At the height of the day, the story unfolds in the realm of the witches. Cixilia, drained from days of relentless effort, instructed the witches to prepare for the fourth day of the festival. Unlike her, the witches were split into two groups: one worked during the day, the other through the night.

Cixilia’s weariness stemmed from her deep concern for Reyanna and the witches under her care.

After speaking with the witches, she made her way toward the city, overseeing preparations and ensuring the demon guests were well-rested.

When she arrived at the bustling city centre, a smile crept across her face as she watched carts rumbling through the streets, both within and beyond the city walls. Shops were open, witches walked alongside their daughters, and young witches soared playfully on their brooms. The scene, alive with energy, always filled Cixilia with a sense of wonder.

Her attention then shifted to the garden, where she was surprised to see Monroe seated in a wooden chair with a soft pillow, immersed in a book. Curious, she approached the sorceress standing guard and asked, "When did Lord Monroe enter the garden?"

The guard nodded in acknowledgement. "He arrived after the festivities and has been there since, accompanied by his right-hand man, Pidil."

Cixilia thanked the witch and moved gracefully toward Lord Monroe. As she neared, a warm smile touched her lips. "Lord Monroe, may I ask what book has caught your interest?"

Monroe returned the smile and gave a respectful nod. "Just something to pass the time—it's about witches and their magic. I had no idea you started teaching the young ones at such an early age!"

Cixilia’s soft laughter echoed as she replied, "Yes, it’s a tradition we hold dear, and it has served us well in raising skilled witches. But you needn't rely on a book. If you have any questions, I’d be happy to answer them."

Monroe’s expression grew thoughtful. "I’ve often wondered, why are your lands populated almost entirely by women? Aside from the occasional merchant or adventurer, men seem scarce."

Cixilia met his question with a direct answer as if she had anticipated it. "We witches follow long-standing customs. We take in orphaned girls, nurture them as our own, and pass down our knowledge, treating them as cherished daughters. Though some witches marry, they must leave their husbands outside our realm. The path of the witch, according to our traditions, is one only women may walk. They can return to their husbands beyond our borders, as marriage is a sacred bond between two souls."

Lord Monroe, curious, asked, "And what about the men I’ve seen—merchants and adventurers? I am a man myself, after all."

Cixilia offered a gentle clarification. "The men you’ve noticed are temporary visitors, here out of necessity. But you, Lord Monroe, are an honoured guest, and your presence is truly valued."

Monroe absorbed her words before posing another question. "And if a witch were to bear a son?"

Cixilia’s smile didn’t falter as she replied, "Even if he were just an infant, no man may set foot in our realm. The way of the witch is strictly for females, a tradition we uphold without exception."

Monroe nodded, a touch of admiration in his voice. "I respect your unwavering dedication to your customs and culture."

Cixilia smoothly shifted the conversation. "I was informed that you didn’t find rest last night, my lord. Were our accommodations not to your liking?"

Monroe set his book aside, his smile tinged with melancholy. "No, it wasn’t that. When the heart is troubled, sleep becomes elusive."

Cixilia sensed the weight of his words, but she maintained her gentle smile. "May I ask what troubled you?"

Monroe turned toward her, his smile vanishing, replaced by a complex mix of anger and seriousness. After a pause, he addressed his right-hand man. "Pidil, speak."

With a respectful bow, Pidil answered, "My Lady, our kingdom is under attack—by witches, led by Reyanna. A full-scale assault. What is your stance on this, Lady Cixilia?"

In an instant, time froze, suspending everything and everyone except Cixilia. She lifted her head and saw Reyanna and her daughters smiling warmly at her. Memories flooded in—the joyful moments of Reyanna nurturing her like a mother, guiding them in magic, laughing over their mistakes, and sharing meals and laughter together. Reyanna had been a loving, maternal figure to them all, a cherished presence in Cixilia's life. As she gazed at Reyanna, who radiated pride, Cixilia fought back the tears threatening to fall.

When time resumed its flow, Cixilia turned to Monroe, her face solemn. With deep sincerity, she said, "Reyanna is a deranged witch, driven by vengeance and a thirst for power. She no longer represents us, and her crimes must be judged accordingly."

Monroe was momentarily stunned but masked it behind a calm demeanour. "I'm relieved to hear that we are aligned. Given the current situation, I cannot return to my kingdom. I place my trust in you, Lady Cixilia."

Cixilia gave him a reassuring nod. "Rest easy and continue your reading, Lord Monroe. You have my word."

With that, she departed for the castle.

Once they were alone, Pidil leaned in and asked, "Lord Monroe, what is your next move?"

Monroe met Pidil's gaze with calm confidence. "One eye stays on the border to ensure no witch crosses it. The other stays on Cixilia. She is the new Mother, and her next move will determine the fate of this city in the coming hours."

Pidil nodded in understanding, and Monroe continued, "Make sure all knights are ready to defend at a moment’s notice. Also, assign someone trustworthy to watch over my wife and daughter. It’s a relief I didn’t bring all my children."

Meanwhile, in the city of Biboria, near the eastern castle, Kunvy and Jasmine stood side by side, facing off against the onslaught of monsters and witches. Despite her injuries, Kunvy held her ground, while Jasmine fought with only one arm—her right had been severed by a witch.

Kunvy leapt into action, shouting, "Elven magic: ərimə hovuzu."

As three witches prepared to unleash a deadly spell, lava surged from the ground, swallowing them whole, their screams drowned in the molten pool.

Jasmine called out, "Kunvy! When will they stop summoning these creatures?"

Before Kunvy could respond, she noticed a witch behind Jasmine. The witch’s voice rang out, "Lava magic: qılınc."

A blade of lava formed and shot forward, stabbing Jasmine in the stomach!

The witch's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she declared, "You burned my sisters. Now, I’ll burn yours. Fairness in war!"

In one swift motion, Jasmine wrenched the frozen sword from her stomach and thrust it into the witch’s throat.

The witch’s eyes widened in shock, blood spilling from her lips as Jasmine coldly declared, "You attacked us; now you die!"

Both women collapsed to the ground. Kunvy rushed to Jasmine’s side, holding her close and urging her desperately, "Come on, Jasmine! You froze the sword before it could do more damage. You’re going to be alright! Let’s get you up!"

With unwavering determination, Kunvy lifted Jasmine into her arms and sprinted toward the city. Knights swiftly formed a protective barrier, ensuring the twins’ safe passage as they crossed into the city’s magical shield.

Upon reaching the camp, a grim sight greeted Kunvy—one that stirred painful memories from her past battles against the humans. Bodies of soldiers were strewn across the ground, some injured, while healers tenderly carried away those who hadn’t survived, making room for the incoming wounded.

The moment Kunvy entered, the lead healer leapt to his feet, shouting, "Make way for the Lady!"

Even the critically injured soldiers struggled to rise, creating a path for Kunvy. The healer quickly shed his blood-stained robe, showing respect for Kunvy’s royal status.

As Kunvy surveyed the scene, sorrow and resolve mingled in her expression. She raised her voice, commanding with authority, "Hold your positions!"

All eyes turned to her, and she continued, her tone firm and steady, "We are equals in this fight. We are the heart of this kingdom, and we endure together. Stay in your place and receive the care you need. I’ll see to my sister myself!"

Grateful glances passed between the wounded soldiers as they settled back into their positions. Kunvy gently laid Jasmine on the ground, kneeling beside her, her voice soft but resolute. She began massaging Jasmine’s hands and whispered, "Jasmine, Jas, this is going to hurt, but you will endure it. Please, don’t scream—it would break my heart. Do you understand?"

Though Jasmine remained unconscious, Kunvy focused her attention on the wound, her fingers gently brushing over the injury as she murmured, "I have to thaw the ice you used to freeze that cursed sword. Just hold on, Jas. You’re strong."

The onlookers—healers and soldiers alike—stood in awe as Kunvy carefully inserted her fingers into Jasmine's wound, small flames flickering at her fingertips to thaw the frost-bound flesh. Jasmine awoke with a piercing cry, her body shaking uncontrollably. Kunvy fought to hold her steady, one hand focused on melting the ice, the other gently comforting her sister.

Suddenly, a healer stepped forward, offering support by steadying Jasmine, allowing Kunvy to focus fully on her delicate task. Jasmine's anguished screams echoed through the camp, leaving the soldiers in a state of awe and fear, witnessing the intense pain she was enduring.

As Kunvy worked, her voice strained with emotion. "Please, Jasmine, stop screaming. It hurts me so much to know I’m causing you pain. Please, for my sake, try to stop."

After what felt like an eternity, Kunvy finally withdrew her fingers, and the ice fully melted. The healer quickly took over, tending to Jasmine, who had mercifully fallen unconscious. Kunvy, catching her breath, was approached by a wounded soldier who limped over, concern etched on his face.

"Lady Kunvy," he asked hesitantly, "will she be alright?"

Kunvy mustered a weary smile. "Yes... yes, she will be... thank you. Now, get some rest."

Her words spread quickly through the camp, and soon the soldiers erupted into cheers, grateful for the small victory amidst the chaos. Kunvy acknowledged them with a nod, though she struggled to steady her breathing, exhausted from both the emotional toll and the physical pain.

Meanwhile, in the southern city of Clovendell, Aurelius stood drenched in a mix of blood and dirt, his body bearing cuts and bruises from the relentless battle. The once picturesque city had been transformed into a battlefield, with the witches' destruction of the protective barrier allowing a swarm of monsters to flood the streets. Bodies of both allies and enemies littered the ground, turning the vibrant city into a scene of devastation.

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Aurelius struck down the last magical lion before turning to face three demon knights, their commander stepping forward. "Lord Aurelius, per your orders, we've moved the civilians inside the castle’s ruins. Our most skilled sorcerers are working tirelessly to conjure reinforced shields to hold the monsters at bay."

Aurelius nodded in acknowledgement but couldn’t suppress his rising frustration. "This won't hold for long," he said, his voice strained with urgency. "The city has become a battleground since the barrier was breached. Children and adults alike have fallen to these beasts. We've *failed*!"

His impassioned cry echoed through the air, a rare moment of vulnerability for the typically composed Aurelius, even in the worst of times. He turned to the Commander, locking eyes, his determination sharpening with every word. "We must eliminate every witch, or these creatures will keep coming. Spare no effort, even if it costs us our forces. Our people’s safety is paramount—what use is the Gyovani if we can't protect them?"

The Commander nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. Aurelius continued, his voice resolute. "Send word to all our cities. Let them know we can’t hold the line much longer—the city is already in ruins. Until reinforcements arrive, hunt down every witch, every monster, until we reach the source of this nightmare that has defiled our land!"

Meanwhile, in the northern city of Mürrenvale, victory filled the air as the forces overcame their enemies. Citizens began gathering the witches' remains, preparing to burn the bodies. Commander Thal, exhausted and bloodied, sat on the ground, catching his breath after the fierce battle.

A female knight approached with respect, her voice steady. "Commander Thal, Lord Aurelius requests assistance. What are your orders?"

Commander Thal, his voice laden with weariness, turned to her and gave his command. "You know what needs to be done. Split our forces into three units and send them to the remaining cities. The Gyovani need us, and we will answer their call."

The knight nodded and quickly relayed the orders. Thal slowly rose to his feet, gathering what strength remained. He raised his voice, rallying his men. "For the kingdom! For the people, we fight and die—with our enemies!"

The troops, filled with renewed purpose, lifted their weapons in unison, chanting, "Our foes shall die!"

Simultaneously, on the outskirts of Turin in the west, Yoranios and Mahin fought with every ounce of strength to cut down the witches and stop the advance of the enchanted beasts. Yoranios, exhausted and on the verge of collapse, was approached by a solemn-faced female knight who rushed to his side. "My lord, we must hurry!" she urged, her voice heavy with exhaustion.

Yoranios raced alongside her, grief weighing heavily on his heart as he reached the lifeless body of General Kerifan. The brave leader had fallen, a symbol of his courage, still gripping his sword with a fierce grit. His heart was pierced by a poisoned dagger, thrust by the witch he had vanquished moments before his death. But it was not the poison that claimed him—it was the countless wounds from the enemies he had fought along the way.

With quiet reverence, Yoranios lowered his sword and gently placed a hand on Kerifan’s brow. A single tear slipped down his cheek as he whispered, "Requiescat in Pace, General Kerifan. Your bravery will never be forgotten, and your name will live on in our hearts, SIR!"

He then turned to the gathered soldiers, his face a reflection of fierce resolve. With a voice full of passion, he shouted, "MY PEOPLE! MY FELLOW WARRIORS! MY DAMN DEMONS! WE FIGHT, AND IF WE FALL, WE SHALL FALL AS GENERAL KERIFAN DID—WITH HONOR! FOR EVERY DEMON WHO DIE, A HUNDRED OF THOSE WRETCHED CREATURES AND WITCHES SHALL JOIN HIM IN THE ABYSS!"

The soldiers gripped their weapons, shouting as one, "TO THE GRAVE, WE DRAG THEM!"

Suddenly, the sorcerers sensed something ominous. Mahin looked toward the forest, feeling a dark energy growing. Yoranios also felt the impending threat and urgently commanded, "Sorcerers, raise the barrier now!"

The sorcerers quickly began chanting, casting protective spells to shield the group from the approaching darkness. General Gij, wide-eyed with alarm, dragged Nearf to safety, exclaiming, *Something terrible is coming from that forest!*

Meanwhile, back at the capital, the city remained under heavy protection. The people prayed for the safety and victory of their kin in the besieged cities. Inside the castle, Lilithra arrived and was greeted by ten dark knights who bowed in respect.

Taffer and his wife, Sina, greeted Lilithra with a mixture of anxiety and relief. Sina embraced her, her voice filled with sorrow, "My daughter, I’m so glad you’re safe!"

Lilithra offered a comforting smile and replied, "If anything were to happen to our family, we would feel it. There’s no need for fear. We will win."

Taffer turned to Lilithra, who offered a respectful nod before speaking. "Father, the witches have inflicted severe damage on our people, and the economic fallout will be equally disastrous. This attack isn’t random—they have a clear agenda, supported by powerful figures with both wealth and influence."

Taffer stroked his long white beard, reflecting on the situation in light of the latest news from Lilithra. He then said, "Jane needs to send a message to reassure the people and strengthen her army's morale. But she is currently imprisoned, while Reyanna remains at large, as the last reports indicated before we lost contact. What should our next steps be?"

Lilithra responded, "In the queen's absence, a ruler must step in to maintain stability. Yoranios is currently preoccupied with his own survival, so the responsibility falls to you, the former king."

Taffer bowed his head, memories of his children’s suffering crashing over him like a tide. The weight of his past regrets bore down on him, tightening around his heart. He had carried this pain in silence, believing that no one could truly understand or forgive him. Even Sina, who knew the depths of his sorrow, could not provide the solace he sought. He felt deserving of the torment that consumed him.

Suddenly, a warm hand rested on his shoulder, pulling him from the abyss of his thoughts. It was Lilithra, her face filled with concern. "Punishing yourself serves no purpose," she said firmly. "It does no justice to the great king you once were. If you seek redemption, do so with strength and resolve—not by following this pathetic, self-destructive course."

Her words, though compassionate, could not erase the guilt that clouded Taffer’s eyes. Yet, they sparked a flicker of determination within him. He took a deep breath and, though his voice wavered, he said, "I will help. I’ll do what must be done. Just give me a moment to gather myself."

Lilithra nodded and joined Sina in the throne chamber to make preparations for Taffer’s address.

As Taffer walked toward his chamber, he glanced at his wife, Sina. She appeared as radiant and steadfast as ever, heading off to serve their kingdom. Beside her was a young girl wearing a large witch's hat that obscured much of her face, clutching a magical staff. It was Lilithra, from years ago, in her old flowing gown, the hem dirtied from play. The sight tugged at his heart, bringing tears to Taffer’s eyes.

Taffer’s torment was like a haunting tapestry woven with centuries of guilt. Three hundred years had passed, each year peeling away like layers of an ancient scroll, yet the memories of his children remained frozen in time—innocent and forever scarred by the abyss he had cast them into. In his recent conversation with Yoranios, Taffer saw not a grown man, but the wounded child Yoranios had once been, his eyes burning with a mixture of rage and betrayal, retreating on a cart shrouded in resentment. Every choice Taffer now faced seemed to lead him deeper into despair, a father weighed down by the cruel hand of fate, burdened with decisions that brought no peace, only endless suffering.

Meanwhile, Sina walked alongside Lilithra, her voice soft but probing, "Daughter, why choose Taffer? Isn’t his reputation forever tarnished by what he did to you?"

Lilithra shook her head gently. "No, Mother. He was a king who sacrificed his own children for the sake of his people. The kingdom admires him for that. Anyone would honour a ruler who gives so much for his realm, who fights at the front lines himself. Despite everything, he’s a cherished figure. The people hold him in high regard and are willing to listen to him."

Back at the western castle, Olwyn collapsed, his limbs severed by Reyanna’s devastating magic. He screamed in pain, struggling to breathe.

Reyanna extended her hand, chanting, "Ancient magic: ölüm."

Before she could finish, her right hand was abruptly severed, though she showed no sign of pain or surprise. She turned calmly towards the darkened ground, which split open from a surge of light magic.

In the midst of the chaos, the black death appeared— the emotionless man swiftly lifted Olwyn as Erykah summoned a white shield to protect them from Reyanna's attacks. Slowly, they began retreating.

Reyanna sensed their movements but remained focused on the dark pit, where a powerful surge of demonic magic erupted.

Jane emerged from the fractured earth, an ominous aura surrounding her. Her gaze was locked on Reyanna, her intent unmistakably lethal. Reyanna, unphased, calmly remarked, "So, you’ve broken free of my magical hold. But without your horns, you can’t access your full ruler’s power. This fight is already decided, Jane. Victory is mine, as it always has been."

Jane said nothing, raising her hand as a fierce dark magic gathered in her palm. Reyanna sighed annoyingly, muttering, "That’s going to hurt."

Two hours prior, in an undisclosed location near the woods of Mürrenvale, within the northern city of the demon kingdom, Zephoria seethed with anger at one of the witches. Her voice echoed with fury as she shouted, "CHILDREN HAVE DIED! This attack wasn’t meant for the innocent to lose their lives!"

The witch, her head bowed in shame, responded in a low voice, "I’m sorry, Sister Zephoria. I was attacked by a demon knight and lost control. I deeply regret it."

Zephoria let out an exhausted sigh before declaring, "Tell that to the families of those who were devoured alive! We’re here to change our fate, not slaughter the innocent. The kingdom will crumble, it's inevitable, but we didn’t come to kill children. Gyovani must either surrender or die, but the blood of innocents should not stain our hands. So, do better!"

The witches nodded solemnly, and Zephoria commanded, "Now, let’s begin the spell Mother Reyanna obtained from that Rolf guy."

In the present, Reyanna used her magic to restore her severed right hand, her body riddled with cuts. Across from her, Jane, though drenched in blood, stood unwavering, her eyes fixed on Reyanna. The forest surrounding the now-ruined western castle carried an aura that stirred Reyanna's awareness. She smiled wickedly, sensing the impending danger.

Yoranios roared to his soldiers, "READY YOURSELVES! THEY'RE COMING!"

What emerged from the forest sent shockwaves through the ranks—a horde of undead beasts, monsters, and dragons, an army of the damned, charging toward Yoranios and Mahin. Mahin, his face set in a confident grin, stood ready for the battle.

The monstrous horde crashed against the magic shields, the front lines being crushed beneath the weight of those behind them, all driven by a relentless hunger for destruction.

Suddenly, a messenger reached Yoranios, urgency in his voice as he relayed, "Lord Aurelius has sent word! We can't hold them back. Use your spell, Yoranios!"

Meanwhile, General Gij sprinted beside Nearf, who had reverted to his normal self but was clearly exhausted, pushing himself to keep running. Gasping for breath, Nearf shouted, "We have to reach Yoranios!"

Back at the capital, a messenger hurriedly delivered the news to Lilithra, reporting, "An undead army approaches, Lady Lilithra!"

Without missing a beat, Lilithra, calm as ever, replied, "Bring me the crystal."

The messenger handed her the stone, and as Lilithra activated it, the crystal began to glow, projecting an image of the envoy from the western camp. He barely managed to greet her before she cut him off sharply, saying, “Take me to Yoranios, immediately.”

Before long, the messenger stood beside Yoranios, accompanied by the first envoy. Together, they presented the glowing crystal, where Lilithra's commanding voice echoed: “Yoranios, employ your spell. Suppress all magical energies to halt the spread of the monsters.”

Yoranios hesitated the weight of the decision clear on his face. "If I do that, the city's defences will collapse. The healers will lose their abilities, and the wounded will perish. Sorcerers will become easy targets on the battlefield.”

Just then, an injured soldier approached, his right side barely concealed by his torn clothes. With a bow, he declared with fierce resolve, “Sir! I can fight! I would rather die than be a burden to my people!”

Yoranios felt a deep pang of guilt, as though he had failed his people. But before he could respond, a knight pointed toward the city. Turning, Yoranios saw a line of civilians, armed with whatever weapons they could find, marching toward him. They were resolute, ready to stand and fight alongside him in the coming battle.

Nearf arrived, his voice resolute and unwavering. “Yoranios! We will give our lives for this kingdom. A few sacrifices are preferable to losing the entire realm!”

Yoranios stood at the crossroads of the greatest dilemma of his life. Every path led to suffering, and yet, a decision had to be made. The cost, either way, would be steep.

Then, unexpectedly, a familiar voice reverberated through the crystals held by the messengers. It echoed across the cities, reaching the watchtowers, guard posts, and even the famous landmarks. The wreckage of the southern castle, despite its damage, still transmitted the message.

It was Taffer’s voice—strong, steady. After a pause, he addressed the kingdom: “My people, I am Taffer Gyovani, the former king. These are difficult times, filled with confusion, anger, and the temptation of chaos. The witches rise against us, and the price is heavy. Yet, we must remain strong—not just for ourselves but for our children, for our future, for everything we hold dear. We’ve faced greater challenges before and survived. We will do so again. Yoranios, use your void spell. The people are counting on you.”

Across the camps, where both soldiers and civilians lay wounded, a soldier with a severed arm stood up. A nearby healer rushed to him, panic in her voice. “What are you doing, Yu?”

His response came with fiery determination. “I refuse to be a burden to this kingdom! LORD YORANIOS, USE THE SPELL! I WILL DIE FOR THE QUEEN AND THIS LAND!”

All across the cities, the injured struggled to their feet, their resolve unshaken. They shouted as one, “FOR QUEEN JANE! FOR THE KINGDOM, WE SHALL DIE FIGHTING!”

Lilithra’s voice followed, sharp and commanding, “YORANIOS.”

Nearf and Aurelius echoed her, their voices joining in unison. “YORANIOS!”

Then, Taffer and his wife Sina, their tones gentle yet filled with gravity, whispered together, “YORANIOS.”

And at last, every soldier, knight, the injured and the able-bodied, and the determined civilians united in one booming cry: “QUEEN JANE!”

Yoranios stood, his heart heavy with sorrow, a deep well of regret darkening his features. But the people had spoken. Slowly, he raised his hand, knowing there was no turning back.

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“Demonic magic: ETİBARSIZ.”