Chapter 110: The Ambush 6

“Huff…huff…huff…”

Having barely escaped Bohemia’s castle grounds, Bloody still panted – consumed by lingering, profound dread.

Though her face was a bloody, swollen mess and her head still pounded, such superficial agonies paled before the magnitude of her reprieve:

She yet drew breath in that moment.

Catching her ragged gasps, Bloody fought to regain her composure as immense relief washed over her.

Yet even her formidable mental fortitude as a Rank 10 archmagus proved inadequate to swiftly overcome the traumatic encounter.

‘That was too perilous… Truly…’

The sheer malice emanating from that seemingly innocuous maid had imparted a soul-deep chill Bloody could scarcely fathom.

And being privy to the woman’s true identity only amplified the gravity behind that ominous warning.

‘Had I misspoke there, I would surely have perished. In that sense, I suppose I was fortunate…’

Silently awaiting her ally Soul’s arrival, Bloody’s sole compulsion was fleeing this place with all haste.

‘Dammit…where is she? I signaled upon exiting the castle – why hasn’t she responded yet?’

Certainly, having drawn the brunt of Bohemia’s forces to sow chaos could hamper Soul’s disengagement.

Or in the worst conceivable case, she may have suffered the same brutal subjugation Bloody endured at that maid’s hands.

Haunted by the prospect of abandoning her trusted compatriot, Bloody anxiously watched each agonizing second tick by until their preset rendezvous.

Until an all-too-familiar voice shattered the tense vigil:

“Sister!”

“Ah! There you are!”

Whipping toward the welcomed caller, Bloody’s urgency swiftly morphed into stunned dismay upon assessing Soul’s state – their exchange of words dying on their lips.

“Wh…What happened to your face…? A-And where is this Santara…?”

Bloody’s lacerated, grotesquely swollen features rendered her unrecognizable – a vision of abject failure prompting Soul’s bewildered apprehension over their apparent lack of success.

One look told her this mission had gone catastrophically awry – an utterly unprecedented experience for the ever-triumphant pair.

Before Soul could press for details, Bloody blankly stared at the battered woman slung over her companion’s shoulder.

“You…what is that thing…beside you…?”

As the junior, Soul obediently answered her senior’s query first – her trepidation growing more palpable:

“W-Well…I’d long entertained thoughts of…indulging myself with one of their kind. Her temperament seemed ideal, and her talents adequate…”

“You…You mean to say…?! During the mission itself, you abducted a foreign mage?! Such wanton actions could spark a diplomatic crisis!”

“Rest assured, they remain unaware of our identities. Under such circumstances, what recourse would they have over the disappearance of a lone young mage?”

Soul’s logic rang true – they had meticulously obscured their involvement, minus that anomalous maid’s presence.

And as an apparent ally in deep cover, she likely wouldn’t risk exposing this incident either.

Still, the audacious abduction of a nation’s magical asset – however expendable individually – reeked of needless risk and impropriety.

Unlike rank-and-file troops, the value of trained mages meant such brazen actions inevitably courted blowback.

Part of Bloody wished to dissuade Soul from this impulsive indulgence.

Yet before she could properly voice her misgivings, Soul cut her off with evident distress:

“B-But now it’s your turn, Sister! What in creation transpired? Surely that Turen character could not have proven so formidable as to thwart you utterly?”

“…No, this matter transcends such trivial adversaries entirely.”

The mere recollection chilled Bloody’s blood as visceral terror resurfaced.

While Count Turen’s reputation preceded him as an Advanced Rank 7 mage of no small skill, he ultimately posed no credible threat to an archmage of Bloody’s caliber.

No, the state she found herself in bespoke not glorious combat, but a one-sided, merciless beating.

“I saw…her there. The one we had been warned about. I barely escaped with my life this time. But had I faltered further, while you would likely have fared better, I would have been…”

“!”

“Huh?!”

That soul-rending frisson that washed over them held no overtly hostile intent.

Yet the sheer vastness of the mana aura now blanketing the entire region instantaneously betrayed the entity’s staggering might.

An area-wide mystic scan permitting the detection of virtually all movements within its sphere of influence.

Despite containing no overt destructive power, the overwhelming magnitude of the mana saturating that dome prompted an automatic, visceral panic.

Leaving them no choice but to heed its unspoken ultimatum:

“W-We should depart with all haste!”

“Agreed, discussion can resume later…”

Without further preamble, they fled Bohemia’s domain – still shuddering from the palpable, primal dread that malevolent aura invoked even at this distance.

‘We’ve retreated so far, yet that scan’s range still doesn’t wane… Just how vast an area can that entity encompass…?’

‘Unknown, but one thing is certain – my sister foolishly plucked the dragon’s whiskers and lived to regret it. But who could possess such power…?’

Grateful their pursuer seemed content to let them withdraw, the battered duo ran without pause until finally crossing into Repsodis – their mysterious tormentor’s terrifying reach finally fading from their senses.

The late-night turmoil akin to a sudden tempest left Bohemia’s castle reeling from the shock of the brazen incursion.

Sentries found themselves stripped of their very souls by unknown assailants – though miraculously spared actual death, merely rendered comatose.

And thanks to their valiant resistance, the enemy failed to breach the inner keep itself.

Yet despite this small mercy, Count Turen found himself utterly stricken by the devastating revelation:

“Wh…What did you just say? Who…did what to whom?”

“I-It seems…Lady Queen Andreas has been…”

“Abducted by unknown assailants!”

“Th-That cannot be…”

Slumping into his seat with ashen horror, it was as if the Count had been struck by a thunderbolt – the unthinkable words leaving him utterly drained.