Vol 3 Chapter 70: “Collapse”

When Horo opened his eyes, he was surrounded by a dense black mist.

He had returned to his original world. That much was clear. But more than that, the overwhelming despair of his current situation hit him.

The black mist enveloping Horo wasn’t ordinary—it was death magic. He quickly grasped the situation and acted on instinct.

Horo picked up a fragment of the cathedral bell and touched it to the mist.

“Collapse.”

The fragment disappeared, as if the part that made contact with the mist had been neatly cut away.

Simultaneously, golden particles of light scattered into the air.

Observing the transformation of the cathedral’s fragment into ash, Horo realized something important: this magic didn’t simply erase objects; it caused them to break down.

How this knowledge would help him, he didn’t yet know.

Still, understanding the nature of his opponent came first.

That was the most important lesson Sukui had ever taught him.

“And if there’s no time to spare…”

The mist was closing in, about to engulf him entirely.

Satisfied with the small amount of information he had gleaned in the brief moment he had, Horo took action.

He unleashed all the earth magic he could muster, concentrating it at a single point above him.

“Collapse isn’t infinite.”

At the same time, he launched himself in the direction of the rocks he had created.

The mist would vanish as it caused things to collapse.

Although it seemed capable of disintegrating anything it touched without limit due to its overwhelming magical power, in truth, the mist and the materials it destroyed were in a mutually neutralizing relationship.

Knowing this, Horo’s initial observation became his plan of action.

“Using concentrated earth magic to continuously counteract the mist and break through it.”

Horo pushed forward, conjuring and launching rocks into the mist to clear a path while leaping through the dissipating mist.

Eventually, he emerged into a space free of the black fog.

“As I thought, upward was the right direction,” he muttered, looking down.

The speed at which the mist consumed his magic made it clear—the death magic wielded by the priestess Mistul lacked velocity.

If that were the case, Horo reasoned that the mist’s layers in the upward direction would be thinner, prompting him to climb higher.

“You managed to escape, I see,” came a voice.

It carried no real surprise.

Even from far above the ground, Horo could sense her composure.

The reason was simple.

This wasn’t a fundamental solution.

Death magic caused material to collapse upon contact, consuming itself in the process. Naturally, once the mist dissipated, it had to be replenished.

However, that also meant that fighting against death magic ultimately boiled down to a battle of magical reserves.

And it was an unspoken truth: Horo’s total magic power was inferior to that of Mistul the priestess.

The situation hadn’t improved in the slightest.

The swirling black mist, the ruined cathedral, the composed Mistul forcing him into a corner, and the massive amount of magic Horo expended simply to stay airborne—

The situation hadn’t improved in the slightest.

But still—

“I had time to think.”

Horo refused to despair.

Surely, this much wasn’t enough to be called despair.

Taking a deep breath, Horo slowly raised his hands, then brought them down forcefully.

It was an image—a visualization of his intent.

With a deliberate motion, Horo unleashed a colossal torrent of flames, expending nearly all his magical power in the process.

It wasn’t a concentrated fireball. It was a wave of fire, like water spilling from an overturned bucket, spreading out and consuming everything in its path.

The flames swept toward Mistul the priestess, neutralizing the death magic as they advanced.

“Overwhelming firepower.”

It was a tactic that could only be used when one had an advantage in magical reserves.

Mistul, observing this seemingly reckless strategy, smiled.

First, the death magic had been erased.

The mist that had been advancing toward Horo was consumed by the torrent of flames, neutralized by sheer quantity and overwhelmed beyond what it could handle.

Mistul, slower than the surging flames, couldn’t respond in time with her own magic.

There was a fleeting possibility—a chance that Horo might burn her to ash with this direct and overwhelming assault.

But that possibility did not exist.

“Indeed, death magic, being a mist, lacks speed. It cannot overpower the force of a rapidly advancing flame,” Mistul the priestess murmured.

However, she could still maintain the space around her.

Unlike Horo, who was relentlessly unleashing dramatic displays of magic, Mistul withdrew her extravagant spells and encased herself in a thick, cocoon-like shroud of death magic.

It resembled the dense, compressed magical barrier Horo had created to trap one of the organization’s leaders during a previous battle.

Horo assumed that, even if the flames couldn’t penetrate the mist, the heat might still seep through, effectively roasting her alive. Yet, the flames, being immaterial, vanished without leaving even ashes behind, and their heat failed to pass through the barrier.

“My strategy begins now,” Horo declared as he continued releasing an overwhelming torrent of flames that obscured Mistul from sight.

“Ah, I see—suffocation,” Mistul mused inside the pitch-black mist, where not even light could penetrate.

In this scenario, it went without saying that the flames consumed oxygen. With Mistul trapped in a confined space surrounded by flames and death magic, the breathable air in her immediate vicinity would soon be exhausted.

There was even the possibility that her death magic barrier might accelerate the collapse of the surrounding air.

“Such a scenario, of course, has been accounted for,” she remarked.

From her pocket, Mistul retrieved a mask.

“I’ve heard you used something similar, Horo.”

The mask was constructed with the roots of a particular plant that purified air.

“If the breathable air runs out, I’ll simply create more.”

Although people often say a room runs out of air, that isn’t entirely accurate. Air remains present, but the oxygen level drops, rendering it unbreathable.

This mask was identical to the one Sukui had used when infiltrating an enemy facility to neutralize toxic fumes. Now, it served Mistul, allowing her to maintain a steady supply of clean air.

“The weakness of an ability as seemingly omnipotent as ‘collapse’ is that it cannot erase what doesn’t exist,” she stated calmly.

Whether it’s fire, water, or stone, death magic could disintegrate it all. But it was powerless against the absence of something—such as the lack of air.

This was a common, foreseeable limitation.

Hence, Mistul had prepared accordingly.

“And this situation calls for a swift resolution,” she continued.

Even the air-purifying mask wasn’t a perfect solution. Prolonged exposure to such conditions—over the course of a day and night, for example—would inevitably make breathing difficult.

However, creating this scenario had already forced Horo to expend an immense amount of magical energy.

In truth, Mistul herself was also burning through her magical reserves to counter Horo’s relentless assault. Still, she viewed the battle as a straightforward contest of magical stamina.

She was confident in her chances.

At that moment, flames surged from beneath her.

“A new tactic—attacking from below,” Horo murmured, reflecting calmly on the situation.

“An attack from below would’ve been a great surprise if it had worked, but it’s not that simple,” Mistul remarked, dismissing the flames as a naive attempt.

However, Horo’s strategy didn’t end there.

Forcing Mistul to defend against an attack from below meant she would have to extend her death magic barrier downward.

Since Mistul couldn’t generate new mist fast enough to counteract the flames’ speed, she would likely redirect the thick, cocoon-like shroud around her to neutralize the attack.

This approach mirrored Horo’s earlier strategy of using a sealed magical chamber to trap Levita during their encounter with the organization.

But death magic wasn’t merely a wall—it caused everything it touched to collapse. If Mistul enveloped herself entirely, including the ground beneath her, with death magic—

She risked disintegrating herself with her own spell.

“Impressive,” Mistul admitted with a smile, recognizing the layers of Horo’s strategy.

Using brute force with magical flames.
Attempting to roast her alive by raising the temperature.
Suffocating her by depleting the oxygen.
A surprise attack from below.
Even turning her own death magic against her.

Horo’s simultaneous pursuit of multiple victory routes was methodical—exactly like Sukui’s approach.

And to think, Horo had devised multiple ideal countermeasures against a magic he had only just encountered.

Mistul manipulated her thick cocoon of death magic to extinguish the flames rising from below. Inside the black sphere she created, she sat calmly, her expression softening into a faint smile.

“To wield death, one must train extensively. Naturally, I’ve practiced this magic to ensure complete control over its effects.”

Her mastery extended to selecting what the death magic would target for collapse.

While such precise manipulation was exceptionally difficult, Mistul had perfected her control to avoid harming herself.

For now, nothing further occurred.

Death magic blocked sound as well.

Through her magical senses, Mistul knew she was still surrounded by a sea of flames, continuously counteracting them. But beyond that, she couldn’t discern much.

“There’s been no significant change. Could it be that he’s run out of options?”

In truth, Mistul’s magical reserves were nearly depleted.

Her divine blessing allowed her to convert the corpses of those she killed into magical power.

While this blessing required the deliberate act of killing, it was a powerful ability, especially when combined with her vast collection of hidden corpses—thanks to her nature and position.

But even this reservoir was running dry after the prolonged battle.

Mistul suspected that Horo’s natural magical reserves and his blessing’s conversion efficiency exceeded her own.

As the flames slowly subsided, she noticed the shift in her surroundings. The fire had gone out.

“Cutting it close, are we?”

She had nearly exhausted her supply of corpses.

While Mistul had a large stockpile of bodies, only a small percentage were those she had personally killed and preserved, making them suitable for her blessing.

Thinking about the risk of running out of corpses and the possible implications for her divine aspirations, Mistul immediately dispelled her death magic to conserve the remnants of her power.

“This will be the end,” she murmured.

Light streamed through the dissipating mist, and Mistul immediately spotted Horo.

He was closer than before, hovering just above her. Cautiously, Mistul readied herself.

If Horo had reserved even a tiny fraction of his power, he might strike her with a final blow using earth magic.

But instead, Horo appeared utterly drained. He faltered, then plummeted to the ground, crashing onto a ledge.

He had no magic left—at least not much. Mistul, also on the brink of collapse, recognized his depleted state.

But what was his final move?

Mistul quickly reflected on Horo’s position and the surroundings.

The ledge.

Horo had landed on the edge of something.

Where there’s an edge, there’s a pit.

The ground beneath Mistul formed a massive crater, gouged deeply as if by an enormous impact.