Millennium Witch

Book 3: Chapter 224: The Frenzy Toxin

Flami Frost stepped out of the Beast Spirit College’s theory building a little after one in the afternoon. The vast central court reeked of potions and the kind of stench you’d get near animal pens or pigsties. Frowning, she saw, under pale-gold sunlight, several Windbeak Hawks flapping like oversized geese as they herded off many out-of-division students who, like her, had come for electives. The college’s own students stood by with pleasant smiles and no intention of helping.She passed through the crowd without expression. Thanks to the Disciplinary Committee armband on her sleeve, the Windbeak Hawks didn’t dare bother her. Reaching the arched gateway at the department entrance, she saw a pink-haired girl waiting there, sneaking curious peeks into the Beast Spirit College.

“Every time I come here, it feels like a zoo,” Anya said, peering in with interest but not daring to step inside. She had an Academy of Truth uniform, so going in was fine—but who knew if those Windbeak Hawks would attack.

“I think so too,” Flami nodded. She had already gotten familiar with the Beast Spirit College’s layout. One of its features was a sprawling footprint with few of the College of General Studies’ neoclassical buildings—and lots of animal pens.

“I heard the Beast Spirit College has a ‘Daedalus Project.’ Is that true?” Anya asked, curious.

Daedalus was the college’s guardian beast-king—a Terrorclaw Beast King that could rival an adult dragon and outmuscle a typical Archmage. It was famous—one of the Academy of Truth’s strongest forces on the surface.

“It’s true, and—” Flami smiled. “It’s about to make an appearance at the end of this term.”

“Is that confidential?” Anya looked both scared and excited.

“The Alchemy College has already started promoting it—how could it be?” Flami said.

The Daedalus Project was a collaboration between the Beast Spirit College and the Alchemy College—essentially fitting the Terrorclaw Beast King with bespoke alchemical gear to turn it into something like an armored warbeast, nicely branded as an “alchemical war-beast,” to take the stage at an upcoming event.

This was semi-public to students across the divisions. It was foreseeable that, before long, people from all over the continent would flock to see it, making it one of the Academy of Truth’s major events this year.

After a couple sighs of awe, Anya and Flami took the subway to the District Nine Disciplinary Committee branch. At this hour, the academy-exclusive car was a bit crowded. Once they found a corner spot, Anya heard Flami ask, “By the way, what exactly is going on between you and Yvette?”

“Uh—uh—” Anya immediately started hemming and hawing. She had never been able to keep things in; any secret that reached her mouth would be public the next day. It was a lifelong flaw.

But with a wraith attached to her at the moment, things were different. She had no idea what the wraith was doing now—maybe asleep, maybe not—but she didn’t dare gamble.

“I misunderstood Yvette, that’s all. So… it’s like this. Don’t ask,” Anya said, face scrunched with remorse.

Flami blinked. “She didn’t hit you, did she?”

“Absolutely not! Yvette would never do that!” Anya shook her head in a panic—though, inwardly, she thought it didn’t feel much different from being hit…

Either way, she was already that evil witch’s loyal subordinate.

Under Flami’s puzzled gaze, the piercing screech of the train signaled their stop. Anya got off with her. As they left, Anya noticed a boy sitting by the car door, clawing at his hair in agitation, clearly in a bad mood. She didn’t think much of it and left the station with Flami.

They went straight along the street and turned a corner. Less than two kilometers in a straight line from the subway exit, they could see the solemn granite-stacked building of District Nine’s 13th Squad and, next door, the police station entrance.

They were about to head over when a number of fully armed officers spilled out of the station, batons and alchemical revolvers at the ready. Next door, from the Committee branch, Squad Leader Palea, intern member Lucia, and three other Committee members from different squads filed out as well.

“What happened?” Anya froze for a moment.

“You two came by subway, right?” Palea moved up, and Anya and Flami instinctively fell in behind her, rushing back the way they’d come.

“Right,” Flami said.

“We just got word via alchemical handset—there are carriers of the ‘Frenzy Toxin’ in the Blossom Street subway station, attacking bystanders indiscriminately,” Palea said, grave.

“Frenzy Toxin?” At the term, both Anya and Flami showed shocked expressions.

“Frenzy Toxin” came from the City of Truth’s current most-wanted criminal—the Witch Cult cultist “Bazel Geiss,” with a bounty of 600 gold crowns. He used a toxic fog that could spread through the air and drive people mad to sow chaos. It had already killed over twenty people, injured more than a hundred, and even claimed the lives of two active Committee members—sparking fury among the academy’s upper echelons.

At the same time, Bazel seemed to be a master of disguise. He didn’t use magic to change his appearance, but old-school methods like makeup and costuming. That made him even harder to identify, because such disguises couldn’t be detected by magic—only by the eyes of police and Committee members.

Who would’ve thought that after just a month of interning with the Committee, they’d be facing the city’s most vicious, top-ranked cultist?

In fact, not long ago—on the car, the platform, or in the station—they might well have been in the same room as Bazel!

Police and Committee members in the City of Truth weren’t issued transport. When something happened, there were generally two scenarios: patrol units handled it first, and if they couldn’t, they’d use a nearby alchemical handset to call for support. Then the relevant folks at headquarters would come running—literally.

Inefficient, to be sure—but not so bad for the Committee. Even an intern like Anya was at a beginner Magic Swordsman level, much faster than ordinary people. Flami, a wind-aspected Magic Swordsman known for her speed, was faster than most transport, period.

When they reached the station, the concourse was a wreck. People were flooding out in panicked waves at the entrance, clogging it so badly the Committee and police couldn’t get in. With prior incidents involving the Frenzy Toxin, Palea used a wind-typed spell to give the officers a protective effect that screened airborne toxins while they waited.

The filter would hold for about ten minutes, straining out any toxic mist that might be present. It was mana-intensive; once done, she immediately downed a slow-recovery mana potion and would file the paperwork later to get reimbursed by the academy.

“When will the supervisors arrive?” Palea looked to another squad leader.

That squad leader, a third-year named “Aubranche Deck,” answered at once, “Fastest is at least half an hour out.”

“Great timing,” Palea muttered, frowning. The branch generally had a supervising teacher on duty, but because of classes, events, meetings, and research, coverage wasn’t stable. Having no supervisor around at the time was common.

Then she made the call: “We’re going down. Rescue survivors!”

No one objected. They rushed down and pushed into the station proper. This time, the Frenzy Toxin incident wasn’t as large-scale as expected—the air looked fine. But the infected had already appeared—at least several dozen of them, including adventurers, dwarves, and half-orcs, and even current students of the Academy of Truth—hemming in some survivors who hadn’t escaped.

At that point, the police couldn’t help. Aubranche’s three-person squad and Palea’s four—seven Committee members in all—surged forward and engaged the strongest of the infected.

“Don’t kill—pull your blows! Once the toxin wears off, they can still be saved!” Captain Aubranche shouted from the neighboring squad.

Hearing that, Lucia—about to unleash a witch-style combat art—deflated a little. She wasn’t yet proficient with those arts; she could go all-out to blitz an enemy, but finessing a knockout without dealing heavy damage was too tough.

The other Committee members were in much the same bind. Bazel’s Frenzy Toxin effectively turned victims into both hostages and weapons. If there were no saving them, fine—but since they had a chance once the poison burned out, everyone had to hold back, unable to fight at full strength.

“Ah!”

In the melee, a cry reached Lucia’s ears. She saw a dwarven infected who’d been lurking in a shadowed corner suddenly lunge out. Relying on dwarves’ stout bodies, he body-checked Anya in mid-fight, knocking her to one knee and sending her pitching straight toward the blade of a half-elf Magic Swordsman across from her.

Lucia’s pupils shrank. She was about to unleash everything and dash in for the save, but battle changed by the heartbeat. She simply couldn’t make it in time. All she could do was watch, eyes wide, as Anya, terrified, fell forward—about to have her head taken off.

At that moment, an unremarkable chestnut-haired girl appeared in the middle of the fray. She caught Anya as she fell and swept her leg in a horizontal arc. The little leather boot, which looked harmless enough, sent two reasonably capable infected adventurers flying and knocked them clean out—precise and tidy, with no obvious serious injuries.

Then, to the startled side glances of those around, she carried the dazed Anya to a safer spot in the rear, set her down, and turned back into the fight.

Frozen in place, Anya pressed a hand to her hammering heart. Several seconds passed before it hit her who had just saved her.