil. If the main body gets infected, we're all finished."
"Then what do we do?"
"We wait for her."
"Good idea."
The remaining three girls — each with distinct features and bearing — formed a distant circle around the two vacant ones in the center. None dared to say another word.
Elsewhere, Hel, having completely severed her connection with the little mage, exhaled in relief.
To be honest, she had considered using a Loyalty Word to bind Morrigan as a subordinate.
But two reasons held her back:
First, she wasn't certain whether the effects of her Words would even carry over to a being's main body.
Second, that woman's identity was clearly far too complicated — not someone Hel wanted to entangle herself with.
After all, she wasn't yet strong enough to act recklessly.
As for the Paramecium Word, it was the advanced form of the "Brain-Dead" Word — the final evolution of that entire series.
Its effect was exactly as the name implied: it could instantly turn even a seasoned powerhouse into a mindless fool.
Not everyone, after all, had Niv's four-hundred-plus knowledge stat.
For most beings, just coming into contact with that Word was enough to leave them drooling and dumbfounded.
Speaking of Niv — Hel realized she'd been gone for nearly half a month since heading off to the goblin ruins.
No word from her yet.
Hel frowned.
"I wonder how her golem research is going."
With the Cult of Ascension's grand scheme now completely unraveled, and the Beastmen unlikely to launch another offensive until winter ended, she found herself with little to do in her own territory.
"Well then," she mused, "I might as well pay Niv a visit. Maybe I can lend her a hand."
At that same time, above Mandrake City, a griffin descended from the sky.
Brenda rushed into Mandrake Castle, panic written across her face.
But what greeted her inside made her heart sink — corpses littered the floor.
She searched the entire castle in desperation, but found no survivors.
In a hidden chamber on the second floor, she discovered the old duke — long dead and cold.
On the third floor, she found her own mother — blood leaking from every orifice, slain by poison.
The sight struck her like a hammer. Her knees buckled, and she nearly collapsed.
"My condolences… Brenda."
The Third Princess entered behind her, her own expression solemn — though a faint, suppressed glimmer of joy shone in her eyes.
With the old duke dead, her plan to push Brenda into power could finally proceed.
With a ruling duchess on her side, and her own political capital, her chances of inheriting the throne of Seraphis had just risen dramatically.
Even though Mandrake Duchy lay in ruins, it was still one of the three great ducal territories of the Sacrificial Kingdom.
Or rather — two, now.
Before arriving, they'd already received grim news:
Most of the Snowveil Principality had been swallowed by a tide of black sludge, its lands now crawling with demons.
That territory was effectively gone — turned into a new battlefield.
And so, the weight of the Mandrake Duchy's influence had grown all the more important.
In every world, in every kingdom, the struggle for succession was a brutal, merciless game.
And if the Third Princess didn't want to become just another political pawn — a tool to be married off to some decrepit noble for the sake of an alliance — then there was only one choice left to her.
She had to fight.