Lord Of Succubi:Transmigrated As A Dual Cultivator In Isekai Of Magic



The attack, unprovoked and unexpected, left Tiffany grappling with the harsh reality. Gathering her wits, Tiffany realized the urgency of the situation. She struggled to push aside the wreckage, debris digging into her hands as she clawed her way out of the shattered carriage. The night air, now filled with the acrid scent of smoke, stung her senses. Coughing as tried to emerged from the wreckage, Tiffany scanned the chaotic scene.

Struggling to climb out of the shattered remnants of the carriage, Tiffany's hands shook as she reached out for support, her fingers stained with dirt and dampened by the chaos that surrounded her. The once-merry atmosphere had given way to an unsettling quiet, broken only by the distant echoes of the recent explosion.

As Tiffany emerged into the open, the devastation became painfully apparent. Her eyes darted around, scanning the wreckage for any signs of life. The reality hit her like a physical blow when she saw the lifeless forms of her maid and coachman. The shock, palpable in the air, tightened its grip on her, and doubt crept into her thoughts like an insidious whisper.

"Mary," a quivering voice escaped Tiffany's lips, a mixture of agony and disbelief. "No, no, this can't be happening."

She knelt beside the lifeless bodies, a surge of helplessness coursing through her. The maid, who had been a constant presence, now lay silent, her face a stark contrast to the warmth Tiffany had known. The coachman, too, had succumbed to the brutal assault, his unwavering loyalty extinguished in an instant.

Tiffany's hands trembled as she reached out to touch them, as if hoping that the cold reality beneath her fingertips was just a cruel illusion. "Why?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the disquieting aftermath.

The weight of her inexperience pressed upon her shoulders, a burden she hadn't fully comprehended until this moment. Despite her accomplished status as a B-class mage, Tiffany's combat encounters had been limited, thanks to her father's protective measures. Reaves, with his meticulous shield, had kept her from the brutal battles that lurked beyond their sheltered existence.

Now, as the wreckage surrounded her, Tiffany grappled with the bitter truth that her sheltered life had left her unprepared for the ruthless unpredictability of the outside world. Her father's safeguards had crumbled, leaving her vulnerable in the face of a threat that demanded more than the skills she had honed within the safe confines of privilege.

Tiffany's agony-laden voice wavered as she spoke aloud, a desperate plea to the uncaring air. "What do I do now? How do I face this alone?" The questions lingered, unanswered, as she stood amid the remnants of her shattered sanctuary.

In the intricate web of social circles, Tiffany had long been labeled a delicate flower sheltered within the confines of a hothouse. Whispers and nods from those in the business often hinted at her inability to withstand the harshness of the real world. The cozy cocoon of privilege, woven by her father's protective hands, seemed to have shielded her from the brutality that lurked beyond the comfort of her estate.

The irony was stark when compared to someone like Monica, positioned at the opposite end of the spectrum. Despite her official rank of C, Monica stood as a testament to the fact that true strength wasn't always accurately reflected in a mage's classification. Her life was a narrative of combat experience and unyielding determination in the face of adversity.

Monica's resilience was not just a matter of rank; it was a testament to her willingness to confront enemies head-on, to plunge into the fray and risk her own life for the sake of survival. While others may have been content to rest within the safety of their assigned classifications, Monica had chosen a different path—one that carved through the challenges with unrelenting resolve.

"What do I do now?" Tiffany mused, her internal dialogue a tumult of uncertainty. Her father's protective measures had sheltered her, but in doing so, had they inadvertently left her vulnerable?

As Tiffany grappled with the aftermath of the ambush, the contrast between her sheltered existence and Monica's battle-hardened spirit loomed large. The whispered criticisms and doubts that had trailed Tiffany in the past seemed to gain a sharper edge in the face of this stark comparison. The hothouse flower, it appeared, had been thrust into a tempest without the tools to weather the storm.

Tiffany couldn't help but acknowledge the validity of the outsider's perspective. The wreckage around her served as a testament to the limitations imposed by her father's protective measures. The juxtaposition between her own vulnerability and Monica's resilience amplified the gaping void in Tiffany's combat skills.

The words "flower in a hothouse" had always echoed in Tiffany's mind, yet she found no offense in them. She didn't aspire to become a top-tier female mage, embracing the reality of her strengths and limitations. Instead, she harbored a different ambition—one that mirrored the success of Selina, a renowned businesswoman.

Selina's name served as a beacon of inspiration for Tiffany. The image of a powerful, successful woman navigating the intricate world of business appealed to her more than the prospect of being a formidable mage. In Selina, Tiffany saw a role model, a path she could tread with confidence and competence.

In the face of adversity, Tiffany's thoughts turned not towards becoming a battle-hardened mage but towards channeling her energies into the realms of business and influence. The shattered carriage and her situation at this moment seems to speak otherwise.

Amidst the wreckage and the cacophony of chaos, Tiffany's senses heightened as the unmistakable sounds of a fierce battle reached her ears. The clash of magical forces and the clash of steel reverberated through the air, indicating that the danger was far from over.

However, despite the urgency of the situation, Tiffany found herself immobilized, a sense of helplessness paralyzing her. It was as if time itself had suspended, leaving her in a surreal stasis. In that crucial moment, she stood frozen, her instincts momentarily overridden by the shock of the ambush.

A sudden movement caught Tiffany's eye, and her gaze fixated on a shadowy figure that materialized with alarming swiftness. In the blink of an eye, the figure struck Nora, a devastating blow that sent her collapsing to the ground. The speed and precision of the attack left Tiffany dumbfounded, her mind struggling to process the sudden turn of events.

"No!" Tiffany's voice rang out, the cry escaped her lips as if torn from the depths of her soul. Her heart raced, the rhythm syncing with the intensity of the battle before her.

"Ahhhhhh" Nora's scream pierced the air, a desperate cry that echoed with pain and vulnerability. Tiffany's heart pounded in her chest as she watched Nora writhe on the ground, seemingly unable to rise again. A surge of fear coursed through Tiffany, amplified by the uncertainty of Nora's fate.The question lingered in Tiffany's mind, a chilling uncertainty "Is she still alive? or is she still dead?" She asked herself was Nora still alive or had the ruthless assailant dealt a fatal blow?

As the assailant's figure loomed over the fallen Nora, Tiffany's mind raced with a torrent of thoughts.

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