Supreme Hunter of Beautiful Souls-Chapter 387: Time to slaughter them.

Irelia stepped forward, the blade in her hand radiating a cold glow that seemed to bite into the surrounding air. The metallic sound echoed through the empty room, ricocheting off the pillars of crimson ice like a silent warning: from then on, there would be no more room for hesitation.

Kael responded to her gesture with a simple nod—firm, decisive.

"I agree."

His voice seemed lower than before, but it carried the weight of an irreversible decision.

He turned completely to the three of them, and the red glint reflected in his eyes gave the distinct impression that the living ice was staring back at him.

"If they finish before we reach the core," he continued, "there will be no mission, no king to rescue… and no kingdom to return to."

The words hung in the air like ice cracking before breaking.

Sylphie took a deep breath, gathering her focus. A soft green mist gathered around her hands.

"Then let's stop it before it explodes. Let's climb up once and for all."

Amelia, her staff firmly gripped, raised her chin as if refusing to show fear.

"And destroy whatever is up there."

Kael glanced at the colossal spiral staircase that rose in the center of the room—narrower than the previous one, winding like a serpent of red ice. Each step exuded heat from below, like the breath of something immense and hungry.

He took a deep breath.

Then he walked.

With each step he took, the vibration of the ice seemed to intensify, as if keeping pace with the rhythm of his own heartbeat. The walls murmured—not with words, but with compressed, pulsating mana, about to burst.

Irelia climbed behind him, her senses heightened, her hand firm on her sword.

Sylphie followed close by, tense but determined.

Amelia, finally, glanced back for a brief moment at the empty room they were leaving… and then continued.

The next floor was different.

Very different.

When Kael pushed open the last door, the heat that escaped was so intense that for a moment it resembled the breath of a furnace—too hot, unsuitable for existing inside an ice palace.

But what they were about to see justified everything.

Kael entered first.

And stopped.

The others almost bumped into him when they saw what was inside.

It was a gigantic circular hall—even larger than the previous ones—but there, the ice wasn't just red.

It was incandescent.

Columns of living ice were torn, cracked, melting from within as if fire burned in their cores. Scalding vapors escaped from the fissures, spiraling upwards to the vaulted ceiling.

And in the center of the hall…

…there was an enormous hollow crystal, almost six meters high, pulsating with a distorted, grotesque white light, like the fusion of fire and ice trying to coexist. It was a giant heart, a core of heat forcibly contained.

Around it, dozens of witches knelt.

All in ritualistic positions, hands raised, bodies trembling with extreme effort, sweat evaporating before reaching the ground.

And at the top of the structure…

…ice shackles burned on the wrists of someone trapped there.

Someone large.

Someone of imposing stature.

Someone Kael recognized instantly.

The king.

But what caught his attention most—what made Kael stop for three seconds imbued with impossible weight—was the presence directly in front of the core.

Right at the central altar.

A solitary figure, standing.

White ritual robes burned at the edges.

Hair as long as strands of red ice.

Eyes gleaming like glowing coals.

The figure on the altar—the woman with hair like melting ice, eyes ablaze—remained turned toward the center, utterly oblivious to their presence. It was as if her entire consciousness was rooted in that living thing pulsating in the center of the room. Every movement she made—every slow, calculated gesture—generated waves of heat that distorted the air around them.

Kael didn't move.

He didn't breathe.

He simply observed.

And studied.

The kneeling witches were… different. More corrupted than the previous ones, more fused to the ritual itself than mere participants. Their bodies trembled not only from exertion, but as if they were holding something captive with their own spirit. Strands of dark mana trickled from their eyes, like tears of thick ink, evaporating before touching the incandescent floor.

Sylphie lightly touched his arm, alert.

Kael ignored it. He was counting.

Twenty-three…

Twenty-four…

Twenty-five black witches, all focused on the ritual.

Enough to destroy a small town. Or set an entire forest ablaze. Or… keep a core about to explode under control.

Kael inhaled.

Very slowly.

And then exhaled with a heavy, inevitable sigh.

"…I'll have to kill them all."

Sylphie's eyes widened.

Amelia took an involuntary step back, her staff trembling in her hand.

Irelia only tightened her grip on her sword even more.

Kael continued, as if commenting on the atmosphere:

"They are too dangerous to leave alive. You saw the state of the prisoners. You saw what they are feeding on."

His eyes narrowed.

"That over there…"—he indicated the pulsating core with his chin—"…is an abyss waiting to swallow the entire kingdom."

For a moment, the silence among the group seemed to weigh more than the unbearable heat in the room.

Then Kael turned to Amelia.

"I need you to send a magical message."

Amelia's brow furrowed—fear, apprehension, but also something like… readiness.

"To whom?"

"To Exelia."

The name hung in the air like a weight—Sylphie took a half-step back, Irelia raised an eyebrow, but no one questioned it. If Kael had decided, it was for a reason.

He continued:

"She must already be on the borders of the kingdom, preparing the advance. Report that we have located the king."

Amelia nodded and began drawing runes in the air with her staff.

Kael added:

"And report that the leader of the Black Witches is here as well."

Amelia's fingers trembled.

"You… are you sure it's her?"

Kael looked back at the figure on the altar.

The woman touched the core with her palm—and the incandescent ice seemed to recoil, as if fearing the touch. The air around her shimmered with violent distortions, signs of a mana capable of bending heat and cold at the same time.

Kael didn't look away.

"I think so? No." His voice came out firm.

"I know."

Amelia finished the circle and raised her staff.

"Any further instructions?"

Kael tilted his head slightly to the side, observing the witches trembling with exertion.

"Yes."

His gaze hardened.

"Tell Exelia it's time to attack."

Amelia activated the spell.

The rune burst into flames of white.

And when the light faded, the message was already traveling through the magical winds of the kingdom—and the war was officially about to begin.

The white light of the magical message pierced the treetops like a silent lightning bolt, splitting the darkness of the forest for an instant before dissolving into shimmering particles.

Exelia.

She raised her face, allowing the luminous rune to materialize above her open hand. The energy writhed as if struggling to maintain its form, carrying the raw urgency of Amelia's message.

When it finally stabilized, the rune glowed, pulsed… and then dissolved, releasing the information directly into her mind.

She stood motionless for a few seconds.

No emotion showed.

No surprise.

No glint in her eyes.

Just a slow, deep sigh—the kind one gives when confirming an unpleasant, yet expected, suspicion.

"…So that's it."

The witches positioned behind her—dozens of them, lined up among the dark trees, some wearing runic robes, others armed with staves and arcane books—raised their gaze, awaiting orders.

Exelia turned slowly.

Louise—a witch with fair skin and curly pink hair, always restless—was the first to approach, adjusting her glasses that were slipping down her nose.

"Exelia? What was transmitted?" The expedition leader placed one hand on her hip. Her expression finally shifted—harder, sharper.

"They found the king."

Some witches murmured amongst themselves, tense. Others exhaled a brief sigh of relief, quickly muffled by the tension that followed.

Exelia raised her hand, silencing them all instantly.

"And they found something worse."

Her voice gained an unexpected weight, like muffled thunder.

"They found the leader of the Black Witches."

A shiver ran through the entire group. Even the most veteran witches seemed momentarily uncomfortable, as if an ancient ghost had just crossed the clearing.

Morgana, tall and thin as a dry tree, with long silver hair, approached slowly. Her dark red eyes gleamed with ancient intelligence and a touch of impatience.

"The leader…" She pressed her lips together. "That means the core is close to collapse."

Exelia confirmed with a firm nod.

"Yes. And that's why we're going to start now."

She took two steps forward, positioning herself so that everyone could see her with absolute clarity. Her aura intensified, radiating pure authority—not arrogance, but the kind of presence that comes from someone whose power is undeniable.

"From this moment on, we begin the complete sealing."

A deathly silence fell over everyone.

"The barrier must be erected before their magic spreads. Before any collapse compromises our troops. And before any of them try to escape."

She extended her hand to Louise.

"Louise."

The young woman adjusted her glasses again, the anxiety perceptible but masked by a growing determination.

"Yes, ma'am!"

"I want a complete barrier around the entire kingdom. Spherical." She emphasized the word with a cutting firmness. "No openings. No weak points. No exceptions."

Louise swallowed hard.

"A… spherical… one encompassing the entire kingdom?" Her voice held a hint of disbelief—not for lack of ability, but for the sheer magnitude of the task.

Exelia raised an eyebrow.

"Is there a problem?"

The witch took a deep breath, her hands already beginning to glow with pink runes.

"No, ma'am. I'll raise it."

"Excellent."

She then turned her face slightly, meeting Morgana's gaze.

"Morgana."

The silver witch inclined her head, ready.

"I want you to overlay a layer of Anti-Dark Magic."

Exelia's eyes narrowed, and her tone grew colder.

"The barrier must withstand their touch. Corruption. Heat."

Morgana smiled—a small, sharp smile that never meant anything light.

"Anti-Dark Magic throughout the structure… Understood. It will hurt a little, but it won't break."

Louise cast a pale glance at her. "Who will it hurt, exactly?"

Morgana only blinked slowly, as if she knew a secret Louise wouldn't want to hear.

Exelia interrupted before the conversation dispersed.

"You two begin immediately. And don't stop until the core is stabilized… or destroyed."

The two witches nodded, already beginning to move away to start their magic circles.

Exelia then looked at the rest of the troop—thirty-two witches trained for combat, containment, and pursuit. None of them seemed exactly comfortable, but all were ready.

She raised her chin.

"From now on, no enemy leaves this realm alive."

The wind blew through the clearing, carrying the smell of burning ice from the direction of the distant palace. A reddish light flickered on the horizon, like the glow of a bonfire about to devour everything around it.

Exelia took a deep breath, tasting the metallic tang of magic saturated in the air.

"Black Witches…"

Her eyes flashed with a cold fury, contained for years.

"…wretched traitors."

She raised her hand.

All the witches behind her did the same.

Exelia smiled—a cruel but firm smile, the expression of someone who had waited a long time for this moment.

"Time to slaughter them."