Stop Hypnotizing Me, Villainous Princess!

Chapter 108: Witch Lady, Save Me!!!

When Yveste regained consciousness from the spatial transfer, she found herself at the foot of the Soren Mountains.

Afia was by her side, holding her up with reddened eyes, seemingly trying to suppress a deep sorrow. Around them, everyone stood silent, still reeling from the shock of the events that had just transpired.

Lynn’s final impression had been overwhelming—like a lone hero sacrificing himself to save the world, trading his life for a better ending for everyone else.

As for Yveste... she didn’t show the rage or agitation one might have expected.

The brief hysteria she’d displayed earlier had exhausted what remained of her strength. Now, she simply stared blankly in the direction where Lynn had vanished, her outstretched hand still frozen in mid-air, as if the very essence of her vitality had been drained away.

The crimson eyes that usually glimmered with pride and authority were now hollow and listless.

And yet, deep inside her, there was a growing, irresistible urge to go back to him.

But her body refused to cooperate. She couldn’t summon even a sliver of Extraordinary Power, and her legs were utterly numb. Even taking a single step forward seemed impossible.

“Your... Your Highness?” Afia’s voice quivered as she tried to hold back tears, speaking softly to avoid disturbing Yveste further.

But Yveste didn’t respond. The once-commanding presence of the Third Princess was nowhere to be seen, leaving behind only a lifeless shell.

“Stop right there!”

A sharp, cautious voice broke the silence.

Everyone turned to see a group of Extraordinaries approaching. Judging by their insignias, they were from the Divine Order Church and were stationed to maintain a blockade around the mountain range.

Morris stepped forward, his face filled with fury. “Do you even know who you’re talking to?!”

“This is the retinue of Her Highness Yveste Roland Alexini, Third Princess of the Saint Roland Empire. You’re nothing more than dogs of the Church. Step aside!”

However, instead of cowing before his words, the Church's Extraordinaries exchanged amused glances, a mocking glint in their eyes.

“Apologies,” the leader of the group said coldly. “We’ve received strict orders: no living being is allowed to leave the Soren Mountains until the containment operation is complete.”

At his signal, the other Church members unsheathed their weapons, and the atmosphere instantly grew tense.

“You’d best turn back within the blockade,” the leader added with a faint smirk. “Even if you plan to leave, you’ll have to wait until the Church gives explicit permission.”

Before he could finish his sentence, something unexpected happened.

Duke Tyrius, a Fifth-Rank Legend, stepped forward, intending to deal with the insolent group himself. These so-called Church enforcers were ants to him. But just as he was about to act, the Church leader’s eyes bulged wide in shock.

“BOOM—”

A sudden explosion burst from his chest, as a glob of black sludge erupted from his heart.

The leader’s expression was frozen in disbelief as he looked down at the gaping hole where his heart had been. He staggered forward a few steps before collapsing lifelessly to the ground.

“What the...?”

Tyrius froze, dumbstruck.

He hadn’t even touched him.

But the nightmare wasn’t over.

As if some higher force was clearing the way for them—or perhaps completing some grander trial—one by one, the hearts of the other Church Extraordinaries exploded with eerie precision.

With each successive burst, over a hundred individuals fell lifelessly to the ground, their faces frozen in shock and disbelief.

The silence was deafening as blood pooled like a lake, the overwhelming sight leaving everyone in stunned horror.

Greya turned sharply, her intuition tingling. Her gaze swept toward the crumbling mountains, even though the earth quaked violently, obscuring any trace of the boy who had caused this chaos.

Lynn.

This massacre of Church Extraordinaries—had it also been part of your plan?

The Chaos in Orne City

Back in Orne City, panic and despair filled the air.

The mysterious force that had erupted earlier had plunged the city into an unprecedented nightmare.

Most of the city’s residents had succumbed to the same bizarre phenomenon: vomiting black sludge, their bodies weakening until they collapsed. It was as if their very life force was being siphoned away by the sludge.

This horrifying sight shattered the worldview of ordinary citizens accustomed to a peaceful existence.

Though they worshiped the gods, none had ever witnessed a true miracle—and this catastrophe felt more like a demon’s wrath than divine intervention.

As time passed, the sludge began to transform. From the black pools emerged terrifying shadowy figures, grotesque in form, wreaking havoc on anything and everything in sight.

The city descended into chaos as these black shadows launched an indiscriminate slaughter, leaving flames and destruction in their wake. Countless innocent lives were lost to this inexplicable disaster.

The city’s churches mobilized their Sealed Artifacts, creating small zones of refuge and containment around their holy grounds. But for a city with over 800,000 inhabitants, these safe zones were like drops in the ocean.

The overwhelming tragedy left the citizens in utter despair.

Even as the chaos unfolded, one thing was clear: Lynn’s confrontation with the Demon of Creation had rippled far beyond the Soren Mountains, leaving devastation in its wake.

And the end of this ordeal was still nowhere in sight.

At the City Hall Square, amidst the chaos, an unexpected figure took center stage.

A young man with silver hair and luxurious attire walked up to the raised platform, surrounded by a crowd of frightened survivors. His hands were clasped behind his back, his expression cold and commanding.

The Second Prince, Felit, had stayed in Orne City instead of retreating to safety for one reason: this crucial move in his political game.

To Felit, it mattered little whether the people feared or respected him. What did matter was the scoring system of the Saint Oak Institution, which placed significant weight on public opinion during the Succession Ceremony.

If he could take advantage of Yveste’s reckless actions to showcase his competence and compassion, why wouldn’t he?

Conveniently, he had brought with him a high-level Sealed Artifact, using it to protect a large number of survivors within its range.

As he looked at the tens of thousands of citizens gathered in the square and nearby streets—grateful and awestruck faces gazing at him as their savior—Felit’s expression remained impassive.

This moment would solidify his name in Orne City and the surrounding regions. People would remember his deeds, elevating him as the hero of this disaster.

That was enough for him.

Amplifying his voice with magic, he drew in a deep breath and began:

“Remember this moment well. It is not the gods who provide you sanctuary today but the Second Prince of the Saint Roland Empire, Fe—”

But just as the words were about to leave his lips, a voice suddenly boomed across the entire city, cutting him off and shaking the very air.

“People of Orne City, remember this: it is not the gods above who saved you from this calamity. It is Yveste Roland Alexini, Third Princess of the Saint Roland Empire!”

“She said, ‘There should be no filth in this world.’”

With those words, the heavens themselves seemed to shift.

The oppressive clouds over the city dissolved in an instant, revealing the warm glow of the setting sun.

Across the streets, the black sludge and the monstrous figures it birthed collapsed into lifeless heaps. The once-ominous black ooze receded as if called away by an invisible force, vanishing like a retreating tide.

The survivors, stunned into silence, looked around at the devastation and debris left in the aftermath. Slowly, realization dawned on them.

Then, like a dam breaking, cries of relief and grief filled the air as people fell to their knees, weeping over their miraculous survival.

And amid their sobs, one name began to take root in their hearts:

Yveste Roland Alexini.

Meanwhile, in Lynn’s Sea of Consciousness, the battle raged on.

“Apologies,” Lynn muttered with a chuckle, “I got a bit distracted handling other matters.”

The Demon of Creation glared at him, its expression a mixture of fury and confusion. Its malice-filled gaze shifted to the black stocking Lynn was clutching in his hand.

Was this boy insane? Who, in the face of death, would pull out a woman’s stocking?

“You’re trying to distract me with this nonsense? What’s next? A little dance to make me laugh myself to death?” the demon sneered, venom dripping from its voice.

Though it had suffered from the Crown of Thorns, the demon had regained control over most of Lynn’s body. Its power, even diminished, far exceeded anything a mere First-Rank Extraordinary could handle.

“You’d better take this seriously,” Lynn said with mock indignation. “This stocking is a precious gift from a beautiful lady. Of course, I’m going to use it properly.”

The demon’s contempt deepened as it prepared to strike. Enough games.

Within Lynn’s mental space, it launched a final, devastating assault on his soul, intent on obliterating his consciousness once and for all.

But in the physical world, Lynn’s body acted in a way that even the demon could not predict.

Tightly clutching the stocking, Lynn lifted it with trembling hands. His expression turned solemn, almost reverent, as though performing a sacred ritual.

Then, without warning, he buried his face into the fabric and took a deep breath.

What the hell?

Was this madness? Was his dying wish truly so ridiculous?

The demon froze, momentarily stunned by the sheer absurdity of it all.

Lynn seized the opportunity. Forcing every ounce of strength he had left, he let out a guttural, desperate shout.

It wasn’t a cry of despair or defiance—more like a plea, or perhaps a prayer.

“Witch Lady!”

“SAVE ME!!!”

A deafening roar tore through the fabric of reality itself. Space shattered behind Lynn, forming a swirling, pitch-black portal.

A familiar and overwhelming force surged forth, enveloping him.

This time, unlike his earlier spiritual encounters, the force pulled both his soul and his body into the void.

Lynn had only a moment to register the surprise in his own eyes before he was dragged entirely into the portal, disappearing into the abyss.

On the Road Out of Orne City

A carriage sped through the chaotic streets.

Inside, Afia silently wiped tears from her cheeks as she sat beside the Princess.

Yveste’s pale hands were tightly clenched together. Her once-delicate skin was marred with scratches and deep nail marks, blood dripping from her wounds.

But she seemed utterly unaware of the pain. Her hollow gaze remained fixed on the floral pattern carved into the carriage wall.

Afia’s heart sank with dread. She had served the princess for years, witnessing countless setbacks and struggles. No matter how harsh the failures, Yveste had never faltered.

Her resolve had always been unwavering, like an obsession etched into her very being.

But now, that once-unyielding resolve seemed absent, as though it had been extinguished entirely.

Afia bit her lip, desperate to say something to break Yveste’s spiraling thoughts. Before she could, a familiar voice echoed across the city once again:

“People of Orne City, remember this: it is not the gods above who saved you from this calamity. It is Yveste Roland Alexini!”

“She said, ‘There should be no filth in this world.’”

Afia froze, her tears streaming uncontrollably now.

It was him.

Despite everything, even as he faced a fate worse than death, Lynn’s final act had been to help Her Highness achieve her dream.

Afia turned to look at Yveste.

The princess’s lifeless body trembled. Not in joy at hearing his voice, but in despair.

The moment Lynn’s words faded, the bond she had left on him, the sigil she had carved into his chest, went silent.

It was as if the connection had been severed—a quiet, unspoken farewell.

Her vision blurred, the world spinning. A moment later, Yveste coughed violently, spitting out blood before collapsing unconscious.

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