Chelyo certainly had not anticipated such a response. As he gaped at us, bewildered by my cheeky greeting, I seized the moment. My hand quickly moved to reclaim a sigil from the dirt-strewn floor. Catching him unaware, in a single deft motion, I pressed the sigil to his forehead, reciting the incantation.
“Argh!” he cried, but the Sigil of Mental Fragility was only effective on minds weaker than the user’s, and magians possessed minds of remarkable resilience. It merely dazed him momentarily, yet that brief disorientation was all the time I needed. Princess’s supple, strong legs sprang into action, delivering a swift kick squarely to his nose. Without the encumbrance of dress or petticoat, there was nothing to hinder me.
I swiftly grabbed my cape and put it across his head, pushing him to the floor. Princess was flexible and able-bodied. I smothered him as he struggled, but the old man was deceptively strong—far stronger than his frail appearance suggested. He began to overpower me with ease, even as I pressed with all my might, pinning him beneath me.
Realizing that this struggle would end in defeat, I released my hold on his face and instead snaked my hands beneath his foul-smelling robes. My fingers closed around his potent talisman of ignition, but he quickly anticipated my move, grasping my wrist with a vice-like grip.
“Release me at once!” I commanded, my voice unwavering despite the situation. “I know the incantation and the Artanical answer! If I activate this talisman so close to your body, you shall be blown to pieces, scattered like debris! Do not be foolish, old man!” I bluffed, though in truth, I had not yet deciphered the intricacies of the Sigil of Major Ignition.
His response was ruthless—a knee driven sharply into my groin. A searing pain erupted from my lower abdomen, radiating through my entire body. It was common knowledge that a man’s gonads were a vulnerable target, but the female equivalents, though internal, were not exactly plated mail, either. That was excruciating!
“Effirseet!” I barely squeaked, air leaving my lungs and pain plaguing my mind.
The talisman I had been clutching suddenly activated. A powerful reaction ensued, hurling me off him and propelling him away. As expected, my hexerei had a limited effect, yet it was commendable that it had worked at all. It was not enough to kill a man, even with a formidable artifact in hand; in the maverick’s grasp, it would prove far more dangerous.
Though the fiend was clearly wounded, struggling to catch his breath, bleeding from his injuries, the force of the blow had wrested the arcane weapon off me. I quickly rose to our feet, hastening to the obstructed exit. Surely, I reasoned, there must exist a means to reopen it; he would not have entombed himself without a way to reverse it.
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Princess’s keen eyes, sharpened by desperation, allowed me to discern the solution even in the dimly lit cave. Another sigil had been carved into the stone near the door. Fortunately, it was one I recognized—one of the simplest and most rudimentary hexerei.
“Ferioh…” I struggled to articulate, hunching over in lower abdominal pain, touching the small carving on the stone.
The massive boulder responded, sliding aside. It was not truly a boulder but a mechanism—a slab designed to resemble one. Such designs were often used in hidden lairs or treasure vaults in fables. A small reaction would manipulate a large object, allowing it to glide over a surface of similar material. This was why the vile man dwelled underground—to control rock against rock, a barrier only a magian could move.
I spared not a glance behind me, nor did I care for the material wealth I left in my wake. Disregarding the pain, I propelled myself forward with unprecedented speed—ascending the stairs, bursting through the grimy curtain that served as a door, and racing towards the waiting carriage by the entrance.
“Nester! Nester!” I called out for my guide and coachman, idly by, puffing on his pipe. He nearly choked at the sight of a naked woman hurtling toward him. “Quick! We must flee at once! There is a magian!” I blurted out, focusing on the critical information first.
“A… a magian?” he stammered, coughing as he grappled with the shock of the situation. I hastened to clamber into the stagecoach, humiliatingly squeezing through one of the windows. Halfway inside, I prayed the boy was not too distracted by the unseemly sight of my exposed rear hanging from it in my frantic state.
“A magian apostate, you dim-witted peasant! Get us out of here before he blows us to smithereens!” I barked.
“Ah! Oh, no! F-fuck; a heathen!” he finally grasped the gravity of the danger and leapt into his seat. “Hee-yaa!” he shouted, snapping the reins. The horses neighed in protest but obeyed, breaking into a gallop. Their lurching movement finally sent me tumbling inside. “Faster, you plodding haystacks on legs! We’re gonna die!” he cried out in terror, well aware of the peril a magian apostate posed.
The carriage contained little more than the books we had purchased, but one happened to have a spine adorned with shiny foil—reflective enough for my purposes.
“Princess? Princess? Are you still with me?” I called out through the haze of pain, clutching my lower abdomen, worried something vital had been damaged. “Answer me, please.”
“I… answer…” a lethargic voice spoke inside of me.
“Oh, splendid. You are still under its influence,” I muttered sarcastically. “Do you recall everything that transpired in the shop?”
“I… remember… told me to… undress… told me to… step on wood piece… nothing… after,” she slowly slurred.
“Good enough,” I reasoned. “Say, while you are unable to lie, w-what does… w-what do you think Fermina truly thinks about me? Be… candid.”
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