Thirty Years Ago – The Fall of the Last Witch
Thirty years before the extinction of the Summon Race, Sora Magestus—the last living witch of Orion—was captured.
Bloodied, shackled, and barely conscious, she was dragged through the marble halls of the Sanctum Citadel by none other than Lancelot Ardglass, one of the Seven Corrupted Holy Knights. Her body was broken, but her spirit refused to shatter.
Before her stood the throne of Grandmaster Kervil Isambard—or so it seemed.
Sora whispered, voice strained but defiant, "Seraphim."
A soft, ethereal chime echoed in her mind.
[Yes]
"Activate Delete Skill," she commanded.
[Confirmed. Delete Skill now activated.]
[Notice: All acquired Skills are now being deleted. This action is irreversible.]
Sora allowed herself a faint smile, even as blood dripped from her mouth.
A nearby knight struck her across the face. "What are you smiling at, witch?"
The blow sent her stumbling, but she didn't cry out. Her chains clattered against the polished stone as another knight yanked her forward.
"Be careful with her, Emporio," Lancelot warned. "If she dies before the Grandmaster sees her, it's your head."
Emporio sneered. "As if this wretched witch could die that easily. She led a rebellion, remember? I say we should've flayed her on the battlefield."
[Notice: Deletion complete.]
Sora exhaled a long breath of relief.
"Thank you, Seraphim. You've served me well."
[I existed for this purpose, Sora. Thank you… for believing in me when no one else would.]
"My final wish… is for you to return to our creator."
[Accepted… Logging off.]
With Seraphim's departure, the last of her strength left her. Still, her heart was steady. She had seen this moment in her visions. Death was inevitable—but so was rebirth.
Sora was the final uncorrupted descendant of the Great Sage, keeper of the Sage's Grimoire, a tome said to contain the divine Skills that shaped Orion itself. Should it fall into corrupted hands, the realm would spiral into annihilation.
But she had made preparations.
Ten years ago, she entrusted a low-ranking mage—a loyal, timid soul—to hide the grimoire and perform a forbidden Summoning Spell exactly a decade after her death. It was her last gamble.
The throne room doors creaked open.
The figure that entered wore the golden helm of the Grandmaster, but the man beneath it… was wrong.
Behind him stood a smaller, hooded figure—timid, unremarkable. But Sora's magic-scarred eyes saw something deeper.
"Leave us," the smaller man said.
The knights bowed and departed in silence.
Once alone, the imposter grinned.
"Now then… what should I do with you?" he purred.
"You're not Grandmaster Isambard," Sora spat. "You're a fraud."
The hooded man chuckled darkly and removed his veil. "My name is Isodor Chaney. And this 'Grandmaster'?" He gestured to the helmed figure. "My puppet."
"What have you done?"
"Unique Skill: Jezebel, Mistress of Manipulation. Your beloved Grandmaster dances to my will now. And with his Skill—Hermes, the King of Stealing—I was hoping to strip your powers… and that delicious grimoire."
Sora tilted her head and smiled weakly. "You're too late."
Isodor flinched. "What…?"
"I've erased every skill. Seraphim is gone. The grimoire? Hidden where your kind will never find it."
"No!" Isodor screamed, eyes flaring. He opened her status panel. Empty. Not even a flicker of magic remained.
"You worthless corpse!"
He turned and screamed for the guards.
"Burn her," he barked. "At the central plaza. Let her death be a lesson to those who would dream of rebellion."
"Yes, Grandmaster."
Sora was dragged away, still smiling.
In the throne room, Isodor began to tremble. "The Master… he'll kill me. I promised him the witch's skill… and the grimoire…"
As if summoned by dread itself, the shadows around the throne twisted.
A deep, gluttonous growl reverberated through the chamber.
"Where is my offering, Isodor?" The voice was not entirely human—distorted, hungry, ancient.
"I—I failed… forgive me, Master—"
The shadows erupted. A viscous black mass surged forth, wrapping around Isodor and his puppet. Their screams were muffled in seconds.
The Devourer stirred.
(Skill: Jezebel obtained)(Skill: Hermes obtained)
[Devourer's Skill has consumed Jezebel and Hermes.][Ready for evolution.]
[Devourer has now evolved into: GLUTTONY.][Notice: All Seven Sins have been acquired.][Ultimate Unique Skill: Capital Vices – Complete.]
[ULTIMATE SKILL CAPITAL VICES NEW FROM SKILL: STEAL]
From the throne, a figure rose—slim, regal, smiling with jagged teeth.
"Hm. Devouring that arrogant serpent wasn't a waste after all…"
He gazed out the window, to where the sun sank behind the obsidian spires of the Sanctum.
"And now… let the feast begin."
The Execution
The next day, Sora was bound to a pyre, her body soaked in holy oil.
A crowd gathered in silence.
She did not scream as the flames licked her skin. She looked only at one man—Raiden.
Raiden, a former mage and her oldest friend, clenched his fists.
"This world is already lost, Sora. Why did you still believe in change?"
She smiled through the smoke.
"Because Orion still has people worth saving. And someone will come—ten years from now—to finish what I started."
It was the last time Raiden saw her smile.
Present Day – Levaerûn
In the innermost chamber of a heavily guarded Spriggan manor, dusk painted the sky in shades of gold and crimson.
Raiden—now the leader of the Spriggan faction—stood by a vast glass window, silver hair cascading over one shoulder. Her gray eyes, cold and unreadable, fixed on the horizon.
Behind her stood a demon in a crisp butler's uniform—Dareth.
"Well?" she asked softly.
Dareth bowed. "Half the town is under his control."
Raiden arched a brow. "And Leal?"
"He held back. He didn't use his advanced class skill."
"Expected," Raiden muttered. "Leal's pride runs deeper than strategy."
She turned, studying Dareth's calm expression.
"This boy... is he truly a Summon?"
"There's a strong chance," Dareth said. "No illusions, no skill-based deception. His soul reads… displaced."
Raiden turned back to the fading sun.
"Ten years," she whispered. "Just as Sora said."
Dareth bowed again. "Shall I continue surveillance?"
"No. You've done well. Rest."
"As you wish, Lady Raiden."
Dareth disappeared into the shadows, leaving Raiden alone.
She placed a hand gently on the glass.
"He's here, Sora… your hero."
Her voice was a whisper, barely louder than the wind.
"I only hope he chooses the right path."