Eternal Undying Chronicles

Chapter 158 Nothing I Haven't Seen Before

Alicarde scoffed, glancing at the three beautiful witches.

"I've heard better lines from a shitty movie... don't you have any originality?"

His tone was soft and condescending, clearly looking down on the witches, though he remained on guard, mentally noting every detail.

They didn't carry the overwhelming mana he sensed in the warlocks before, yet he sensed an immense control over magic—a telltale sign of seasoned spellcasters. These witches were elders in the coven, not novices.

Malefica stood silently, frowning. The limitations of her "Triple Reload Goddess" spell were evident—it took too long for her actions to snowball into significant results, and her curse prevented her from using her full spell-casting abilities outside Evergreen City. Plus, the hex she cast on the coven had halved all powers, weakening even her Triple Reload spell.

'Seems I'll have to rely on Alicarde again,' she thought.

Alicarde positioned himself protectively between Malefica and the three witches, watching them closely as the violet-haired witch stepped forward.

Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

"He sure got you, Helga... What an amusing man. If Cassandra hadn't asked us to kill him, I'd have loved to have him."

The emerald-haired witch, Helga, glared at her.

"Shut up, Madera... this isn't time for your games. We need to do this quickly and get back to the village."

Alicarde observed them, noticing the auburn-haired witch frowning.

"Can you both shut up? You might reveal something crucial."

Helga covered her mouth, glancing at the auburn-haired witch,

"Right, sorry about that... Vidalia."

Vidalia nodded, turning her gaze to Alicarde.

"Apologies, but we have to kill you... can't risk you making a mess of things, but..."

Her gaze softened momentarily as she looked back at the others.

"I'm willing to bend the rules a bit. Hand over Lady Malefica, and leave. We'll pretend this never happened."

The other two witches blinked, surprised.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Madera hissed, frowning.

"That's not our orders."

Vidalia waved a dismissive hand, "I know. Just seems unnecessary to start a battle over nothing."

The emerald-haired Helga seemed unconvinced but stayed quiet. Alicarde looked at Malefica, smirking.

"These guys sound like they're selling snake oil... and here I thought you were the only scammer among witches."

Malefica rolled her eyes.

"I have half a mind to join them and kill you right now."

He smirked under his hood. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't."

Helga's irritation flared as she watched them.

Each doppelganger was a mirror image, her original body fading into mist, reappearing among the copies.

"Think you can tell which one's the real me?" she taunted, a gleeful malice in her tone.

Alicarde grinned beneath his hood, sidestepping another violet beam that flew his way from the nearby brawl between Malefica, Wrath and the other witches.

"Nah all look like single sluts to me"

He noticed Malefica's feet hovering just off the ground—she was conserving her power, clearly planning to save her strength for the final showdown with Cassandra.

She was buying him time, so Alicarde had to dispatch these small fry quickly, though calling a witch of Helga's caliber a "small fry" bordered on madness.

She fumed unleashing another assault.

The witches' assault continued without pause. Helga's clones hurled a barrage of spells toward him, each one a distinct incantation—a flurry of curses, elemental blasts, and hexes streaking through the air. Alicarde's sword flashed, slicing through the glowing arcs of magic as he moved, each stroke dissipating the attacks into harmless wisps.

He weaved through the chaos, focused and unrelenting. But one spell—a cunningly concealed curse—sank into the earth around him. The ground erupted into jagged spikes, rising up to skewer him. Alicarde barely had time to twist midair, using gravity control to angle his body away from the lethal spikes.

But rather than retreat, he used the momentum to hurl himself toward the auburn-haired witch, Vidalia.

His speed doubled, centrifugal force propelling him like a missile, his trajectory calculated.

She realized the threat a split second too late, her eyes widening before she vanished, attempting to teleport away.

Alicarde pivoted his gravitational pull, instantly shifting his direction mid-flight, his gauntleted fingers brushing against her as she reappeared. The razor-sharp claws on his fingers sliced across her chest, tearing through her robes.

Vidalia stumbled back with a startled yelp, collapsing onto the ground as she clutched her chest, her face a mixture of shock and embarrassment as she struggled to cover her exposed skin.

Alicarde, landing in a crouch, couldn't help the small smirk that played across his lips as he took in her disheveled state.

"Damn!"

Madera, the violet-haired witch, glanced at him with an amused smile.

"Well, well... I knew this one was a beast."

Helga, however, looked at him with absolute disdain, her voice dripping with contempt as she snarled,

"You animal... how dare you debase a woman like that?"

In the midst of the battle, Malefica sighed, her palm meeting her face as she rode Wrath, clearly exasperated.

Alicarde felt the need to defend himself, raising an eyebrow at Helga's judgment.

"Excuse me, you were the ones who attacked me first! If anything, you're sharing the blame here."

He turned his attention to Vidalia, who was still trying to conceal her modesty, her pale skin flushed red.

"And besides, it's not like I haven't seen it all before... what's the big deal?"

His attempt at reassurance, however, only made things worse. Vidalia's face scrunched up as her eyes filled with tears, her shoulders shaking as she burst into sobs.

Alicarde's mouth dropped open, caught completely off guard by her reaction. He struggled to process the sight—this powerful witch, now reduced to a teary mess.

His astonishment was almost comical, though his face was obscured beneath his hood.

'Did I... really just make her cry?'

He thought in disbelief, mentally kicking himself.