Chapter 35: Sophilia

Thanks to the arena’s magical protection, “False Life,” Sophilia has fully recovered, her pure white body still spotless, glowing brilliantly, as if she had never been injured at all.

But physical healing does not mean her spirit has also recovered; the sensation of being instantly killed and then reduced to ashes is not easily forgotten.

“False Life” only ensures the witch won’t suffer real injury—it has no other function—so pain during duels remains just as real.

So what does it feel like to have your heart torn out, then your bones ground to dust?

After being teleported back to the resting room, Sophilia opened her eyes only after a long while, her golden pupils still clouded with lingering pain and fear.

The pain was the scar left by being ground to ashes; the fear was pure instinctive resistance to death itself.

Yet the Angel Witch was no pampered noble girl—she quickly calmed herself, stabilized her emotions, closed her eyes again, and began reviewing the duel that ended in an instant.

Though Sophilia resented losing so decisively, defeat was defeat—no excuse could change that; better to reflect on her mistakes than waste energy on meaningless outbursts, learning from failure to avoid repeating it.

First sin: envy. I feared Dorothy’s arrival would threaten my position in my teacher’s heart; envy robbed me of calmness, causing me to launch an attack instead of raising a shield the moment the duel began.

Second sin: arrogance. My choice to attack first stemmed not only from envy but also from underestimating Dorothy—I thought this witch raised in some backwater village could never truly threaten me; subconsciously, I believed I didn’t even need a shield, that a casual strike would suffice.

Then...

But there was no “then”—the duel ended too quickly for Sophilia to make any further mistakes; her very first move’s miscalculation sealed her defeat outright.

This only further proved Dorothy’s terrifying nature.

She was nothing like the harmless internet-addicted shut-in described in my teacher’s files; her so-called ambition to become a research witch was nonsense.

What research witch possesses such terrifying combat intuition? Do you really think sensing an opponent’s microscopic opening in the chaos of battle is easy?

Combat intuition cannot be gained by shortcuts—it can only be forged through countless battles and kills; Dorothy is unquestionably a veteran duelist.

But how could an internet-addicted girl develop such intuition? How could she have endured so many duels?

Sophilia pondered, then suddenly understood.

“Net Dueling?”

The Angel Witch murmured, and her sense of defeat deepened.

She had lost to a Net Duelist?

In the witch dueling world, there was a hierarchy: those who fought life-or-death duels despised arena duels under "False Life," and arena duelists looked down on Net Dueling.

After all, Net Dueling’s realism was only 99% of reality; that final 1% gap mattered little for entertainment, but in combat—especially battlefield slaughter—it was lethal. A slight misjudgment in touch could cost a witch her life.

Worse, Net Dueling could even mute pain—what kind of warrior does that? If you fear pain, why even duel? Scars and agony are part of the thrill—you must taste them; if you can’t accept that, go home and drink milk.

Thus, witches generally regarded Net Dueling as mere entertainment for young witches or research witches who’d never set foot on a battlefield.

Actual armed witches rarely engaged in Net Dueling—occasionally playing one or two matches to relax was fine, but prolonged play would only cause their combat skills to decline.

After all, repeatedly crushing weaklings only turns you into one of them; swinging your blade only at the feeble makes you weak. To grow stronger, you must challenge those stronger than you.

Sophilia hadn’t played Net Dueling in years; the last time was as a child, when she was seven or eight and already slaughtered everyone in Net Dueling, seeing only weaklings everywhere—after that, she rarely played again.

But Dorothy’s appearance now made her question reality: had Net Dueling quietly upgraded over the years? Were today’s Net Duelists all this strong?

The Angel Witch decided to log back in after returning to test it out.

Yet sharp combat intuition was only one factor in Dorothy’s ability to instantly kill her—not the whole story; the decisive factor was still Dorothy’s raw power.

In truth, had her opponent been anyone else, even if they’d exploited her mistake, Sophilia’s skill would have let her evade the follow-up strike and quickly recover her composure.

But against Dorothy...

The Angel Witch fell into memory.

Her earlier slash had merely been a routine probe—after all, when neither side knows the other’s techniques, testing first is standard. Who in their right mind opens with their ultimate move? That’s insane.

Naturally, probes aren’t full-power strikes; she held back some strength, ready to retract, dodge, or defend if the attack failed.

Yet when her blade grazed Dorothy’s body by mere millimeters and missed entirely, Sophilia instantly decided to retreat—but she never imagined Dorothy’s speed would surpass hers, faster than logic allowed.

Sophilia had seen spells that temporarily boost speed before, but normally such enhancements granted a 50% increase at most—Dorothy’s burst that instant far exceeded any such magic; her speed spiked at least tenfold.

What does it mean to suddenly accelerate tenfold in battle? People usually describe such a thing with two words: cheat.

Such a skill, utterly destroying balance, shouldn’t exist.

But reality isn’t a game—games need balance; reality does not.

She hadn’t had time to think during the fight, but now, reviewing the moment, Sophilia understood what Dorothy had done.

It was the power of time—she had indeed sensed a momentary anomaly in Dorothy’s time flow; Dorothy’s time had accelerated tenfold.

That meant, relatively, Sophilia’s own time had slowed tenfold; even as she fled at maximum speed, her movements must have appeared like slow motion to Dorothy’s accelerated perception.

Against the might of time, Sophilia’s defeat was no injustice. At that moment, when Dorothy closed in, she had no chance to resist; her angelic body’s innate defense, effective against other races, was as fragile as paper against Dorothy’s dragon claws—those claws, naturally imbued with anti-magic properties, pierced her chest, seized her heart, and crushed it.

Worse still, Dorothy didn’t just wield time—she wielded space too.

For other races, a pierced heart was instantly fatal—but for angels, it was merely grievous; even without a heart, angels could fight on for minutes. Sophilia had already prepared to detonate herself and take Dorothy down with her.

But the space that shattered like a mirror obliterated Sophilia’s last hope of a draw; the destructive power of ruptured space was undeniable, nearly always an instant kill against targets below Grand Witch.

As an elite witch just one step from Grand Witch, Sophilia could have barely resisted the spatial rupture if fully powered—or if she’d worn her battle robe, whose top-tier defense could have absorbed the blow. But who would she be, if not to defeat Dorothy honorably? She’d stripped her robe, sealed her magic, and left only ten thousand mana.

Ten thousand mana. No armor. Fighting a cheat who wielded both time and space at their peak—already ambushed at point-blank range. What was the point?

If given another chance, she’d raise her shield to maximum and immediately retreat into guerrilla warfare—then she might have had a chance. Otherwise, defeat was certain.

But even guerrilla warfare—could she truly win?

Sophilia recalled the multi-elemental conjuration Dorothy used to grind her to ashes: every element reacted perfectly, each achieving its theoretical maximum damage.

Though less shocking than time and space, this level of magical precision was equally absurd—controlling multiple elements required split focus; preventing conflicting elements from clashing demanded absolute control over mana.

Could a witch below Grand Witch possibly achieve such precision? Multi-elemental conjurations with opposing elements were typically high-level 7th-circle spells—shouldn’t only Grand Witches be able to learn them?

So what kind of monster was I fighting? Or should I say—no wonder she’s my teacher’s daughter?

The pure white girl fell into deep thought.

She hadn’t lost unfairly at all.