MIGHT AS WELL BE OP-Chapter 338: Grimoire

The Pervy Sage panted heavily, his gaze locked onto Mitchelle.

He couldn’t fathom it.

He refused to accept it.

A mere human had surpassed him in magic.

And worse—a woman.

The realization curdled in his mind, a bitter aftertaste he could not swallow.

To him, women were nothing more than fleeting pleasures, meant to be indulged, consumed, and discarded once they lost their flavor.

"How can such a thing exist? This is an impossibility"

He muttered, his voice laced with disbelief as blood trickled down his body.

The rings adorning his fingers were more than mere ornaments, they were reservoirs of mana.

For mages, the greatest limitation was always their mana.

Once depleted, they became as helpless as infants, stripped of their power.

Azarion had long since found a way to overcome this weakness.

Each of his fingers bore rings imbued with stored mana, allowing him to prolong his spellcasting far beyond natural limits.

Most mages possessed some form of mana reservoir, yet the true distinction lay in capacity.

Much like a space ring, the difference between them was measured by how much they could contain.

But not all the rings adorning Azarion’s fingers were meant for spellcasting.

Some held reserves of mana solely dedicated to healing, automatically activating upon injury to mend his wounds.

Of the ten rings he wore, one served as a space ring, five functioned as mana reservoirs, and four were enchanted with restorative magic.

A perfectly balanced arsenal.

Yet balance meant little when faced with the wrong opponent.

Azarion had yet to invoke Absolute Duality throughout the battle, not because he chose to withhold it, but because Mitchelle had never allowed him the chance.

Now, as he stood there panting, a brief moment of reprieve finally granted, he understood the bitter truth.

Even if he summoned his other self, it would change nothing.

Azarion’s gaze flickered to the golden grimoire floating beside Mitchelle, its presence radiating an enigmatic aura.

His eyes burned, not with anger, but with unrelenting greed.

"So… I lost because of this artifact, huh?"

He murmured weakly.

Mitchelle remained silent.

The grimoire was no ordinary artifact.

Its significance ran far deeper than mere power.

It harbored a secret, one that not even Michael knew.

Not even her parents.

In truth, not a single being in existence had uncovered its mysteries, for she had never spoken of them.

The grimoire was not something Mitchelle had acquired, it was something she was born with.

Yes.

From the moment of her birth, it had been bound to her very soul, an inseparable part of her existence.

Yet, for years, it remained dormant, its presence concealed even from her own awareness.

Until the day she turned ten.

The day she awakened.

On that fateful day, the grimoire stirred for the first time, revealing itself at last.

The grimoire granted Mitchelle the ability to wield multiple elements with effortless mastery.

As her power grew, so too did the number of elements she could command, her affinity expanding with each breakthrough.

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It was more than just a tool, it was the foundation of her unparalleled magical talent.

The very reason she was said to rival the Dragons in magic.

Yet, its gifts extended far beyond elemental control.

With every advancement in strength, the grimoire bestowed deeper insights, complex spells, and forbidden knowledge.

It served as a vast reservoir of mana, ensuring she never found herself drained in battle.

Moreover, it lessened the burden of magic itself, reducing her spellcasting mana consumption by twenty percent when wielding the grimoire, and by ten percent even when she was not.

Every spell Mitchelle had ever learned was inscribed within its pages.

Even the most rudimentary fireball had its own entry, meticulously recorded.

One spell per page.

Yet, despite Mitchelle’s mastery over a thousand spells across countless elements, the grimoire appeared deceptively thin, as if it contained no more than a hundred pages.

After consuming the fruit Anthony had given her, even the grimoire underwent a transformation.

Its mana storage capacity became limitless, an infinite well of power at her disposal.

The reduction in mana consumption surged to astonishing levels, forty percent while wielding the grimoire, and thirty percent even when she wasn’t.

New spells inscribed themselves upon its pages, and streams of knowledge flowed into her mind, expanding her understanding of magic beyond mortal comprehension.

It was nothing short of surreal.

Mitchelle bestowed upon it a name worthy of its power—Aetheris Codex.

Grimoires were not uncommon in the world of the Blue Planet.

In her younger years, when she wielded the book, few paid it any mind.

She had simply claimed it was a dungeon artifact, an explanation so mundane that no one questioned it.

Yet, as time passed, murmurs began to spread.

Despite its unassuming exterior, something about her grimoire was different.

And people were starting to notice.

The way its pages fluttered with each spell she cast.

The way mana pulsed from its core, a living conduit of raw power, surging outward with every invocation.

People noticed.

But they could do nothing about it.

Mitchelle’s background alone was enough to deter even the most ambitious schemers.

And then there was her strength, an overwhelming force that shattered all expectations.

Imagine a grimoire that could passively absorb mana, endlessly, without limit.

An artifact that defied the very constraints of magic itself.

In terms of mana storage, Azarion had already lost before the battle had even begun.

Even a hundred enchanted rings would make no difference.

"Any last words?"

Mitchelle’s voice was calm, almost indifferent, as she gazed at Azarion.

Unlike the battered and broken man before her, she stood untouched, unscathed, as though the battle had never even happened.

Azarion chuckled weakly, blood staining his lips, yet his eyes still held a glint of amusement.

"If you thought I would beg for my life, then you’re dead wrong"

He rasped.

"But… you could give me a kiss as a farewell"

Mitchelle remained unmoved, her expression unreadable.

"Even on death’s door, you still say such things…"

She murmured, shaking her head.

"Men truly are a strange kind"

With a mere flick of her will, space itself twisted, collapsing inward.

Azarion was crushed in an instant, his body erased from existence.

Yet, unknown to Mitchelle, a spectral form lingered in the aftermath.

Azarion’s soul drifted free, its ethereal gaze locked onto her for a brief, unreadable moment, before vanishing into the void.

Before Mitchelle could take a step forward or back, a voice echoed through the air.

"You are too fierce, my love"

Michael’s voice carried warmth and amusement as he descended beside her, his presence effortless yet commanding.

Mitchelle finally turned, a rare smile gracing her lips.

"Then you should have come to my aid instead of fighting endlessly"

She chided playfully.

Michael chuckled, his golden eyes gleaming.

"I knew that mage didn’t stand a chance against you. Daring to use magic in front of you was already his greatest mistake. Besides"

He added with a smirk.

"You look unbelievably sexy whenever you move your hands while casting spells"

Before Mitchelle could respond.

A thunderclap tore through the sky.

The heavens themselves seemed to tremble.

And then, like divine judgment descending upon the earth, a bolt of lightning struck with earth-shattering force.

It was Collins.

Collins’ form emerged from the fading lightning, his body marred with wounds, cuts, burns, and bruises marking his skin.

His clothes were torn, his hair disheveled, yet his posture remained unshaken.

He did not pant.

He did not stumble.

He didn’t even pause for breath.

He stood tall, unwavering, as though he still had the strength and mana to fight for hours more.

But before any of them could utter a word.

Space twisted.

It was not their doing.

Mitchelle reacted instantly, tapping into her space magic to wrest control of the distortion.

But whoever was behind this had a mastery beyond hers, an authority over space that eclipsed even her own.

They couldn’t react fast enough.

And just like that.

The trio were forcefully teleported.