CHAPTER 63: 63. CHEERS, LADIES!

Marguerite Lox Andelie.

One of the most powerful women in the world, and also one of the most beautiful.

Noble lineage and exceptional magical wisdom have granted her the current status.

But now, her calves have been mutilated, and she lies filthy and stinking, curled up like her student’s skeleton in a wooden cage.

Her high fever hasn’t subsided; the fact that she survives this long infection showcases the extraordinary mana and stamina of a top-tier female warlock.

Yet, it still doesn’t help; the fever and the pain from her festering wounds prevent her from casting spells.

The reason why the kings who wield great power consider magic power equal is just that.

The ignorant ones merely think that mages can summon heavenly powers, even obliterate an entire knight order on the battlefield.

But the insiders know well that stopping a mage from casting spells can be as simple as dysentery, besides costly anti-magic gold.

Diarrhea, vomiting, cramping... those who dare to cast spells in such states mostly end up buried from magical backlash in academies.

Of course, it’s even more likely that they can’t even harness the chaos magic power scattered across the world.

The basis of casting spells is complete concentration.

If one hasn’t made a spell as instinctive as breathing, a distraction can twist a mage into an unspeakable entity due to rampant chaos magic power.

Powerful mages with abundant resources prepare extensively to maintain their state.

Detox potions, cure potions, pain relief ointments, magic talismans... ordinary folks can’t imagine how much mages spend on such things.

But now, there’s nothing like that around Margaret.

So, the noble Margaret, the beautiful Margaret, the powerful Margaret...

These days, she can only huddle in the cage like a hen waiting to be slaughtered.

She’s almost accepted the future of dying as "food" herself.

Until she saw a young demon hunter returning.

The camp was already chaotic, the armed personnel holding torches were converging like a long dragon towards this little demon hunter.

Margaret could only see the side of Lann’s face from inside the cage.

The firelight illuminated his exotic face, surprisingly showing no panic or regret.

Instead, he calmly watched the enemy’s wanton laughter.

As if he truly believed he could carve a bloody path out of here.

What a joke? He’s just a demon hunter!

No... Margaret let out a wry smile, recalling Lann’s embarrassed state when he first came to her cage.

His head and face covered in blood, a complete lack of knowledge about warlocks...

Surprisingly skillful, yet utterly ignorant of the most important knowledge.

He’s merely an apprentice who hasn’t even graduated.

Expecting an apprentice to fight his way out of a camp full of armed enemies? She’s lost her mind.

But inexplicably... when that apprentice told her he wanted to "try and struggle," it strangely inspired a sense of trust.

He would not die here.

Magic Power? Hidden card? Or... Curse?

Uncertain.

Margaret bowed her head; tortured by pain and fever, she couldn’t even cast spells, let alone ponder the mechanism.

But... since you’re not simple, then just try!

"What do you want me to do? I must declare that I’m currently unable to..."

"Is it ’unable to cast spells’ or ’restricted spellcasting’? Specify clearly!"

Before Margaret could finish, Lann let out a low growl.

He used the armor on his wrist to deflect an arrow and cut another in mid-air with his sword.

This series of movements drew exclaims from the enemies, sparking even more interest in "bear hunting."

Lann didn’t believe that the world’s top female warlock could be directly restricted to the point of losing all casting ability.

Even if there were truly a top mage here, the gap between top-tier and top-tier shouldn’t be that significant!

Margaret was surprised by his sharp thinking.

Someone who knows nothing about mages, yet quickly perceives the difference between these two states?

"I can only cast some tricks now! Do you understand tricks? They’re feeble like your magic seal and barely last twenty seconds!"

This is why Margaret is trapped here.

In twenty seconds, she can take a few lives. But it’ll only make her die even more miserably.

Yet, Lann, leaning against the cage, grinned relievedly.

"Twenty seconds... even ten seconds will do."

"What did you say?"

Margaret thought she’d misheard.

Ten seconds? What can ten seconds achieve?

Lann didn’t answer her doubts.

"Come, Mage, put up a shield."

’Put up a shield’? Asking for magical protection?

Margaret found this phrase interesting, straightforward yet relaxed.

But now... is it really a time for relaxation?

Nonetheless, the female warlock furrowed her brows tightly, tried her best to block out bodily pain, concentrated her mind briefly, and harnessed the chaotic magic power.

A spherical shield like air distortion enveloped Lann and the wooden cage.

A crossbow arrow struck it just then, the wooden shaft made a crisp snapping sound.

Lann slowly knelt on the ground.

This is the meditation rest position for demon hunters, yet also... the posture easiest for them to absorb potion effects.

"If I rescue you this time, will Airetusa reward me?"

Lann took out two small bottles from the alchemy pouch, turned his head and smiled at the female warlock.

Margaret’s face was twisted trying to maintain the shield.

Only ten seconds of shield remain, the enemies outside the shield continued firing crossbow arrows and rushing over with longswords and hammers.

But the demon hunter didn’t even glance at them.

Margaret pursed her lips; even with magic cream hiding her allure, others could still sense the fullness of those lips.

She prided herself on having seen most of the people worthy of nobility on this continent.

Southern empire nobles, northern kingdom nobles, she had seen them all.

But thrusting oneself into danger for others, yet not declaring it as lofty honor or righteousness in the process.

Instead, light and carefree, indifferent... she hadn’t met such a person.

Is this the "knightly spirit" of his homeland? Or the demon hunter’s "knightly spirit"? Margaret couldn’t understand.

But she knew one thing—

You’re not doing these things for the glory recognized by the world, are you, demon hunter.

You’re just doing what you want to do.

"You will become a friend of Airetusa."

The female warlock earnestly looked at those feline eyes.

"In the name of Marguerite Lox Andelie!"

The young demon hunter laughed, raised his hand holding the bottles, as if toasting.

"Hahaha, truly an honor. Then, in your name, cheers! Miss!"

As though completing a toast, the two bottles were emptied.

The ink-black poison crept along the veins toward his cheeks.

When he opened his eyes, those eyeballs no longer had amber slits... but a deep black!