Astrological witches—beings of legend said to see the future through the paths of the stars—are the rarest of the thirteen types of witches. The astrological gift, which had gradually faded into obscurity after the "Hiding" in the Astral Realm, has now awakened in a new generation of witches after hundreds of years.
"I see," said Victor. "It seems we're in luck."
"Just because of a prophecy?" Tasha asked.
The records state that Prophecy Mages calculate the future, while Astrological Witches draw inspiration from the whispers of the stars. Victor and Tassa had discussed the stories of the Prophets. He explained that the future holds countless possibilities, like the phantoms of countless paths; mages sketch out the overlapping segments of these phantoms, while witches—they narrate "all of them" simultaneously.
"Right, prophecy isn't the secret to victory," Victor nodded. "But now I can be certain what Rashdgar did with my body."
The Material Plane is in decline, and so is the Abyss, from which there is no escape. Years of observing the Abyssal portals have proven that the ability of demon lords to create their own portals—a hallmark of past demonic invasions—is now a thing of the past; the inhabitants of that realm have completely lost the ability to open portals in advance. The passage between the Abyss and the Material Plane will open naturally in due time, but once it does, how will the Abyssal beings stabilize it, and how will they pass through safely?
Victor knew of many methods, and for each possibility, they had prepared a corresponding plan. But if "the narrow bridge was built upon the dead body of a deceiver," then there remained only one answer.
That demon lord who obtained Victor's corpse left behind in the Abyss—the Unrecognizable One, Rashdgar—used the demon lord's remains to construct a bridge between the Abyss and the Material Plane.
This was one of the more promising theories among the many. They wouldn't need to completely conquer the entire Abyss or slaughter every Abyssal Lord, nor would they need to wage an endless, drawn-out war, struggling to hold out until the Abyss's passage was severed. The key lay solely in Victor's remains; as long as they destroyed this narrow bridge, the Abyss would be banished once more.
This time, the Abyss would not be able to return.
Not far from Tasa and Victor, Gabriella's "mommy group" was swarming toward them. They buzzed around the unconscious young witch, chattering nonstop, every one of them beaming with joy. Gabriela's biological mother, Afra, held her head high with pride as she accepted her sisters' blessings. None of them seemed the least bit concerned about the Star Witch's unconscious state—sometimes it was hard to tell whether they were overprotective or neglectful; witches had their own standards.
"A grand coming-of-age ceremony!" they said.
The Echo Witches cupped their hands to their lips; their howls suddenly rose in pitch, and a glow surged upward. Tiny fairies—these lowest-ranking sprites had virtually no combat ability but were first-rate at creating stage effects—flapped their sparkling wings, scattering powder everywhere. Under Tasa's glare, the large elemental spirits retreated. Palm-sized ice elementals spun in midair, like upside-down shaved-ice machines, and the snowflakes melted the moment they touched the ground. The dancers looked up in wonder, reaching out to catch the snowflakes and fairy dust. The unicorn stuck out its tongue to lick the ice crystals falling from the sky, but the cold made it sneeze.
The fire witch's phoenix traced a vivid arc across the sky, like an exceptionally dazzling firework. It spun upward as if showing off, exploded in the sky, and left behind a phantom of outstretched wings. The reporters frantically pressed their shutters, their emotions a mix of joy and regret—delighted by the emergence of a new spectacle, yet disappointed they hadn't managed to capture the full beauty of this sudden scene.
Tasha heard a tiny scream. She tore her gaze away from the sky just in time to see Victor flick a little fairy off the side of her head. Tasha turned her eyes to Victor. The devil nonchalantly withdrew his finger and said, "You've got a snowflake here."
"You've got some here too," Tasha said.
She flicked Victor's forehead. Victor laughed and grabbed her finger, pointing to his lips and saying, "There's some here too." So Tasha gladly accepted the invitation, grabbed Victor's horn and pulled it down, giving his lips a gentle peck.
...
That autumn was a season of festivals and harvests, and winter, just as the druids had foretold, was neither too cold nor too hot. The creatures of Eryan spent the winter going about their daily lives as usual. When the new year arrived, on a certain night when all things were reviving and the ice and snow were melting, a meteor shower appeared over Eryan.
In the north of Eryan, stretching from the frozen wastelands to thousands of kilometers south of the capital, everyone witnessed that unannounced meteor shower. One moment the sky was calm; the next, countless shards of starlight rained down like a storm. They appeared to originate from a single point; had anyone been able to take in the entirety of Eryan at a glance, they would have discovered that this point lay in a small town in the northern reaches of Eryan.
Baoling Town lies roughly six hundred kilometers northwest of the capital. This once obscure little town has gained notoriety in recent years for a rather disgraceful reason. Several years ago, the former Imperial General Xiriel was tempted by a demon here, activating a passage between the Abyss and the Prime Material Plane.
Today, Baoling Town has become a major military stronghold, with garrisons firmly encircling Xiriel's ancestral home. The sentries looked up, watching the stars shimmer and celestial fire fall as the entire sky suddenly erupted in a silent fireworks display.
The meteors moved too swiftly to be clearly seen; countless stars fell within a single minute. Perhaps it would be more accurate to call this spectacular sight a "meteor storm." Bright orange-yellow specks flashed one after another, trailing long, emerald-green streaks behind them. Even though each trail vanished within seconds of the star's fall, a radiating web still appeared across the sky. The night sky seemed to boil with activity, yet not a single meteor struck the ground. There was no scent of smoke in the air, nor any sound to be heard. This vast, unsettling celestial phenomenon felt like a mirage—as if it did not truly exist in the skies above Erian.
The first meteor shower lasted all night, intensifying as dawn approached, only to cease abruptly once the sun rose. The following night, the meteor storm returned, bringing with it ever-thickening clouds. The next day was overcast, and by evening, light rain was falling over half of Erian. The fiery glow of the meteors shone through the dark clouds, resembling lightning brewing within the clouds.
The sun did not rise on the third day.
The clouds were too thick; the sky was as dark as night, its only light coming from the ceaseless meteors. They seemed even brighter, like the final, flickering glow of something burning to the last. Amid the muffled rumble of thunder, people heard a sharp, explosive crack.
A meteor pierced the clouds and fell straight down.
A hissing sound mingled with the explosion, as if a metal can were being dragged across the ground at high speed, shattering into pieces as it moved. Amid the dim expanse of sky and earth, it was as if a blinding brushstroke had swept downward, leaving a trail of fire thousands of meters long stretching from the clouds down to a point very close to the ground. The meteor finally vanished hundreds of meters from the horizon, but its trail lingered, refusing to fade for a long time.
All sound suddenly ceased—no meteor, no thunder, only the rustling of rain, a silence so profound it made one's chest feel tight. A moment later, every living creature in Eryan heard a faint sound.
Rip!
Logically speaking, such a soft sound should have been impossible for the entire population of Eryan to hear; it was even quieter than the rain. Commoners in the distance exchanged glances, wondering if those around them had heard it too, or if it was merely their own hallucination. It appeared in everyone's minds as if it were ringing directly against their eardrums: "Rip"—the sound of paper being torn.
"It's here," Victor whispered.
The barrier between the Material Plane and the Abyss, which had grown increasingly thin over the years, tore open as expected.
The long trail of a shooting star did not fade; it was solidifying, slowly thickening—it was opening. Abyss factor detectors across the land blared in unison, their lights flashing as dazzlingly as Christmas tree lights. Tasa sensed something immense pouring toward Eryan, like a hungry behemoth desperately squeezing through a tiny crack.
An eerie purple hue began to spread through the space surrounding the vertical line, making it look like a festering wound in the sky. The wound swelled, its edges writhing, until finally, it burst open.
A swarm of dark shadows erupted from within, and an unpleasant cacophony instantly filled the nearby sky. Crude steel forks glinted in midair; in the dim light, their red skin looked even more terrifying. Accompanied by the buzzing of wings and shrill, cackling sounds, countless little demons flew out, like a swarm of flies emerging from a torn sack.
The Flycatcher was waiting.
A rustling sound of flapping wings filled the air, coming from broader wings. Long before the imps appeared, other winged creatures had already taken to the skies. They were griffins—mighty griffins slicing through the rain. Rainwater slid off their glossy brown wings and off the armor of their griffin riders. They had rehearsed this countless times; their speed was remarkable, and their formation was set within ten minutes.
"Level 1, East 27, in position!"
"Level 3, South 16, in position!"
"Top Level, North 3, in position!"
"…In position!"
The griffin riders all wore semi-enclosed helmets. While their appearance closely resembled the iron helmets of the ancient griffin legions, their interiors were worlds apart. The "Owl's Eye" spell was permanently imbued into the magic stone goggles, allowing the helmeted griffin cavalry to see their surroundings clearly under harsh lighting conditions, whether at night or on a cloudy, rainy day like today; Inside the helmets were installed sophisticated magical devices. As one of the results of the collaboration between Imperial engineers and Dwarven craftsmen over the past year, the vehicle-mounted intercoms had been shrunk by more than ten times. This latest achievement in magical technology allowed the griffin cavalry to maintain communication within a range of nearly five kilometers, even under the worst conditions.
The imps poured out of the fissure in an unending stream, like a cloud of black smoke dispersing in the wind, their shrill screams growing louder and more frequent. The griffin cavalry did not engage them directly; instead, they circled at a distance, weaving through the swarm like a needle threading a needle, trapping the scattering horde of imps in the center.
The griffins' icy-blue eyes fixed intently on the imps. These proud creatures cried out with longing, eager to tear the monsters that dared to invade the skies to shreds with their claws. The only reason they did not act was the riders on their backs; trained griffins are more patient and resilient than their wild counterparts. The riders soothed their mounts, whispering, "Almost there, just a little longer!"
Sixteen minutes in, all units were in position.
Confirmations were exchanged among them, and reports of full deployment were consolidated by the regiment commander; signals from ground observation posts swiftly ascended into the sky, announcing that both friendly and enemy forces had reached their designated positions. The little demons continued to spread out; the first ones to appear were already quite close to the griffin cavalry—close enough to see the hideous faces of these monsters. Yet the cavalry remained calmly suspended at their designated positions, unprovoked and undaunted. They appeared so scattered and unguarded, facing the demons lunging at them with unwavering composure.
It's time. It's time.
At that moment, the Legion Commander roared, "Raise—your—shields!"
All the riders of the Griffin Legion suddenly raised the tower shields on their backs, their movements perfectly synchronized, as if they were a single entity. Just as the lance is the hallmark of the Dragon Knights, the sword and great shield are the hallmark of the Griffin Legion—but, once again, these were not the tower shields of old.
Gigantic shields, nearly as tall as a man, were raised by the riders and secured into a groove in front of them, connected to the griffin's saddle. Metal brackets and sturdy leather straps bound the griffin, the rider, and the shield together as one; as long as the rider stood, the shield remained, and even the most violent impact could not dislodge it. This was clearly not the fighting style of the shield-bearers of the past; the shield was neither a weapon for striking nor a wall of defense.
The imps detected no anomaly; they lacked the intelligence for it. These lowly fiends screamed in the crisp air of the Material Plane, every fiber of their being craving flesh and souls—abyssal spawn thirsting for slaughter. They let out excited, eerie cries and charged toward the enemy before them, who stood only to defend with his shield.
Runes lit up on the "shield."
Magic flowed from the storage area behind the shields into every orderly metal groove; the arcane devices completed their charge within seconds. Just as the first imp's steel fork was about to pierce the long shield, flashes of lightning erupted from every shield's surface.
Not even the light of lightning could compare.
Thick bolts of lightning erupted suddenly, leaping from one shield to another, connecting at fixed points. The griffin cavalry, previously indistinct, became strikingly visible, with bolts of lightning crisscrossing between each rider. A three-dimensional formation, stretching hundreds of meters vertically and spanning hundreds of meters in radius, resembled a gigantic, lightning-streaked fishing net, trapping all the imps within its center.
—The griffins and their riders were clad in battle armor; the anti-electricity runes on their armor transformed the lethal current into a mere tingling sensation. In the drizzling rain, the damp mist acted as an aid, ensuring the current enveloped every single monster.
No, not a fishing net—it would be more accurate to liken this formation to a giant mosquito zapper. The crisscrossing grid crackled and popped as electric shocks struck the swarm of monsters. The incessant screams and the acrid smell of burning filled the air, yet the onlookers felt a sense of refreshing clarity. The Guardians of Eryan looked up at the sky, watching the ominous black cloud plummet down with a wail.
The Electric Shield was designed with endurance as the top priority; its voltage wasn't strong enough to kill these thick-skinned monsters. But their purpose wasn't to electrocute the little demons outright—it was enough to sap half their vitality and cripple their wings.
The ground forces were waiting for them.
The Tree-Speaker Druids had conjured a forest of spiked stakes. In stark contrast to the protective blanket, these spine-chilling spikes pointed skyward, ready to receive the falling monsters. The imps plummeted from hundreds of meters above, impaling themselves on the sharp stakes as gravity became their executioner. These spiked stakes are essentially triangular prisms several meters tall, narrow at the top and wide at the bottom; sliding down them from top to bottom would rip one's insides out. The imps, already weakened by the electric shock, plummet downward, and if they have the misfortune of landing on one of these stakes… after a agonizing slide of several meters, they scream and turn into black smoke.
The fact that slain monsters leave no corpses on the Material Plane is quite convenient: there's no need to clear the spiked trees, no need to worry about traps becoming overloaded—most imps will clear themselves out shortly afterward.
Rangers move through this forest of spikes; the traps are part of the forest itself, and they gain class bonuses from this environment. Nature's gifts make them more agile, more efficient, and even easier to conceal; this battlefield is tailor-made for them. The rangers deftly weave through the dense thicket of thorns, delivering the finishing blow to imps caught between two thorn bushes. The newly fallen imps are completely unable to mount any meaningful resistance; the blade falls, and they are killed in a single strike.
The main force of the garrison standing nearby hasn't even moved at this point.
Combining large-scale mowing-down with small-scale mopping-up, the drills against the little demons had reached this stage today, and Erian's unit had already found the most efficient, lowest-cost optimal solution.
"Even after watching the rehearsal, it still looks pretty amazing," Victor marveled.
"They're just little demons," Tasa said. "If we suffer casualties dealing with this cannon fodder, we can forget about winning this war."
"Don't underestimate cannon fodder. Back then, most of the occupied territories on the mainland were flattened by the demons' swarm tactics," Victor chuckled. "I wonder what those who fought bloody battles during the previous demonic calamity would think if they saw this leisurely, mowing-down-the-grass-like tactic."
After all, high-ranking demons are not something ordinary people can come into contact with. For most of the unfortunate civilians facing the demonic plague, it is the swarming hordes of lesser demons that are the primary cause of the destruction of their lives. Those who died in past struggles—whether ordinary people who faced the demonic plague with the same despair as a natural disaster, or tragic heroes who fought to the very end—would surely be deeply comforted if they could see this future.
The sky grew brighter.
Something luminous approached from the other end of the passage; electric sparks flickered across their bodies, yet they showed little reaction. These wavering, bluish-gray orbs glided downward, resembling the will-o'-the-wisps floating over a mass grave.
Their name was indeed "Will-o'-the-Wisps."
The inhabitants of the Material Plane always associate the Abyss with fire, and there is indeed some truth to this. Most Abyssal demons possess high fire resistance, and during the Demonplague, imps are always seen amidst seas of fire; many believe their footsteps ignite the flames. In fact, this is a misconception—it is not the imps that create the fire, but another kind of demon.
Imps are the most common basic troops of the Abyss, representing the advanced form of most Abyssal insects—but they are by no means the only ones.
Creatures destined to evolve into Shadowfiends or Pyroblades take a different path during their evolution; they do not evolve physically. The creatures known as Will-o'-the-Wisps are the most primitive spectral beings of the Abyss. Neither ordinary electrical currents nor any form of physical attack can truly affect them.
The demonic horde is quite chaotic; Will-o'-the-Wisps do not form separate units but mingle among the Little Demons, numbering roughly one-tenth of the latter. However, after being filtered through the electric grid and the fall, these unscathed spirits stand out. They scatter across the ground, lunging at the nearest living creatures.
The first skirmish erupted among the garrison at Eryan, and the rangers must take these flames seriously. Ordinary swords inflict negligible damage on will-o'-the-wisps; effective attacks require the extraordinary power of a professional. Even more troublesome is that not all of these short-range flying will-o'-the-wisps land within the designated fall zones; a significant portion drifts toward the nearby regular garrison.
The spiked hedges created by the druids were fire-resistant, but ordinary clothing was not.
The will-o'-the-wisps' drifting motion was their method of attack; they could ignite ordinary garments and even human skin, and once they made contact, it was nearly impossible to shake them off. They moved so slowly as they drifted through the sky, yet approached people with startling speed, like crocodiles disguised as driftwood suddenly lunging forward. The soldiers' reactions were all of frustration, but as the flames fell among the ranks, there were always those who could not evade them.
A tragedy was about to unfold.
Attacks by will-o'-the-wisps had occurred countless times during past demonic calamities. The burns inflicted by these low-level monsters might not be fatal on the spot, but they would lead to agonizing consequences. Countless people were left with extensive scars, forced to live out the rest of their lives with horrific burns; many lost the will to live due to severe disfigurement; and countless others died of infection after the battle. In the past, when medical systems were underdeveloped and priests charged exorbitant fees, the terror of will-o'-the-wisps surpassed even that of imps.
But that was the past.
A translucent light shield unfolded over the struck soldier, deflecting the will-o'-the-wisp away.
Every soldier wore a metal tag that served both as identification and as a basic protective talisman. The Abyss is home to the greatest number of fire-related monsters, and ghostfire is the second most common type of low-level monster after imps—how could Tasa possibly be unprepared for this? Every combatant carried at least one fire talisman, providing temporary fire resistance.
Such extravagance would have left people of the past speechless.
Yes, everyone on the battlefield possessed magical talismans, including soldiers who were merely ordinary people. Though the numbers of mages and artisans were far fewer than in the past, the entire nation of Eryan could now work in unison. Archmage Taha has developed the most efficient protective runes, the dungeons provide ample magical stone shards, and the magical factories operate day and night, with golems and assembly lines churning out identical basic talismans. The powerful synergy between magic and magical technology has made the mass production of basic talismans possible.