The Creator of Light (Part One)

"We have to go back."

Muttering his deepest desire, Capricorn tried to calm himself.

He gazed at the crude, rudimentary Utolan weapons of war used by the Fourth Holy Knight Order.

Even by the standards of ten thousand years ago, these weapons were far more primitive than those once used by his family in the Land of Mists. They could even be called primitive, like the hot-air balloons of ancient tribes.

But even so.

Faced with such overwhelming numbers, the invading Witchers could only rely on the Space-Time Channel to defend themselves.

The changes in distant Maire City made the Space-Time Channel tremble and grow unstable, directly affecting the Corpse Puppet legions arriving afterward.

Capricorn went to the summoning altar and worked to stabilize the Space-Time Channel above him.

"Your Grace."

A Three-Level Warlock King bowed humbly.

Capricorn ignored him. The unfamiliar little fellow wasn't worth paying any special attention to.

He looked up. Even that brief disturbance in the Space-Time Channel had been enough for the Space-Time Force to slice through the Corpse Puppets like the sharpest blades, grievously wounding large numbers of them in an instant. Some of the Witchers who had arrived with them were caught in it too, torn to pieces.

The cruel part was this.

Under the steady outpouring of evil power from the Space-Time Channel, some Witchers who had been nearly cut in half didn't die right away. Sustained by that evil power, they remained alive, able to feel their pain more keenly as it was prolonged to its utmost limit.

Torn limbs, mixed with foul, unidentified fluids, kept falling from the vortex of the Space-Time Channel like rain.

Whoosh.

A huge chunk of a corpse, resembling a fish head and about five meters long, came tumbling toward the summoning altar, its gaping mouth