Millennium Witch

Book 3: Chapter 227: The Benediction

The College of General Studies’ courses were always easy—or rather, easy for Yvette—because they focused on rote memorization in the humanities. Thanks to her powerful spirit body, she could record those points with little effort, but most of the time she still chose to cheat with her soul-brain, then, when she had time, go back and mull over whether those materials hid details she actually needed.After another class ended, with the long chimes echoing between the campus buildings, Yvette had just stepped out the door when a familiar specialized-course lecturer, Margaret Blanche, came over. She asked if Yvette would represent the College of General Studies in an exhibition-style contest hosted by the Elemental Sanctum, one focused on raw combat prowess. It seemed that the Blossom Street subway incident had suddenly made Yvette famous, and she had become the most representative first-year mage in General Studies.

Yvette had no intention of joining something so boring. She was not a real student anyway. She also happened to need something from Margaret, so when the woman was about to leave disappointed, Yvette called out, “Wait, Ms. Margaret, I have a question for you.”

“What is it?”

“I want to learn the site of the War of Divine Judgment. I have checked many sources, but the conclusions in this area are full of contradictions. I want to ask if you have any leads,” Yvette said.

From March to April she had nearly finished everything in the General Studies library related to the War of Divine Judgment, yet the more she read, the blurrier her direction became. She could only turn to a professional.

“I don’t know that either,” Margaret said. “But I know a professor who studies it deeply. He might give you a spark.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Evans Hockel, a history professor in Continental Humanities,” Margaret supplied.

“Where is he?” Yvette asked.

“He isn’t at the academy for now. He went to Adelock, to the Great Labyrinth for archaeology.”

“Adelock?”

The name sounded familiar. Coupled with the clue of the Great Labyrinth, Yvette immediately thought of the little town where she had met Moga two hundred years ago.

She pressed, “Is it the Adelock in the Free Alliance?”

“Yes, it is in the Free Alliance,” Margaret said, giving her a strange look, “but Adelock isn’t a little town. It’s the famous ‘Adventurers’ City.’ Not on our City of Truth’s level, but still very prosperous.”

Two hundred years gone and a small town had grown into a metropolis. Things change, Yvette thought.

She was puzzled again. Back then the Adelock Great Labyrinth had already drawn swarms of adventurers. How had it still not been fully explored by now, even attracting professors from the Academy of Truth to excavate? Was progress really that slow?

“What’s special about that Great Labyrinth?” she asked directly.

“It wasn’t special before. At that time, the Adelock Great Labyrinth was thought to be relics of an ancient half-orc kingdom. It had some excavation value, but it mainly drew gold-seeking adventurers. Only recently did someone discover that beneath the labyrinth were layers of other ancient empires’ ruins. At the deepest level there seem to be relics of an Ultra-ancient Civilization, which set the place ablaze again,” Margaret said. “Professor Hockel went for those rumored Ultra-ancient Civilization ruins.”

“Ultra-ancient Civilization.” Yvette remembered hearing rumors when she and Moga explored the labyrinth that such ruins lay below Adelock, but when nothing special turned up in the first two layers, she stopped paying attention.

So the upper levels had been overlaid by other ancient empires’ ruins?

“When will Professor Hockel be back?” Yvette asked.

“No idea. The fastest would still take half a year. If it runs long, a year or two is possible,” Margaret said sympathetically. “You’ll be waiting a while.”

That was pretty quick, Yvette thought, and said politely, “Got it. Thank you, Ms. Margaret.”

Although she still lacked definitive information about the War of Divine Judgment, she at least had a relatively reliable lead. After two months of spinning her wheels in the General Studies library, Yvette was in fine spirits.

It really was best to ask those who knew. There is no shame in seeking instruction. Shutting yourself away leads nowhere. She had only just begun with these materials, barely telling formal histories from hearsay. How could that compare to a true scholar with decades of study?

Elsewhere, at the edge of the City of Truth, cast-iron streetlamps and magitech conduits grew sparse. Passing a certain arch that felt like the border between civilization and wilderness, the cityscape faded, as if stepping from a steam-powered metropolis straight into a backward Middle Ages. This outer ring was called the “Eaves.” Unlike District Nine and the eight other distinct districts, the Eaves was a belt founded by people who wanted to live in the City of Truth, failed to gain entry, and still refused to leave.

It began as a cluster of makeshift camps, later sprouted filthy dirt roads and low, crooked wooden huts, and barely took on a townlike shape. Compared with the City of Truth’s advanced urban planning and building techniques, no matter how the Eaves imitated, a slum’s, even a refugee camp’s, air clung to it.

Just then, a gaunt youth named Lane picked his way through the mud. He wore a bleached, many-patched hemp shirt. Long-term malnutrition had left bluish shadows beneath his eyes, like black eye shadow.

After turning a corner, he reached his destination, a small Eaves inn called the “Dove Hotel.”

He walked to the door of the inn’s innermost room on the second floor and knocked nervously. A hoarse voice came from inside. “Come in.”

He entered to find a man in black robes standing by the window, looking out. It was the only room in the inn with a perfect view of the Mage Tower, a sky-piercing pillar in the very heart of the City of Truth, bearing the will and spirit of the Legendary Mage of five centuries past.

“My lord, Mr. Geiss has sent word,” Lane said, taking out a rolled letter and setting it on the table.

He was a Gospel Apostle of the Witch Cult.

Within the Evernight Conclave of the Witch Cult there were three apostle ranks: Evernight Apostles, Wailing Apostles, and Gospel Apostles.

As a Gospel Apostle at the very bottom, he was not even a magic apprentice. He had never learned meditation methods and was illiterate, an ordinary person with virtually no combat ability. He could only run small errands, like gathering whispers or delivering letters.

The black-robed man turned, picked up the letter, and read. It described the Blossom Street subway station incident in detail and highlighted the power and mystery of a certain chestnut-haired girl.

When he finished, he muttered, “So Yvette Loxivia happens to live with that prodigy Lucia. That is convenient.” He set down the page, glanced at the anxious, gaunt youth in the room, and suddenly asked, “Lane, do you want the Goddess’s Benediction?”

By “Benediction,” the Witch Cult meant a special reward for believers, a power that lasted only a short while. It could not be kept long-term, but while it lasted even an ordinary person could become a powerful practitioner in an instant, and could even defeat those once high above them.

The Witch Cult never gave its followers any material reward. No money. No power. Its believers were the poor and desperate, the social underclass struggling at the edge of survival. Give them the means to improve their lives and they might grow attached to the world and lose the original intent of destruction.

Only this fleeting power suited them best. It let them switch back and forth between the strong and the bottom rung, like a brief dream. Experience it even once and you would never let it go. You would only come to hate more this world that left you so mediocre, so worthless.

“R-really? I accept, thank you!” Under the black-robed man’s gaze, Lane trembled and knelt as expected. He had dreamed of feeling what it was to be strong. Now he would finally get his wish.

Praise the Goddess.

Satisfied, the black-robed man nodded, took out pen and paper, wrote down the relevant information, then handed it to Lane across from him. “For this Benediction, you have two hunting targets. Both are female students of the Academy of Truth. Go kill them. Do it well. Do not disappoint me. All is for the Goddess.”

“I will not disappoint the Goddess!” Lane said, kowtowing in excitement.