High Executor
Enoch's illusions, though not high-level, were exceptionally practical. In theory, he should have been able to escape easily, unless he ran into that particular High Executor. Oddly, each time he was about to escape, he would be discovered by the Black Executors.
Now, with his magic depleted and unable to cast another illusion, Enoch quickly found himself cornered by a multitude of North Wind Knights and Black Executors.
Without his illusions, not only could he not defeat a Black Executor of equal rank, but even a freshly enlisted North Wind Knight could easily overpower him due to his slight build.
Trapped with no way out, one might expect despair, fear, and pleas for mercy.
Yet, surrounded by numerous knights and executors, Enoch found a stone in the corner to sit on, looking proudly at these servants of the divine.
Yes, he was facing death, but how many among the countless wild witches of Ceylan could claim to have killed a first-tier priest?
Enoch had killed a Black Executor. In the future, more wild witches would possess the ability to kill first-tier priests. Would wild witches still be hunted and despised then?
Perhaps, centuries later, history books would mention Enoch Hare as a great pioneer in the resistance against the tyranny of the gods.
Maybe they would even erect a monument in his honor?
This was enough to fill Enoch with pride.
"Which demon's sorcerer are you? There aren't many demons skilled in illusion. Are you a Mirage Demon? An Illusion Demon? Or perhaps a Dream Demon?"
A curious, gentle male voice asked, its mere sound comforting.
The knights and executors around Enoch parted, making way for a man in his thirties dressed in the white garb of a High Executor to approach.
He had luxurious golden hair and handsome features, always wearing a gentle smile that Enoch found utterly hypocritical.
"Aren't you supposed to be a mere wild witch? How could a wild witch achieve so much? You're clearly a sorcerer!" the man teased lightly.
"I'm no sorcerer!"
Enoch glared at the man. He could proudly die as a wild witch, but being called a soul-selling sorcerer was an insult to him.
He'd rather die as a wild witch than be labeled a sorcerer.
"You say you're not a sorcerer? Impossible! You don't have that disgusting demonic energy sorcerers carry. Could you really be a wild witch?"
The man's eyes lit up, staring at Enoch as if he had discovered something astonishing.
"So what if I am? Can't I be a wild witch, your lordship?"
Enoch retorted, angered by the man's insinuating tone.
"A wild witch? Hahaha, a wild witch capable of killing a first-tier executor is quite the rarity. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Reeves, a High Executor of the North Wind God."
The man laughed heartily, finding a wild witch capable of such a feat to be as rare as a level eight or higher mage.
"Take him. The High Priest will want to see this curiosity. Then, burn him at the central square tomorrow."
Even for a rare specimen, Reeves had no intention of sparing Enoch. A wild witch, no matter how powerful, was still considered inferior.
And to them, an inferior being had no right to live in this world.
Two North Wind Knights approached to bind Enoch with thick iron chains, preparing to take him to jail to spend his last night on earth.
As they approached with the chains, suddenly, a dense fog emerged from nowhere, obscuring the area around the corner.
It was already dark, and the fog made visibility even worse.
This was the second-tier spell, Mist.
Reeves snorted coldly, thinking someone dared to interfere.
Activating divine power, a howling gale emanated from him, dispersing the thick fog within moments.
Looking towards Enoch's location, he found the two knights tasked with binding Enoch lying on the ground, unconscious.
The duck that was in his grasp had flown away.
But Reeves wasn't panicked. Spreading his arms, a green tornado rose from his feet, lifting him into the air.
This was the blessing of the North Wind God, the third-tier wind spell, Wings of the North Wind!
Reeves floated in the air, his vantage point offering a clear view. In just a moment, he spotted a man in a black robe fleeing with Enoch.
With a grunt of annoyance, Reeves leaned forward, flying towards them.
Horn, always on high alert, sensed Reeves approaching and abruptly stopped.
Enoch looked at Horn, puzzled, but Horn just gestured for him to flee.
Pulling out a new walnut wand, Horn muttered a few words, and a fiery orb the size of a human head formed at the wand's tip.
This was the third-tier fire spell, Great Fireball!
Horn launched the fireball at Reeves in midair, who immediately sensed the danger and evaded, knowing it couldn't be countered head-on.
But Reeves, a High Executor of the North Wind God, skillfully avoided the attack.
Horn prepared another wand, casting yet another Great Fireball towards Reeves. But prepared, Reeves easily dodged the attack.
Encased in a whirlwind, Reeves closed in on Horn rapidly, giving Horn only enough time for two fireball spells before reaching him.
Reeves placed his hand on Horn's shoulder, his divine power flashing, and a powerful wind pressure immobilized Horn, leaving him unable to move.
Reeves attempted to reveal Horn's face by pulling back his hood, only to find a horrifying visage wrapped in colorful rags.
Reeves was taken aback. What vile curse could transform a person's face like this?
In the darkness, Horn, his face covered in tattered rags, looked indeed frightening.
Nobody would have guessed a third-tier sorcerer would disguise himself in such a manner. Reeves mistook it for a curse.
...
The highest building in Black Street belonged to a gang. Atop this building, a figure in a grey mage's robe sat on the edge, observing the ongoing battle.
Behind him, the bodies of gang members lay scattered, the soft chewing noises eerily audible in the quiet night, though no other living beings were present.
The chewing came from within the bodies themselves.
He found it interesting, having not seen anything so intriguing in a long time. The young wild witch's illusions were unexpectedly powerful. He had been tempted to capture the boy for study but decided to watch how far the young witch could go.
Thus, he had subtly tipped off the Black Executors just as the boy was about to escape.
That's why Enoch couldn't escape.
Now, with another sorcerer skilled in both lightning and fire intervening, he could no longer remain a bystander. What if this youngster was taken by another sorcerer?
He was a somewhat valuable sacrifice, after all.
The grey-robed figure stood up, only to find a black-robed figure already standing behind him.
"That black-robed kid's magic isn't bad, right? He's my disciple, a very diligent young man."
The shadow spoke...