Smith’s plan was simple: trick her into coming down first, no matter what.
As long as he could lure her down and eliminate the height advantage, his speed, abilities, and talent would ensure that any attack he launched would hit home.
After all, he was an evolved being now.
“Well then, I’m coming down! You can’t go back on your word, okay?”
Adele spoke with a smile, acting as if she were being extremely cautious.
“Of course.”
Smith raised an eyebrow. The woman was actually coming down. A fool was a fool, after all; it seemed these witches weren't such a big deal after all.
“I’m coming down now. Just don’t try to shoo me away when I get there.”
Adele continued to confirm as if she were coaxing a child, slowly flying downward.
Yes! Yes! That’s it!
Take your time. In a moment, I’ll show you what hell looks like, you damned witch.
Smith screamed inwardly as he watched Adele slowly descend from the sky.
Closer! Even closer!
Adele’s steady approach tugged at Smith’s heartstrings. When she was almost within ten meters, he could hardly contain his urge to strike.
But at that moment, something went horribly wrong.
Boom!
“Argh!”
A dull thud echoed by the lakeshore, followed by a chorus of wails and screams.
Startled, Smith turned his head, only to find that one of the pursuers from the group earlier had just exploded.
He hadn't misseen it—the man had literally blown apart.
The resulting shockwave, along with flying bone fragments and shards of equipment, dealt indirect damage to everyone nearby.
In an instant, several of the pursuing Transmigrators were left maimed.
But it didn't stop there.
Because Adele was still slowly descending.
For every meter she dropped, another person’s body would spontaneously explode, causing further collateral damage.
The Transmigrators, who had originally huddled together to watch the show, scattered in an instant.
Yet even that failed to stop the explosions.
“Run!”
Someone shrieked, and the already scattered pursuers bolted in every direction.
No one thought they were seeing ghosts.
Though they didn't know the specifics, everyone was certain that the witch was behind this.
And so, they ran for their lives.
They figured that since it was magic cast by a witch, it had to have a range.
Whether it was twenty meters, fifty, or a hundred didn't matter.
As long as they ran far enough, they would eventually clear the area of effect.
Then they would be safe.
The pursuers had the right idea, but again, it didn't help.
Even as they fled, the bodies continued to burst.
Even when some believed they had run far enough to be well outside any normal attack range, they still self-destructed.
This caused many to realize the sheer gravity of the situation.
Through the sequence of explosions, the remaining survivors managed to piece together some of the rules of this magic.
It had nothing to do with range; they had been marked from the very beginning.
It was a marking magic that caused random explosions and triggered if one exceeded a certain distance.
The sheer cruelty of it—forcing people to endure the psychological torture of waiting for their turn to die—revealed just how twisted the caster had to be.
In the eyes of these pursuers, Adele had become a total psychopath.
Killing was one thing, but the way a person used magic often reflected their personality.
“Why has everyone stopped running? Don't you like exercise?”
Adele, still descending, saw that the people who had scattered had all frozen in place—some were even creeping back toward the area they had just tried to flee. She couldn't help but let her sharp tongue fly.
Of course, she didn't expect them to answer.
She finished her descent and landed right in front of Smith.
“Now then, may I ask how the witches have offended you, Mr. Werewolf?”
Smith was breaking out in a cold sweat.
Originally, he had intended to kill her the moment she entered his range.
But now... he didn't dare move. He truly didn't dare move.
Random?
What do you mean, random!
It might be random for the others, but for him, it would likely be a hundred percent certainty.
She was locked onto him; she was the one talking to him.
He was certain that if he so much as twitched, he would be blown to kingdom come.
Dammit, is this the true power of the witches? Then what were Snow White and Cinderella supposed to be?
At this point, Smith didn't even care about being called 'Mr. Werewolf' anymore, a title he had previously contested.
It was common knowledge that in a fight against another person in Kalim, you first had to figure out their talent, and then their magic.
Talent represented everything about a person, while magic represented their personality.
Right now, he desperately wanted to know what her talent was and what kind of magic she was using.
“Sound.”
Looking at the eighth note pinned to Adele’s hat and the small harp in her arms, he immediately connected it to her earlier offer to sing a song and the way she had plucked the strings.
Snap!
The moment Smith uttered the word, Adele suddenly appeared right in front of him.
Her face was barely twenty centimeters from his. In the moonlight, Smith could see every single eyelash on her bright, clear eyes.
“Congratulations! You got it right! To be precise, it’s Music Magic. That’s the name I gave it myself. Pretty good, isn't it?”
“...”
Smith, startled, had expected her to say something far more profound.
Being 'drenched in sweat' didn't even begin to describe his panic now, because he hadn't even perceived how Adele had moved just now.
Let alone keeping up with her speed.
Dammit, speed was supposed to be his specialty, yet he couldn't even track a witch’s movements.
“Alright, enough talk. Tell me why you’re so obsessed with chasing down a witch. I’m on a tight schedule.”
Adele, who had been smiling and joking just a moment ago, suddenly shifted her tone. She spoke to Smith with chilling gravity.
“As you know, a witch’s time is far more precious than that of vermin like you. You’ve already wasted nearly a minute of my time, you miserable pest.”
—A witch’s time is precious.
No one knew who had started that saying.
Regardless, it was widely accepted across the continent and had become a common Kalim proverb.
Wasting a witch’s time was essentially the same as offending her.
And offending a witch was a terrifying prospect—it could mean being blacklisted from buying any potions, for instance.
Smith tried to answer immediately, but his nerves made him stammer.
“I... Well...”
“Speak.”
Adele narrowed her eyes impatiently, and Smith felt every pore on his body tremble.
“...It happened like this...”
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