Millennium Witch

Book 3: Chapter 226: I Won’t

“Captain, you sure know a lot.” After hearing Palea’s revelations, Flami looked at her with a bright smile.At that, Lucia and Anya also showed curiosity and turned to Palea.

Their Disciplinary Committee squad leader was a third-year senior; it was normal for her to know more than they did. But most people at the academy graduated around the mid-tier practitioner level—knowledge of High Mage or High Magic Swordsman was out of reach. Where had their senior heard about realms even higher than that?

Never mind Saint Mages—becoming an Archmage was already a lifelong goal for most who walked the path of magic!

Palea hesitated, tugged up her sleeve, and revealed a dark red pattern that had been covered—a looped flame-shaped sigil.

“A Bloodmark! Senior, you’re nobility from the Kingdom of Sitt! No wonder you know so much,” Anya blurted.

She’d never been to the Kingdom of Sitt, but as humanity’s second-largest nation, its system was famous—ruthlessly cracking down on unlicensed hedge-mages, with magic study strictly channeled through official selection. The nobility not only monopolized magical knowledge, they possessed Bloodmark secrets passed down through their lines—terrifying.

Palea nodded and quietly let her sleeve fall.

No one was surprised by her low profile. Alongside Sitt’s Bloodmarks and the Crimson Sanctum, the nobles there had a… less than flattering international reputation. If she cared about that, hiding it made sense.

By the time they wrapped most of the tasks, it was already after nine in the evening. They weren’t very hungry, since they’d picked up some food from a nearby bakery.

During this time, the police sent good news to the Committee branch—though the incident had caused a huge stir, no one had died. All were injured only.

Compared to the last three terror cases caused by the Frenzy Toxin, this outcome couldn’t have been better.

“All thanks to Loxivia,” Palea couldn’t help sighing again when she heard, then smiled. “This will probably be the biggest news in the City of Truth for a while. Loxivia, I’ll push your academy points reward and Honor Badge. You should receive them in under two days.”

“Just call me Yvette,” Yvette said.

“Alright.” Palea nodded and went on, “Also, with merit this big, the Academy Daily should run a special commendation on you. Be ready with a short statement for the reporters—anything is fine.”

“Anything else?” Yvette glanced at the sofa not far away. The three—Lucia and the others—were huddled together over some magazine from who-knows-where, chatting up a storm.

“Yes—” Palea hesitated, then adopted a slightly more serious tone. “This is my personal judgment, but I want you to be careful. Based on my observations of past incidents involving the Witch Cult: if a key individual obstructs them and causes a failure, the Cult has a decent chance of retaliating against that person afterward.”

“You mean the Witch Cult might target me specifically?” Yvette asked.

“Even if they wouldn’t have before—once your deeds hit the papers, that probability will jump. First, you’re too conspicuous. Second, they’re a bunch of lunatics bent on destroying the world; you can’t parse them by normal standards. Their bedrock logic is destruction: destroy the world, destroy humankind—including themselves.” Palea warned, “So be extra careful.”

“I’m always cautious,” Yvette said.

“Good.” Palea nodded. “Of course, that’s just my take. It may not happen—don’t scare yourself.”

When the bustle ended, Anya proposed treating Yvette to a meal to thank her for saving her life—anywhere in the City of Truth, or even at her home. Yvette had no interest in lunch or dinner with her and declined, leaving the pink-haired girl disappointed.

The next day, though, she still sent a gift via Lucia: chocolate cake, rainbow macarons, and cream puffs from the most famous patisserie in the city.

That made Yvette—who’d had little fondness for her—suddenly find the pink-haired girl much easier on the eyes.

“Did you tell her to buy these?” Yvette asked, picking up a cream puff. After finishing it, she even licked the cream from her fingers.

“No, I only suggested she get something edible—since as for anything else… Yvette, you’re not interested, right?” As a sort of life assistant, Lucia had clearly grasped everything about the witch.

Yvette gave a light “mm,” then said, “She’s got some sense. I permit you to hang out with them more.”

Lucia blinked. “What do you mean? I wasn’t allowed to hang out with them before?”

“Weren’t you turning down their outing invites because of me?”

Lucia drew a deep breath. “Only because if I wasn’t home, you wouldn’t eat, so I kept putting them off.”

“Oh, so that’s how it was.”

“What did you think?”

“I thought you were afraid I’d get jealous,” Yvette said.

Lucia stared at her in silence.

“I don’t get worked up over something that silly—but having someone cook is nice, so I couldn’t be bothered to explain. Turns out I misunderstood,” Yvette said evenly.

“If I’m not home, can’t you go downstairs to eat?” To Lucia, that was the key point. Why else rush back every day? Missing a meal or two wouldn’t starve the witch, but she worried about her stomach, or malnutrition.

What baffled her most was—how could someone be too lazy to even go downstairs to eat?

“I’ve tried the nearby places. None taste as good as yours,” Yvette explained—thinking that maybe, after eating one person’s cooking for so long, her palate had taken that shape.

“Alright.” Lucia was, for once, a little comforted. “Then promise me you’ll eat properly. I’ll prep some things that keep well and leave them at home—then I can go out with peace of mind.”

“I won’t.” Nothing beats hot food.

“…” Lucia.

It’s a miracle you’ve made it this far alive.

Another morning came. As news of the District Nine Blossom Street subway terror attack spread widely via the papers and other channels, the students of the College of General Studies finally got wind of it.

At the start of term, because of Lucia’s complaint against the News Club, Yvette had enjoyed a brief flicker of notoriety among the first-years at General Studies. But because she was plain-looking, low-key, and disliked chatting with ordinary students, she swiftly faded back into obscurity. In the halls, only Nixia would single her out with a greeting.

Now was different. She was an honor student who had saved Committee members and countless innocents. That kind of recognition wasn’t small potatoes—this was the level where even the dean of the College of General Studies would give a special commendation speech for her!

Luckily, she truly hadn’t joined any social circle, so the interruptions were limited. Only in an elective did Nixia pepper her with questions—clearly intrigued by the Witch Cult–related terror incident.

Yvette had no intention of answering. When Nixia finally fell quiet, she asked in a low voice, “Did you send my name back to the Western Continent?”

They were still in class—whispering—so Nixia’s reply was soft: “No.”

“Why not?” Yvette didn’t understand.

“I know nothing about you. What would I send?” Nixia found her strange. What was so report-worthy about the name Yvette Loxivia?

“Are the people you report to a specialized organization?” Yvette tried another question.

“What else would they be—”

“Forget it,” Yvette said. Other than Lant himself, no one else would react to her name anyway. She lifted her gaze to the lecture.

The course was taught by an old professor, still a High Mage but very close to Archmage.

He was introducing the three top positions among demonkind: the Demon King, the Demon Marshal, and the First Demon General.

Supposedly, strength ruled among demons, and those three posts were the top echelon—each no weaker than Ms. Tertia, the academy’s dean.

Especially after the fall of the “Supreme Demon King” Rosalyn, when the later “Chaos Demon King” and “Arcane Demon King” led the era of two-king rivalry, it had become almost a convention that the Demon King wasn’t the strongest in each faction—often the Demon Marshal and First Demon General were more fearsome on the battlefield.

From this you could see that the First Demon King and the Supreme Demon King both held a special status—and that specialness vanished with the later Demon Kings: Chaos, Arcane, Blood Moon, and today’s Demon King of the Night.

Considering that, after the Day of the End, the three True Gods of the Eastern Continent responded to believers less often, with presence mainly via their churches, one couldn’t help wondering if the Demon Gods had likewise gone dormant. Perhaps that was why later Demon Kings lost their exceptional nature and became Demon Kings in the ordinary sense.

But it was too hard to probe this topic—materials on demons were scarce in the East; there was nothing to study.

Yvette merely speculated from there. Which of the three was Lant, who’d managed to keep himself alive—Demon King, Demon Marshal, or First Demon General? Given his down-to-earth temperament, maybe the brawler role of First Demon General suited him best?

Definitely not the Blood Moon Demon King—the Blood Moon Demon King had already been assassinated by the Wind Ranger, Moga, and Lant was still alive. Besides, if senior and junior met as master and disciple, how could something like that happen?