The World Is Mine For The Taking-Chapter 1218 - 188 - The Perverted Witch (1)

The tournament was already deep into its stride, the kind of phase where the crowd stopped treating it like a spectacle and started taking it seriously.

The number of participants had been shrinking steadily, round after round, until the chaos from the earlier matches had thinned out. At this point, every fight mattered. We were inching closer to the semi-finals, and everyone could feel it in the air.

I was standing off to the side, watching one of the platforms where two competitors were locked in combat.

It was a hard fight. Not flashy in the exaggerated sense, but exhausting, gritty, and relentless. It was the kind that slowly ground one side down rather than ending in a single dramatic moment.

One of them was clearly an experienced marksman. You could tell just by the way he moved. He was calm, measured, and never wasting motion. He fought by throwing projectiles—short knives, to be precise—each one released with practiced precision. The other was a melee fighter, relying on close combat, footwork, and timing to get within striking distance.

On paper, the melee fighter should’ve been at a disadvantage. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

And in reality, that disadvantage was painfully obvious.

The balance didn’t tilt in his favor like some dramatic reversal. If anything, it tipped harder against him as the match dragged on.

The projectile user never let up. Knife after knife flew through the air, glinting briefly before embedding themselves into the ground, barriers, or grazing close enough to force the melee fighter to dodge. There were so many that at times it almost looked unreal, like the knives were duplicating themselves midair. You’d have to blink twice just to make sure you weren’t imagining things.

From the sidelines, it was clear who was controlling the pace.

The melee fighter tried again and again to close the distance, but every attempt was shut down. A step forward meant three steps back. A dash was met with another volley. He was constantly reacting, never acting, and that kind of fighting drains you fast.

His breathing grew heavier. His movements slowed just enough to be noticeable.

Exhaustion crept in quietly, then all at once.

Being forced to defend nonstop while your opponent keeps throwing projectiles at you is a special kind of torture. You don’t get room to think. You don’t get a chance to recover. Eventually, it just wears you down—physically and mentally.

Once fatigue set in, the end was inevitable.

His guard faltered, just for a moment, and that was all it took.

The final throw landed, and the match was over.

The one using projectiles won.

Honestly, it didn’t feel fair.

A melee versus projectile matchup was inherently unbalanced. There was no denying that. One side had range, pressure, and control, while the other had to gamble everything just to land a single hit.

But fairness wasn’t the point of this tournament.

This event was designed with freedom in mind. Participants were allowed to fight however they wanted, using whatever style suited them best. That was why magic was permitted. That was why weapons of all kinds were allowed.

It wasn’t about balance—it was about expression.

If someone preferred a spear over a sword, that was fine. If another preferred magic over steel, that was fine too. The rules didn’t care, and neither did the arena.

Still, I couldn’t blame the spectators who muttered complaints under their breath. From their perspective, it probably looked lopsided, maybe even cheap.

The winner, however, didn’t look like he cared.

The projectile user—knife thrower—was declared victorious.

And with that, he became my next opponent.

My last one for the preliminary rounds.

One of us would win our match, and that person would advance to the semi-finals.

The format was simple. It was the best of three matches.

That match would take place the next day—the eleventh day of the event.

***

Later that day, I found myself walking through the aisles of the Entertainment District.

It had been a while since I’d last been here.

The place felt... quieter.

There were fewer prostitutes lining the streets, fewer voices calling out, fewer bodies leaning against walls with practiced smiles. It wasn’t empty by any means, but compared to what I remembered, something had clearly changed.

The reason wasn’t hard to guess.

Bandits and slavers had been losing ground lately.

Most of the prostitutes working in this district were either women who had fallen into poverty and had no other way to survive, or slaves captured by bandits and sold like merchandise. It was an ugly system, and one that had thrived for far too long.

The unification of the Great Forest had dealt a serious blow to the slave trade. With tighter control and cooperation between races, slavers could no longer freely capture beast people, elves, or other races and drag them out of the forest in chains.

Of course, that didn’t mean the trade was completely gone.

Something this old, this deeply rooted, doesn’t disappear overnight. People would always find ways to exploit others if left unchecked.

Still, compared to before, this was progress.

In my ideal world, slavery wouldn’t exist at all.

And while that world wasn’t here yet, it was slowly, steadily becoming more real.

As I walked, a few female prostitutes approached me, their expressions brightening as they sized me up.

"Hey, mister! You can fuck us however you want, just for this price!" one of them said, flashing a practiced grin.

I gave them a polite smile. "Sorry. That’s not why I’m here."

The disappointment was immediate. You could practically see it deflate them.

"Well... it’s fine for free," one of them said after a pause.

"Hey! Don’t say that!" another snapped, elbowing her. "No matter how handsome someone is, you can’t just offer to fuck for free! This is work, remember?"

Yeah. That pretty much summed it up.

I left them behind and continued walking until I reached my destination.

It was a place I hadn’t visited in quite some time.

The moment I stepped inside her lair, the air changed.

The scent hit me instantly. It was thick, heavy, and unmistakably the smell of a woman in heat.

A horny witch’s presence clung to the air like fog.

"Aaahhh, aaahhh! M-Masterrr...! W-When are you going to visit me again...?! I’m so lonely...!"

Dorothea was there.

Her tongue hung out as vines slithered across her body, wrapping around her limbs and torso like living tentacles. They moved with deliberate rhythm, continuously assaulting both her ass and vagina at the same time. Her body trembled violently as she orgasmed, her eyes rolling back until only the whites were visible.

It was... a lot.

There was only one thing I could say about her with absolute certainty.

She was disgustingly perverse.

Those vines weren’t natural. They were powered by my own abilities.

It was actually something I’d gained after acquiring the powers of the Dryads.

Even though the three Dryad sisters didn’t have any unique skills, for reasons I still didn’t fully understand, their vine manipulation had become part of my arsenal.

A very versatile power.

And, apparently...

Very well suited for situations like this.