Chapter 72 : Waters of Judgment

The creature was staggering to its feet, its wounds knitting shut before Curtis ’s very eyes. Its regenerative power surpassed even that of a troll.

The chains binding it to the Abyssal Maw meant close-quarters combat was unlikely, but even a half-healed demon throwing curses from afar would be an annoyance.

The only reason Curtis  had been able to pummel it so relentlessly before was because his ambush had been perfect. Make no mistake: this was no feeble wretch. If it were, the Church would’ve sent an acolyte—not a high-ranking bishop like Myra herself.

Letting this battle turn into a one-on-one brawl would be disastrous.

“Can’t really justify it, but whatever—I’ll make up something later.”

The moment he formed the thought, his intent was carried out.

The spirit, released from his hand, dropped to the ground with a soft splash—and began to swell.

Elemental spirits born from his water magic were capable of storing vast quantities of water within themselves. And with that stored power, they could grow. Not infinitely, of course—but enough.

Until now, Curtis  had only used this ability during training. A larger spirit meant more mass, more power—but also less mobility. It had never been worth deploying in an actual battle.

Until now.

SSHHHWWUUUMP!

Like an inflating balloon, the spirit expanded into a semi-hollow dome, encasing Curtis  in thick, glistening walls of water.

A fortress. No gaps. No weaknesses. A perfect aquatic bastion.

“No need to conserve. Focus only on the demon. It can’t move far anyway.”

With a mental command, Curtis  released the spirit to act freely.

FWOOOOOOSH!

A roar like the opening of a dam exploded outward. From the fortress wall facing the demon, an immense torrent burst forth. It wasn’t just an attack—it was an onslaught, a veritable flood that crashed over the still-healing fiend.

“GUAAAGHH!”

The demon, not yet recovered, was hurled backward like a rag doll struck by divine wrath.

Curtis ’s spirit hadn’t even reached its peak potential—its level still shy of forty-one, hovering somewhere around the upper-mid tier of Silver. But sheer volume and pressure mattered more here than finesse.

And when you’re chained to the earth and drowned in an ocean summoned by fury?
You don’t get to breathe.

“What is this sorcery?!”

Moritz reeled back, stunned. He could scarcely believe what he saw: Curtis , sealed inside an immense watery dome, still launching attacks without pause.

“Can you conjure infinite water?!”

Within the confines of Curtis ’s domain, Moritz couldn’t muster enough heat to spark a proper blaze. And beyond it? Nothing but water—soaked earth, drowning air.

Even magic-fed fire couldn’t burn underwater.

And even if he ignited flames against the barrier from outside, would they even reach Curtis  within that fortified shell?

Moritz had seen water mages of every sort across his life. But this?
This was beyond absurd.
Not only could this mage bend water as a weapon—he could conjure enough to fill a lake and wield it like a sword.

And Moritz had no idea about the spirit enabling it all. So he fumed, helpless before the seeming impossibility.

“Fine then! You think you can hole up and wait me out? Let’s see how long your little flood holds up when I tear it apart!”

He would obliterate it. Turn the water fortress into steam. Surely Curtis  couldn’t maintain such a construct and keep pressuring the demon. Holding the structure alone had to be draining his mana dry.

But just as Moritz prepared to surge forward—

SHWIP!

A water spear tore through the air diagonally, summoned from the very puddle at his feet. He twisted, countering just in time.

Then another. And another. Magical salvos, relentless, battering his position from every direction.

Nothing had changed.
Nothing except that now Moritz couldn’t even counterattack.

His flames were useless. His defenses were strained. His mind?
Fraying.

“What is happening? What are you…?!”

From within his fortress, Curtis ’s voice rang clear—cheerfully amused.

“I never said I was just going to defend, did I?”

He wasn’t using water to form a barrier. He was simply inside one.

He hadn’t conjured the walls—they were the body of the spirit itself, inflated to monstrous proportions and now encasing him like armor. And once formed, maintaining the spirit’s form cost no mana at all.

He could afford to spend every drop of magic on offense.

Offense against the demon.
Offense against Moritz.
Offense from behind a wall no flame could pierce.

“Though, to be fair,” Curtis  added with a grin, “I was buying time.”

“Time? What do you—”

Then Moritz stopped.

He followed Curtis ’s eyes.

And there, within the fog…
one by one…
the sacred flames began to glow.

A glimmer.
A shimmer.
The clergy were coming.

And they had seen everything.

Voices echoed in the mist.

“Brother Curtis !”

“Sister Lilia—he’s here!”

Figures emerged—first Lilia, radiant with divine might, her flail in one hand, light dancing in the other. Then Jenny, breathless but composed, already reaching for a healing prayer. Behind them came knights and priests, silver and steel glinting against holy fire.

Moritz froze.

His next move—whatever it might have been—died in his throat.

Lilia’s eyes swept over the scene. The shattered demon. The drowned earth. Curtis , calm and dry within his watery bastion. Moritz, trembling and scorched, half-drenched and wholly defeated.

And her voice, when it came, was not angry. Merely… disappointed.

“Lord Moritz. I assume there is a reasonable explanation for this?”

He said nothing.

Jenny stepped forward.

“The demon is still alive. Shall we purify it, Bishop?”

Behind her, more lights bloomed in the dark. Clerics, knights, hunters—witnesses.

Curtis  dispelled the spirit dome at last, stepping out into the mist.

“Let’s finish this properly,” he said.

He walked calmly toward the others, boots splashing in shallow water, as if nothing extraordinary had occurred. The clergy parted for him without a word. No applause. No cheers.

Just silence.

Respectful. Awed.

And above them, the Abyss still swirled—distant, watching.

The Cradle of Demons had only just begun to stir.