Millennium Witch-Book 3: Chapter 209: The Witch Cult
Even if Lucia hadn’t said it out loud—and even if she didn’t necessarily think that way—having such doubts would still be normal on the Radiant Continent.
Unlike the Origin Civilization, there are no Rune Compilers here and no foundation in runology. Everyone who studies runes is a bunch of self-styled “amateurs” who guard their own work and tinker behind closed doors.
So there’s no such thing as a top expert who can automatically create original spell formulas. Here, the strong are more like bomb-throwers who can hurl explosives faster and more accurately than anyone else. They don’t make the bombs, don’t understand how they work—they just know how to use them.
In common understanding, developing original magic or original combat arts is measured in “years,” even “decades.” 《Red Lotus (combat art)》—half original, half borrowed—was the result of Eamon Sterling’s diligent experimentation over more than ten years. The time and effort speak for themselves.
So it’s no wonder Lucia felt puzzled and skeptical when Yvette produced this improved 《Red Lotus (combat art)》. First, the time was far too short. Second, from Sanggren Village all the way to the Academy of Truth, she hadn’t seen Yvette do anything even remotely related to magic research—she’d just been eating, drinking, and sleeping the whole way.
Now, suddenly, an improved version gets tossed out—as if conjured from thin air. They’d been together day and night with no sign of a process. Isn’t that suspicious?
It’s not like Yvette would get up secretly while she slept, working hard just to surprise her, right? That would be completely out of character.
After mulling it over, Lucia decided to ask directly: “When did you do this? How did I not see it?”
“Mental simulation.”
“Huh? Are you kidding me, Miss Yvette?”
“It’s true.”
“……”
Looking into Yvette’s calm eyes, Lucia fell silent.
She knew Yvette wasn’t one to joke around, much less pull pranks. If she said so, she must truly believe it. But there’s only one month left before Spring Admissions; learning a new form would take time, and the process would affect the feel of her old combat art—like driving a race car for over a decade and getting used to it, only to swap you into a tuned-up car a month before the match. That very “last-minute” change is unsettling enough.
After thinking it through, she decided to decline, gently:
“—With just a month left, I’ll take a look after the exams.”
“I know. That’s why I kept the incantation style mostly the same and preserved most of the stances. I accounted for all of that.”
Yvette said.
Lucia said, a little guilty, “I—I might not make it in time—”
“I believe you can.”
“Hey, don’t believe in me that much, okay? I’m not some genius. Maybe we should—”
“No. You are.”
“Ugh~”
“Practice starts tonight. That’s that.”
Wait—was that an order? That was absolutely an order, right? Why say it with such a scary face and tone—just because you paid the rent deposit?
Staring into the doll-cold eyes of the chestnut-haired girl, Lucia shrank back half a step. Then she felt that was way too cowardly, so she suddenly squared her shoulders, craned her neck, and snapped, fierce as could be: “Fine, I’ll train—happy now? I really can’t do anything about you—”
“One more thing.”
“A-and what else?”
“It’s time to make dinner.”
“Oh—.”
There’s a produce market near Blossom Street. Since they’d already picked up ingredients on the way to the apartment, it didn’t take long for Lucia to prepare a fairly decent dinner, and the two held a little housewarming celebration.
After they finished eating and washed the dishes, Lucia sprawled at the window again, passing the time by gazing down at the street scene.
Their unit was 606, the innermost room on the top floor of Scholars’ Haven Apartments. Climbing up and down was inconvenient, but the wide, high-rise city view was definitely the main reason to move in.
A moment later, a knock sounded at the door. Lucia glanced toward the master bedroom; no one in sight—just two snowy-white feet poking out at the end of the bed.
She had to go open it herself. Outside stood a young upperclasswoman in the Academy of Truth uniform. The standard uniform was a dark suit with a pleated skirt; year was indicated by the stars on the badge. She had two stars, meaning she was a second-year. Notably, her right arm wore a round armband pinned on with a safety pin, with what looked like “Disciplinary Committee” written on it.
“Good evening, miss. I’m the captain of District Nine Disciplinary Committee Unit 13. This is my student ID.” The young upperclasswoman spoke in a somewhat wooden, official tone, then produced her ID card. It had an ID photo and the name “Palea ·
Norlens” printed on it.
“Di-Disciplinary Committee—?” Lucia panicked, having no idea what that position was. She even thought the police had come to the door. “Miss Disciplinary Committee, we—we just moved in—did we miss some paperwork?”
“No need to worry. It’s just routine registration of residency information and a simple cultist screening,” said the second-year named Palea. “You two just entered the city, right? Normally this wouldn’t be necessary, and even if it were, it should be the police. But since cultist activity was discovered on campus recently, there have been some temporary adjustments.”
“So that’s how it is—” Lucia exhaled in relief. She’d thought the two of them had done something wrong.
Just then Yvette came out of the room, wearing the hot-pink slides Lucia had bought her. She looked toward the Disciplinary Committee member at the door and asked, “What kind of cultists?”
The major sects on the Radiant Continent avoid even mentioning Eldritch God cults, as if afraid believers might grow curious. So her own understanding of Eldritch Gods was limited.
“The most notorious and terrifying cult in recent years: the Witch Cult,” Palea said. “If you notice any clues, don’t gawk. Stay far away from them.”
“Can you tell us a bit more?”
“Simply put, they’re lunatics whose goal is to resurrect the Doomsday Witch, with the ultimate aim of destroying the world,” Palea said, keeping it brief.
“Are they insane?” Lucia also lacked knowledge about cults and blurted out, “Why destroy the world for no reason?”
“Exactly. Even among cults, they’re the scariest lot. There was even a case where other cultists ed a Witch Cult hideout to the Disciplinary Committee—and ended up walking right into our net themselves,” Palea said with a nod.
That really is terrifying, Yvette thought quietly.
During the subsequent data entry, Yvette asked Palea about other Eldritch God groups, but was refused across the board and learned nothing.
In fact, that’s the norm. Information on Eldritch God organizations is usually classified and not disclosed publicly, to prevent desperate people from falling into the abyss and clutching an Eldritch God as a last straw.
The Witch Cult is simply too extreme—an outright band of anti-human terrorists determined to drag the whole world down with them—so there isn’t the same risk there.
After all, what desperate soul would choose to become a follower of the Doomsday Witch? They might as well end it themselves—at least that would be quicker.
.
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Book 3: Chapter 209: The Witch Cult
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