Millennium Witch-Book 3: Chapter 204: Who Am I?

Millennium Witch-Book 3: Chapter 204: Who Am I?

When Yvette reached the area near the village gate, what entered her sight was a battle reaching a fever pitch.
In the middle of a field encircled by soldiers, Eamon—his whole body wreathed in scorching heat—was driving the Red Lotus combat art to the limit, crossing blades with a distinguished-looking spellblade.
The opponent was clearly a master of ice-aspected techniques. Twin swords clashed again and again beneath the night sky; ice and fire erupted wantonly, devouring each other, and a vast billow of steaming white mist spread in the cold wind.
Slipping into the shadows, Yvette stood on a branch of an oak tree and did not act at once.
She could see Eamon was at a disadvantage. A spellblade with a mana value just above 2,000 facing one close to 4,000—never mind endurance, the raw pressure of mana alone left him a tier weaker; his chances of winning were slim.
But she also knew Eamon had something in reserve—a trump card of unknown origin that carried a holy element. Before saving anyone, she wanted to wait and see whether the Eyrie Kingdom’s commander could force him to use every last card, so she could witness it as well.
And so she simply stood in the darkness and watched Eamon take a beating for over a minute.
In the meantime, the knights she had frightened off earlier had already reappeared nearby. Because the fighting was so intense, they had no chance to the witch to their superiors; they could only wait until the battle ended.
As for the remaining militiamen, they weren’t all dead—most were alive, just disarmed and held to the side. Only Eamon, with his superior strength, could still resist to the bitter end.
After who knew how long, the two on the field suddenly broke apart. Driven back by a final heavy cleave, Eamon staggered several steps before barely steadying himself.
His opponent said, “Your swordsmanship isn’t bad, but you’re far from a match for me. Serve under me, and I can spare your family.”
Eamon said nothing. His reply was a burst of radiance tinged with sanctity.
Yvette focused and saw his aura change. Countless white bolts of lightning leapt within the formerly blazing red glow, turning him into a swordfighter of red-and-white thunderfire; naturally, the blade in his hand became a thunderfire sword.
Fire, lightning, and holy—crude as the threefold fusion was, its lethality was a tier above the Red Lotus combat art alone. No wonder it was his treasured ace in the hole… she judged silently.
She also noted the technique was likely not Eamon’s original creation. Certain details were far more refined than the Red Lotus art—she wondered whether the opponent would recognize its source.
Soon, once Eamon unleashed his full power, Count Vladimir on the opposite side was taken aback—but not because his foe had a hidden card. Rather, because that card looked familiar.
A few seconds later, his expression turned grave. He barked, “The Thunder Judgment? What’s your relationship with the Tribunal?!”
By “Tribunal,” he meant the Thunder Tribunal—one of three institutions of ice, fire, and lightning under the Three Saints Church.
Since the Eyrie Kingdom’s mainstream faith was also the Lord of Unity, the count often dealt with the Tribunal. He could thus instantly recognize those white bolts crackling around his opponent as identical to the exclusive combat rite used by the Tribunal’s Arbiter Knights—“Thunder Judgment.”
Could this man be an Arbiter Knight of the Three Saints Church? But why would he be in Sanggren Village? This should be the Evergreen Revelation’s parish! Or was he a defector from the Tribunal?
Thoughts flashed through the count’s mind, and his face grew especially solemn. Thunder Judgment was a secret the Church did not pass on; only those chosen for the Arbiter Corps could master it. With this rite, even an entry-level spellblade among the Arbiters could see a massive boost—enough to challenge a higher realm. Very troublesome.
On the other side, Eamon still remained silent. After readjusting to this trump card he hadn’t used in years, eyes blazing, he charged Count Vladimir again, and the two fell back into a furious clash.
Blades flashed and crossed. Feeling the elements intensify and the killing intent surge, the surrounding soldiers and knights instinctively took several steps back, holding their breath.
Elsewhere this might not be much, but the Kingdom of Kisul and the Eyrie Kingdom were only small states within the Southern Alliance. A duel between two mid-tier spellblades was a spectacle most soldiers would never witness in their lives—let alone when both had pushed their auras to the threshold of high-tier spellblades.
After another indeterminate span, Eamon’s offensive began to wear Count Vladimir down.
What the count enjoyed was the thrill of battle, a gratifying contest—not trading wounds, not this strategy of “kill one thousand at the cost of eight hundred.” Where was the fun in that?
So, after forcing his opponent back with a burst of technique and seizing a gap, the count disengaged, retreating a few steps. As he fell back, he drew a small metal vial from within his clothes, bit off the stopper, and downed the strange, firefly-glimmering liquid in a single swallow.
The next instant his aura spiked! With a cold snort he swept his sword in a horizontal arc; the azure blade launched a dazzling stream of light that hacked the charging Eamon viciously away!
In the glow of firelight and moon, Eamon spat blood, painting a red arc through the air before crashing heavily to the ground and tumbling several times, in a pitiful state.
“Eamon Sterling—is that your name? To force me to drink this precious alchemical draught—you can take pride in that.”
Back at his peak, the count gripped his azure blade and strode, step by step, toward Eamon, who lay on the ground and hadn’t risen for a long while.
A cruel smile spread across his face as he said slowly, “But don’t worry—I won’t kill you right away. I’ll capture that daughter of yours first.” He added, almost idly, “Oh, right, I hear she’s quite cute. Tell me—since you made me waste this potion, what do you think her final fate ought to be?”
Seeing Eamon still not respond, the count’s tone turned more mocking. “Think that won’t happen? Need me to remind you—over ten minutes ago I already sent my knights into the village to seize people.”
At that, Eamon’s face finally changed. True noble knights were generally spellblades at the same realm as Lucia. Even if his daughter had the edge in swordsmanship, two fists could hardly beat four hands—her odds were grim.
And as things stood, he was at his weakest, with no word from Autumnwind City’s reinforcements. How could he stop those terrible scenes from coming to pass?
His resolve wavered. He even hesitated—would surrender buy his daughter’s safety? But at that knife’s-edge moment, a cool voice suddenly drifted across the field, startling everyone. The voice said, “You won’t have that chance.”
The count snapped his head around. In the nearby shadows, a graceful figure suddenly stepped into view.
It was a beautiful girl who looked harmless as a housecat—striking silver hair cascading down.
The count raised a brow. Manifesting from the shadows like that—this entrance exceeded his common experience. He asked coldly, “Who are you? A villager here?”
“Who am I?” Yvette thought for a moment, then suddenly turned her head toward one side, as if curiously asking as well, “Who am I?”
In the direction of her gaze, the Eyrie Kingdom’s soldiers all looked at one another, sure she wasn’t speaking to them, and hurriedly stepped aside, glancing back over their shoulders.
At the very rear, a knight’s figure came into view—their Knight-Captain. He was the one who had led the bow to Yvette in the village earlier.
Suddenly the center of attention, the Knight-Captain went slack-faced, panic creeping in. He looked at the dumbfounded count, then at the witch wearing a sweet, innocent smile, and stammered, “Y-You are a… a… a great… fire mage—”
Yvette gave a slight nod and said to the bewildered Count Vladimir, “You hear that? I am a great fire mage.”
“…….”
The count said nothing.
He didn’t understand what was happening. Why had a seemingly extraordinary silver-haired girl appeared out of nowhere? Why had the Knight-Captain he’d sent into the village returned empty-handed? Why did the man look so terrified upon seeing this girl, as if beholding some dreadful monster?
A fire mage?
Was she a powerful mage who had simply frightened his Knight-Captain into submission?
With that in mind, he asked mildly, “Are you the mage stationed in this village?”
Secretly assigning a top court mage to protect the dam project—that was the most reasonable explanation he could think of. “Not stationed—just staying for a while,” Yvette said calmly. “I don’t want to get involved in your war between nations. But I do live here for the moment, so I’d like you to leave. Quickly. And give me back a quiet, pleasant sleep.”
The count decided she must be mad. Even a mage—unless she was at high-mage level—how could she act so at ease, speak such madness, surrounded by his army?
And even a high mage couldn’t talk that big. If he ignored casualties, he could still trade his life to kill one.
As for an archmage—please. Neither the Kingdom of Kisul nor the Eyrie Kingdom had such nation-ending figures. How could this young silver-haired girl be one? She didn’t even have elven blood.
In short, the count concluded: the girl might be a powerful fire mage who had cowed his Knight-Captain—but there had to be bluff in that tone.
Time to test her mettle. Otherwise, if any random mage could swagger like a top master, how was he supposed to wage war—hide in his county like a turtle forever?
“So you’re a lady mage—my apologies.” Smiling, the count advanced toward the silver-haired girl at a leisurely pace.
When only a few meters separated them, Eamon suddenly shouted, “Look out!” At the same moment the count erupted with all his mana; icy blue light sheathed his blade as he slashed savagely at the silver-haired girl. As he struck he jeered loudly, “—Don’t you know mages should keep their distance from swordsmen?!”
Swish, swish! A storm of blue sword-lights whirled around the silver-haired girl like stars tearing open the night.
Yvette still stood there, letting the blue gleams crash against her slender form. Her mana barrier flickered again and again, as if about to shatter the next second—yet it held, stubborn and intact.
The vicious flurry went on and on. The count’s feral grin, triumphant at first, gradually faded, then turned into thick confusion and doubt.
He’d gone all out—so why hadn’t the girl moved a step, and why hadn’t he broken her mana barrier?
Weren’t a mage’s barriers generally far weaker than a spellblade’s defensive arts? What was with this fire mage?
And so, though his opponent hadn’t resisted at all, the count’s strikes slowed of their own accord under all those watching eyes. In the end, even the hand holding his sword trembled, as if he were hesitating—should he keep going?
But he was already riding the tiger. Wasn’t it a bit late to talk about reconciliation now?
“Had enough? My turn.” Seeing him falter, Yvette lifted her leg and kicked the count in the abdomen.
She tried hard to pull her strength, but it didn’t stop Count Vladimir’s face from twisting, his abdomen caving in as his defensive art shattered. Like a cannonball, he blasted a hundred meters away, bowling over several hapless soldiers in his path.
“My lord count!!”
Knights and soldiers stared in shock, cries erupting all around. In their eyes, Count Vladimir was already a top expert—yet this silver-haired girl had sent him flying with a single kick. Unbelievable!
And isn’t she a mage? Not a spellblade—how could she have that kind of strength?
After rolling across the grass outside the village a dozen times and finally bleeding off the force, Count Vladimir slumped on the ground, staring at the stars and panting weakly. He had never imagined his defensive art would be smashed to pieces by such a light kick. It felt like a dream.
Who on earth was she?
Bewildered, and with his adjutant’s help, he struggled to his feet. Seeing the silver-haired girl watching from afar, he shivered instinctively.
He took a deep breath, then shakily walked up to her and said, trembling, “Lady Mage, we’ll withdraw at once. Please… show mercy—” With that he hastily rifled through his pockets and produced all his gold coins. “A token of apology for disturbing you. Please be magnanimous.” Yvette glanced at him, considered, and accepted the handful of coins with a soft “Mm.” She didn’t lack money, but since the other side was willing to pay a price, refusing would only frighten him further. All she wanted was to keep things from blowing up and drawing needless attention.
As for the village’s casualties, and the blood feud between the two nations’ peoples—that was this place’s concern, not the business of a traveler merely passing through.

.
!
Book 3: Chapter 204: Who Am I?