Vel'Grothar pointed into the distance. "The castle is all the way back there," he said with a sly smile.
"But don't worry. I'll guide you through."
With a simple hand gesture, he commanded the skeletons to advance, the clatter of bones echoing through the battlefield.
The first to face danger was Saphyra.
A massive berserk skeleton — larger and far more muscular than any first-grade skeleton — charged at her with heavy, swinging fists.
Its movements were wild but dangerously fast. Saphyra, however, was ready.
Thanks to the speed potion she had drunk earlier, she nimbly dodged the brutal punch, feeling the rush of air as the strike narrowly missed her.
Before the berserk could strike again, Sylvara appeared, sword in hand.
She gritted her teeth, using all her strength to swing at the monster's neck.
The blow wasn't easy; its bones were dense and thick.
But after a struggle, the blade cut through, severing the creature's head.
It collapsed at her feet, signaling the start of the true battle.
Around them, witches unleashed their own attacks.
One particularly skilled archer fired three arrows simultaneously, each finding its mark in separate enemies.
However, the skeletons were relentless.
A first-grade skeleton managed to use its Skeleton Creation, sending jagged bone shards flying toward the witches.
Some were injured, their potions barely keeping them in the fight.
One of the shards nearly struck Garrick, but he narrowly dodged. Breathing heavily, he turned toward the guardians.
"What's the strategy here?" he asked, wiping sweat from his brow.
"For now, just kill them!" Sylvara shouted back, hurling her sword into the abdomen of a second-grade skeleton.
The impact forced the creature backward, and Sylvara quickly retrieved her weapon, slashing through two more second-grades before cleaving a first-grade in half just as it was about to activate another creation ability.
Garrick nodded and joined the fray.
Using his illusionary clones, he outmaneuvered a first-grade, appearing behind it and cutting it down with a clean slice.
Amidst the chaos, another witch who had previously been wounded — her eye nearly lost to a goblin — showed resilience.
With a healing potion restoring her vision, she fought fiercely, pulling twin knives from her belt and dancing through the battlefield, slashing down third and second-grade skeletons alike.
For a moment, it seemed the witches had the upper hand in sheer numbers.
But Vel'Grothar remained still, surrounded by a cluster of berserk skeletons.
His aura, calm yet oppressive, was a chilling reminder that the real danger hadn't moved yet.
Sylvara narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you just going to stand there?" she shouted.
Vel'Grothar said nothing. Instead, he raised his hand again, signaling the berserk skeletons to attack.
The berserkers surged forward, their speed shocking compared to the slower first and second grades.
Even the guardians and Garrick, who were far above average witches in terms of combat ability, found it challenging to keep pace.
Killing them directly was possible — but it would leave the regular witches completely vulnerable.
They had to adapt quickly.
Garrick proposed an idea: he would lure the berserkers away with his creation.
Crafting an elaborate illusion at the edge of a cliff, he baited the mindless skeletons into following.
They chased after the fake Garrick with reckless fury, swinging and attacking nothing but air.
Meanwhile, the real Garrick watched calmly from the shadows.
With the berserkers gathered below the cliff, the witches quickly climbed up, carrying vials filled with damage potions.
One by one, they dropped them onto the confused skeletons.
The potions exploded on impact, melting the bone structures and causing them to collapse with agonized wails.
Watching the massacre, Vel'Grothar turned his gaze toward Garrick.
"So it was your creation, huh?" he muttered, a smirk forming at the corner of his mouth. "I was right."
Without warning, he leapt into battle, lunging at Sylvara.
But she caught sight of him at the last second and sprang backward, narrowly avoiding his strike.
Sylvara scoffed. "Are you sure you're a Purgatorist? Your speed's slower than a first-grade!" she mocked.
Without hesitation, Sybil surged forward, landing a solid punch across Vel'Grothar's face, sending him staggering.
Before he could recover, Saphyra was on him too, delivering another powerful blow that sent him tumbling across the ground.
The witches regrouped quickly, exchanging uneasy glances.
"There's no way a real Purgatorist would be this weak," Sylvara said aloud, watching Vel'Grothar's unmoving body.
In the background, a witch sliced down another second-grade skeleton with ease.
Garrick, frowning, kept his distance, thinking carefully. Something was wrong. This wasn't over. Not even close.
And he was right.
From the debris, Vel'Grothar began laughing. The eerie sound filled the battlefield.
Sylvara spun around sharply, eyes locked onto Vel'Grothar as he rose from the rubble, unscathed and grinning.
Without a second thought, she sprinted forward, using the boost from another speed potion to try and land a devastating kick.
But Vel'Grothar moved fluidly, sidestepping the blow.
Sylvara's kick instead struck the ground, cracking the earth beneath her.
Before she could regain her balance, Vel'Grothar retaliated with a flurry of punches, battering her backward.
Sylvara flew across the battlefield, crashing hard onto the ground.
Seeing this, Saphyra and Sybil rushed to her aid, drawing their swords.
They attacked Vel'Grothar from both sides, forcing him to defend himself.
He managed to block Saphyra's blade, but, Sybil's — attack broke through.
Unfortunately, his thick armor absorbed the blow, rendering it useless.
Sybil wasn't finished. She clenched her fist and slammed it into his gut with a heavy punch, forcing him back a few steps.
Seizing the moment, Sylvara reappeared in front of him. "You're not dodging this!" she yelled, driving a powerful kick into his chest that sent him crashing into the earth below, dust flying.
They regrouped again, breathing heavily.
"What the hell?" Sylvara panted.
"He just got stronger out of nowhere! He was barely as strong as a second-grade skeleton before, now he's stronger than a berserker!"
Their worst fears were confirmed when Vel'Grothar slowly stood up again, no signs of pain or hesitation on his face.
Sybil, wiping blood from her cheek, asked the question on everyone's mind. "Is his Creation...?"
Vel'Grothar chuckled darkly. "Oh, you've probably figured it out already," he said, brushing dust from his armor. "My Creation is simple:
Purgatorist Creation // Evolve.
No matter what or who I face, I adapt and overcome. That's why I wear this heavy armor — to survive until I become powerful enough to win."
Sybil frowned. "Then why didn't you attack earlier with the berserkers?"
Vel'Grothar shrugged. "If I accidentally got hit by one of my own skeletons, I would devolve.
Fighting enemies evolves me — fighting allies does nothing. I work better alone."
Without waiting for another word, he charged forward, aiming directly for Sylvara.
Sylvara hastily drank another speed potion, but Vel'Grothar was faster now — dangerously so.
He closed the distance almost immediately.
Before he could land a blow, Saphyra and Sybil leapt from above, aiming to ambush him with simultaneous punches. But Vel'Grothar was ready.
He caught both of them mid-air with shocking strength, tossing them aside like rag dolls before delivering a brutal kick to Sylvara, knocking her back again.
He didn't stop there.
He marched over to Sybil, delivering a crushing punch to her side, and then headbutted Saphyra viciously, making her stagger backward.
Garrick, observing from a safe distance, grimaced. There was no way he could take on Vel'Grothar in his current state.
Stealthily, he began retreating, knowing survival was the smarter move here.
Back on the battlefield, Vel'Grothar stood looming over a battered Saphyra, preparing to finish her off.
Just as he raised his fist, Sybil and Sylvara grabbed him by the arms and legs, struggling to hold him back.
"Sybil, now!" Saphyra shouted.
Saphyra, chugging strength potions one after another, gritted her teeth, then charged forward.
She smashed her forehead into Vel'Grothar's chestplate with a deafening crack, leaving a deep dent in his armor.
For a moment, it seemed like they had succeeded.
But Vel'Grothar roared in rage, grabbing both Sylvara and Sybil by their necks, squeezing hard, trying to suffocate them.
Saphyra tried another headbutt, but this time Vel'Grothar dodged, swinging Saphyra like a weapon and tossing them all aside.
Choking Nami with one hand, Vel'Grothar prepared to finish her off — but in a desperate move, Sybil splashed a damage potion directly into his face.
He howled, stumbling back, momentarily blinded.
The witches quickly regrouped, drinking healing potions, their hands trembling.
But it was a fleeting relief.
When they opened their eyes again, Vel'Grothar was already standing less than two meters away from them, grinning.
"You girls think this is pain?" he sneered. "I lived where seventy-five percent of the environment was fire and lava. This stings… but it's nothing."
Before they could react, Vel'Grothar vanished from their sight.
When he reappeared, it wasn't in front of them — it was in front of Garrick.
"You," Vel'Grothar said in a cold voice, "are too dangerous to be left alive."