Chapter 105 The Battle Begins
**Thelma Zane’s POV**
The previously jubilant crowd gradually fell silent, confusion spreading among the students and faculty. Whispers circulated, each person trying to grasp what was happening.
“She knows,” Dorothy whispered in my ear, her tone calm but urgent. “I sensed magical waves emanating from her. She’s trying to contact the Southern Duke.”
My stomach dropped. If Carolyn–or rather, the witch pretending to be her–discovered that her communication channels had been severed, she might resort to desperate measures. Worse, she could potentially use the real Carolyn as leverage against us.
We couldn’t afford to waste time. I caught the eye of the werewolf grandmaster disguised as a coachman. With a subtle nod, I gave the signal. He retrieved a small flare from his pocket and
lit it without hesitation.
The sky was instantly dyed a vivid green as thick smoke erupted from the flare. Moments Jater, loud voices rang
out:
“Attention! Emergency evacuation! Follow the warriors‘ guidance and leave the school. immediately!”
Warriors disguised among the crowd shed their inconspicuous appearances, swiftly organizing the panicked students and faculty into orderly groups for evacuation.
The witch, however, was not so easily distracted. Realizing the disruption, she sneered, her voice laced with mockery and menace. “Oh, so the game is over? How amusing. Do you honestly think a handful of brutes can stop me? Let’s escalate the revelry, shall we?”
Before anyone could react, she began chanting a spell. Her voice rose above the chaos, carrying an ominous weight. Suddenly, the trees surrounding the square came alive. Their branches expanded unnaturally, forming barriers that blocked the escape routes. Leaves, now sharp as blades, slashed through the air, targeting anyone within reach.
A warrior near me was flung backward by a massive branch. I leaped forward, breaking his fall and preventing further injury. Behind me, Dorothy was locked in a fierce battle of wills with the witch, struggling to wrest control of the tree demons in the western quadrant.
The witch turned her gaze to Dorothy, her lips curling into a malicious smile. “Ah, a young werewolf dabbling in witchcraft. How quaint. Tell me, darling, what secrets are you hiding?”
Dorothy faltered, her inexperience showing. The backlash from the struggle forced her to release control, and she collapsed to the ground with a cry of pain.
“Dorothy!” I shouted, rushing to her side. Leaves as sharp as knives grazed my arms and face, drawing thin lines of blood.
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Dorothy clutched lier head, grimacing but resolute. “I’m fine,” she assured me through clenched teeth. “Go help the others. I’ll handle myself.”
Before I could respond, the ground beneath us began to tremble. Intricate patterns lit up across the square–a web of runes activated by the werewolf grandmasters. The weakening array, prepared long in advance, had finally come to life.
The witch’s laughter rang out as she stepped down from the flower terrace. She glanced at the glowing runes with feigned curiosity, prodding one with the toe of her shoe. “Well, isn’t this nostalgic? This little trick captured so many witches and wizards during the war. I’m almost touched. It reminds me of someone–a dear old friend of mine.”
I took a step forward, my voice cold and unwavering. “Surrender, witch. Your arrogance ends here. Today, you’ll pay for your crimes.”
Her response was a wild, mocking laugh. “Pay for my crimes? Oh, my dear little wolf, you’ve barely stepped into the world, yet you speak so boldly. Tell your guardians to issue threats instead it suits them better than it suits you.
She raised her hand, and the tree demons‘ attacks intensified. Branches and leaves lashed out
with renewed fury, forcing everyone on the battlefield to stay on the defensive.
It was clear that the weakening array had no effect on her. The spell, once formidable, was now nothing more than a relic.
I clenched my fists, frustration boiling within me. The witch’s immunity to offensive spells wasn’t unheard of. She likely possessed the rare bloodline of a pure white witch. These witches were unique, forbidden from using harmful magic but gifted with an unparalleled defense against it. However, as a mixed–blood witch, this one retained the ability to wield offensive sorcery freely while rendering ours ineffective.
This unfair advantage put us at a significant disadvantage.
The werewolf grandmasters, realizing the futility of the array, abandoned it and turned their efforts toward combating the tree demons. Their collective power began to push back against the witch’s control, forcing her to focus more of her energy on maintaining dominance.
Her expression darkened, and she snarled, “You persistent fools. Do you truly believe you can challenge me? Let me remind you who the true master of sorcery is.”
The tree demons slowed their movements, but this was no reprieve. The flowers and plants: scattered across the lawn began to mutate. They grew at an alarming rate, transforming into grotesque monstrosities. Some sprouted pustules that sprayed foul–smelling liquid, while others developed sharp, predatory teeth that gleamed in the light.
The battlefield descended further into chaos. Warriors clashed with the mutated plants, trying to protect the students and faculty. I led a group to rescue those entangled by the plants‘ deadly vines.
Despite our efforts, the injuries among our ranks mounted. Even I wasn’t spared–a man- eating daisy slashed my thigh, leaving a stinging wound.
Our forces were steadily being overwhelmed. The disparity in strength was glaringly evident, and the longer this battle dragged on, the more dire our situation became.
Desperation clawed at me as I assessed the battlefield. If we didn’t find a way to turn the tide, we wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer.
