Isn’t Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? - Chapter 144

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 144
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In the crystalline noon sky, an untimely fracture tore open. A suffocating silence descended.
The scythe that carved through space caused the rift to expand rapidly. Soon, a malevolent spirit bearing the form of the Grim Reaper erupted through the wound-like gap.
The evil spirit—a creation of demons from fallen souls—ranked among the highest tier of demonic entities. And this abomination hurtled toward the Altar where the ceremony was unfolding. All of this transpired in a single, breathless moment.
Remarkably, the pitch-black specter draped in tattered cloth differed from other monsters that, like starving demons, attacked humans first.
“Kroooarrgh!”
It suddenly unleashed a savage roar and swung its blackened scythe horizontally through the air.
Kiiiiing—
A bone-chilling metallic wail tore across space, and the ground began to tremble violently.
“Kyaaahhh!”
The marble pillars and buildings surrounding the area vibrated as though struck by an earthquake.
Screams of terror erupted from all directions, and the mages preparing their casting clutched their chests and coughed blood. The moment the spirit swung its scythe, the mana flowing through the surroundings warped grotesquely.
“Cough!”
The high-ranking mages with exceptional mana sensitivity suffered most acutely from this unforeseen blow.
“Father!”
Duke Simour watched his daughter rush toward him, swallowing the blood rising in his throat.
“Run! Now!”
“Please, come with me!”
The aura emanating from the spirit wielding the scythe seemed far from ordinary. She felt a terrifyingly immense power, and an ominous, blood-soaked stench kept assailing her nostrils.
I had thought the fracture, having already occurred once, meant events were unfolding as in the original narrative. Yet now a far more dangerous creature had emerged. Was this the source of the unease I couldn’t shake?
‘This content wasn’t in the novel.’
But this was undeniably reality. More horrifying than any nightmare.
I couldn’t bring myself to abandon my father, who was coughing blood. Just as I desperately urged him to flee, a marble pillar nearby collapsed.
“Purple!”
At my command, a sturdy defensive barrier resembling a tortoise shell materialized around us, and Isidore, rushing over urgently, swiftly destroyed the falling pillar, narrowly averting disaster.
But the situation spiraled beyond control. The thick fog pouring through the fractured rift blackened the once-azure sky, transforming the surroundings into a hellish pandemonium.
It was hell itself made manifest. No one heeded the Crown Prince’s composed orders to evacuate. And there lay a graver problem: because the Fragrant Flower ceremony was underway, the knights had disarmed themselves, and the mages’ high-tier spellcasting had been disrupted by the spirit.
Major forces like Orgo House and the Magic Tower’s combat mages had been stationed at the Town Gate to stabilize the anxious populace, so despite facing a supreme-tier demon, our forces were far from optimal.
Among the knights attending the ceremony, only Isidore, who could summon a blade through magic, remained armed.
Duke Simour spoke urgently.
“Duke Visconti. Can you buy me time until I complete my incantation?”
Yet even as Duke Simour spoke, he harbored little hope. Knights were vulnerable to airborne foes. When monster waves occurred, mages struck enemies in the sky while knights engaged ground-bound creatures.
But there was no time for prolonged deliberation.
Kiiiiing—!
The spirit evoking the Grim Reaper emitted a bone-chilling sound like fingernails scraping a chalkboard as it raised its scythe high once more. The jagged, decrepit blade was stained pitch-black with demonic energy, and a vast, sinister darkness roiled through the air.
“Purple. Attack that scythe.”
Deborah Simour swiftly commanded her spirit familiar, unleashing a beam of holy light.
Duke Simour and the mages likewise hastily unleashed short-cast offensive spells in desperation. But the black fog darkening the sky intercepted their magic, and the mages’ attacks couldn’t even graze the creature’s garments.
Then it happened. A brilliant golden flash suddenly pierced through the darkness, slashing sharply across the void.
“Kyaaaaaaah!”
The agonized shriek of the demon pierced through the air like a bell. The people who had been pushing and shoving each other in their desperate flight suddenly turned their gazes toward the source of the sound as if entranced.
“An angel?”
After unleashing a blade of aura, Isidore deployed a Blink spell and instantly materialized behind the demon, driving his sword mercilessly through its back.
“It’s a teleportation spell!”
“…A Sword Mage.”
At the dramatic appearance of a Sword Mage—a title held by only three individuals throughout the entire history of the Empire—several nobles cried out in astonishment.
“An angel has descended!”
With his pristine white robes fluttering, Isidore drove his golden blade into the evil spirit, conjuring the image of an archangel from mythology locked in battle against demons. All eyes remained fixed upon the spectacle.
“He is the great archangel the Goddess has sent to save us!”
Some commoners unfamiliar with Sword Mages mistook Isidore for a genuine angel and cried out with voices trembling with emotion.
After embedding his two-handed sword into the evil spirit’s skull, Isidore summoned a bastard sword and infused it with aura, shredding the creature with successive strikes. As the relentless and devastating attacks rained down, the evil spirit visibly weakened, thrashing about in desperation.
“Groooooah!”
Though noxious magical energy poured forth like writhing vines, Isidore evaded the assault and unleashed another golden blade of aura. Soon the evil spirit dissipated like mist, and a massive scythe clattered onto the altar.
But that was not the end.
Rather, it was the beginning. As the powerful evil spirit suffered a fatal blow, the black fog that had consumed the azure sky began to reveal its true form.
“My… God.”
Those who had harbored even a fleeting hope because of Isidore felt their legs give way and collapsed. The faint-hearted lost consciousness at the horrific sight. The black fog that had filled the heavens was actually a phantom army in the shape of skulls, dragged forth by the evil spirit.
With their commanding officer vanquished, the phantoms attempted to rampage wildly, spewing magical energy, but a biting wind soon swept across them.
A seventh-class Blizzard spell—transcending the limits of humanity and the magic that had elevated Duke Simour to Tower Master—was now complete. A catastrophic ice storm descended upon the phantom army, and half of the creatures froze solid on the spot, plummeting to the earth.
“Attack!”
As the armored knights and organized mages joined the fray, a brutal and chaotic battle erupted that was almost too terrible to witness. The skull phantoms, having lost their anchor in the evil spirit, rampaged like malevolent spirits, thirsting for human blood and flesh. Moreover, only fourth-class magic or higher, or attacks channeled through aura, could inflict fatal damage.
“Hah… haaah…!”
Isidore sliced through the black phantoms one by one, his pale face heaving with labored breaths. Even for a Sword Mage like Isidore, facing high-level demons alone was no simple task, and he was utterly exhausted.
‘Where is Deborah?’
He wiped the sweat trickling down his jaw and glanced around with a pallid expression. The black fog spread by the skull phantoms obscured his vision, making it difficult to discern anyone’s identity.
‘She must have evacuated safely. Please….’
Magical artifacts were prohibited in the Imperial Territory, so she likely had no scrolls or artifacts on her person. At least she had a holy beast to protect her—that much was a mercy. Gritting his teeth, Isidore drew his aura upward once more and severed the neck of a demon lunging at him.
“Isidore! Behind!”
It was then. At the sound of a familiar yet desperate voice, Isidore spun around in panic.
In his field of vision loomed a massive darkness and a scythe. The evil spirit—half its face and torso torn away, one arm severed—had transformed into mist and lay dormant, only to reappear the moment Isidore’s fatigue became apparent.
“Danger!”
At the Duchess’s cry, Isidore reflexively staggered backward.
“Ugh!”
Yet the tip of the long scythe pierced through, shattering his ribs, and he could not even scream. For a moment, his vision turned pitch black. A searing, suffocating agony shattered his consciousness.
‘Deborah.’
Even within his vision flickering red, her face rushing toward him remained vividly clear.
Amid the burning pain, he suddenly felt grateful. If it had not been Deborah, the scythe would have pierced his heart, and he would have died on the spot, never to see that beautiful face again.
But seeing her face up close, so full of sorrow, his heart ached.
‘Don’t cry. I won’t die from this.’
From his gaping mouth flowed only black blood instead of words. The poison coating the sickle had seeped into his veins. Standing at the precipice between life and death, Isidore felt desperation for the first time.
The thought that I might never see those ruby-like, beloved eyes again made my heart ache. And as fear gripped me at the notion that she would grieve if I disappeared, I scraped together every last drop of mana in my body, fighting to cling to consciousness.
“Please, Priest! Priest! The Duke is injured here. Please!”
But like a candle flickering in its final moments, my thin eyelids began to tremble and blur. Isidore gasped for breath, barely managing to move my lips.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t say such weak things! Please.”
Never once injured since the age of thirteen!
“Never once injured since the age of thirteen!”
Blood staining the white rosary beads.
Land desertified by demons.
A golden-haired man.
The stench of blood.
Suddenly, a wave of memories crashed over her. And something that had been holding back like a dam shattered and fractured, the sound reverberating through Deborah Simour’s mind.
Soon after, pure white sacred power of the highest purity erupted from her body.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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