Millennium Witch

Book 3: Chapter 222: A Misunderstanding

Yvette didn’t know what level a Saint Archmage was supposed to be, but she figured that, from the rumors, their number wasn’t even one percent of all Archmages—there was a massive bottleneck. If so, then after the breakthrough there ought to be a clear qualitative change; otherwise, what appeal would that realm have? You might as well stop at Archmage and enjoy life.Maybe it lengthens your lifespan.

But that wouldn’t be of much use to her.

In the days that followed, because of the Disciplinary Committee internship, basically as soon as daytime classes ended, Lucia, Anya, and Flami had to assemble at the branch. Under Senior Palea’s lead, they carried out tasks like street patrols and public order management, growing toward being full-fledged members of the Disciplinary Committee.

And in the meantime, Yvette joined in as well, since she’d promised Lucia and Palea earlier that she would.

But she wasn’t a real Committee member, had no obligations, and was a slacker to boot, so her appearances were random. Like a ghost, she often popped up out of nowhere and then vanished again. It was hard to say whether she was keeping her word or just going through the motions. In short: she came, but left right away—like she was there to “make an appearance” and nothing more.

The eeriest part was that Yvette seemed to have a unique knack for finding people. No matter where they patrolled with Palea, or where they were helping with a case, Yvette could still show up on the roadside without a word of notice, holding some street snack she’d bought who-knows-where, munching as she watched—like a gawking bystander spawning at random.

This made Flami and Anya suspect that Lucia had some alchemical device that could relay messages over distance, feeding Yvette their location in real time. But those were not only expensive, they were bulky, and Lucia didn’t look like she was carrying anything of the sort.

When the two asked her, Lucia frankly said she didn’t know. Anya had never liked Yvette anyway, so she couldn’t be bothered to press; only Flami stayed curious, feeling that this Yvette was more mysterious than she’d imagined.

Another Friday evening came. Atop the cast-iron poles, the bulbs within the globe glass shades lit one by one, casting orange magitech light and paving a corridor of brilliance to the end of the street.

Lucia, Anya, and Flami took seats on the outdoor bench outside a café. Overhead, airships sometimes sounded their horns as they passed. At a distant intersection, a wolfkin police officer stood on a cast-iron watch post, yawning, his tail slid through the special slit in the back of his trousers, swishing restlessly.

After some time training, the three could now team up to patrol the blocks around Blossom Street. And since they were students at heart and managed things loosely, there was no requirement to stand post like proper police. They could laze somewhere and only move when something happened, then act alongside the police.

“Yvette hasn’t come yet—maybe she’s already here and just doesn’t want us to see?” Flami looked left and right, searching every corner where a chestnut-haired girl might be crouching, speaking with interest.

“Possibly,” Lucia said, unsure.

Anya curled her lip and kept quiet. She’d be happiest if the girl just stopped coming—an eyesore.

Getting nowhere, their topic shifted. Amid giggles and chatter, Anya suddenly caught a glimpse: at the far end of the street, hidden among the crowd and almost impossible to pick out, a petite chestnut-haired figure was ambling their way.

So she came after all?

Anya immediately thought of something, used the excuse of going to the restroom, and slipped away from the café.

She first pretended to turn into a shop to break line of sight, then merged into the crowd, quickly stepping in front of the slowly approaching chestnut-haired girl. When the other stopped, she said coldly, “Stop coming. Just go back.”

Yvette was cradling a cup of sweet tea, sipping as she walked. Seeing Anya suddenly block her path, she was silent for a moment and kept drinking. She only tilted her head slightly, signaling for an explanation.

The gesture had a touch of cuteness, but not through Anya’s filter. It only made her feel more disgusted. In a low voice she said, “You don’t even want to be on the Disciplinary Committee. Why come every day and put yourself through this?”

She paused. “If you just show your face and leave, isn’t that a hassle—half-hearted and perfunctory?”

Hearing the emotion in her tone, Yvette confirmed it: this wasn’t Committee business—this girl simply had a personal problem with her.

“And aren’t you ashamed? Making Lucia look after you every day—can’t you live on your own?” Anya snapped.

She’d wanted to say this for a long time, but at their first meeting she’d forced herself to hold back.

Back then she didn’t know this chestnut-haired girl named Yvette and worried there might be hidden depth or special circumstances—say, some unspeakable cognitive impairment. But after a few days of watching, she’d confirmed it: this Yvette was perfectly sound in mind, just a taciturn, solitary slacker. Her looks were plain, too—practically no personal charm to speak of.

Someone like that could, with a clear conscience, make a top genius like Lucia—number one among the freshmen—wait on her hand and foot, taking care of food and daily needs—how did she have the face for that?!

Faced with Anya’s questioning, Yvette stayed calm and simply nodded. “Go on.”

“You—!!” Anya blew her top. She felt wholly in the right, speaking so earnestly from Lucia’s standpoint—only to get a response this perfunctory?

She wouldn’t even bother to admit fault or make excuses!

Sure enough, a rotten person—she just wanted to treat Lucia as a tool for a cushy life and didn’t deserve to be her friend!

She raged, “Could you maybe not be so shameless? Are you a freeloader? Do you think you’re worthy of being Lucia’s friend?

She’s the academy’s most important prodigy with a limitless future. Can you stop dragging her down?”

Her voice rose enough to draw quite a few side glances. Luckily the passing crowds blocked the view, and with enough distance, the two outside the café didn’t notice.

When Anya had finished venting, Yvette quietly drank the last of her sweet tea and, eyes serene, asked, “Mm. Anything else?”

Anya opened and closed her mouth, pointing at her with a trembling finger, speechless, a wave of futility rising—like talking to a brick wall.

She hadn’t expected that, after she’d said this much, the other would still be unmoved. How thick-skinned could someone be?

Then, seeing Anya too angry to speak, Yvette lowered her head and glanced at the paper cup in her hand. After a moment’s thought, she peeled off a sliver of spiritual essence from her own spirit body and flicked it onto Anya.

In the next second, the world before Anya’s eyes changed. The street packed with people turned empty; everyone vanished. All she could see was Yvette—and behind her, a twisted specter that had appeared at some point.

In the dim sunset, the specter morphed into countless terrifying faces, like evil ghosts crawling out of hell, making her back go cold. Instinct told her to scream.

But then something even stranger happened: Anya found her mouth had lost control. No matter how hard she tried, no sound came out!

How could this be? she thought blankly, mind wiped clean.

“This is a wraith. I’ve made it lodge in you for now; it holds your life in its hands. If you make me unhappy, I’ll have it kill you at once. Do you understand?” Yvette asked. Her otherwise ordinary face turned suddenly sinister in that moment, like a witch famed alongside the devil in legend—terrifying.

Anya looked at her, face ashen, eyes brimming. She almost burst into tears but held it back, nodding in panic. “I—I’m sorry, my lady. I understand. I’ll do as you say—”

Yvette nodded and dispelled the illusion.

Back in reality, Anya bent over and drew deep breaths. When she finally raised her head again, the look she gave Yvette held none of the earlier displeasure or anger—only deep fear.

She thought she finally understood why Lucia listened to her so much, and why she always hesitated when confronted.

She really was being controlled—just like Anya was now!

Who on earth was this witch? A cultist? A member of some evil, hidden organization? Why had she come to the Academy of Truth?

“I’m entrusting you with a major task next.”

“W-what task, Lady Loxivia?” Anya’s heart lurched, instincts conjuring up sinister plots to subvert the academy, terrorist conspiracies and the like. After all, cultists in the City of Truth were always up to such things in secret.

Was she going to be forced to betray the academy now?

Betray the land where she was born and raised?

“Throw this away for me.” Yvette handed her the paper cup from the sweet tea.

“Oh—” Anya looked at the trash in her hand, wondering what, exactly, was “major” about it.

Then, watching Anya head into a shop along the street with the trash, Yvette finally reached a serious conclusion. She thought that when her travels truly ended and she decided to tidy up the academy and even the entire City of Truth, the first thing she’d do would be to fill the streets with public trash cans.

That was far more important than replacing the hard seats in the subway cars with cushions.

In the days after, amid daily life at the Battle Arts College and the Disciplinary Committee internship, both Lucia and Flami felt Anya had changed.

Anya Vida had always been a very lively, adorable girl. She was a native of the City of Truth from a comfortable family; she even had the spare cash to dye her hair pink—pink needs maintenance every two months. That alone showed how polished and carefree her life was. If not for standardized uniforms, she’d probably change outfits every few days without repeats.

But lately Anya had suddenly become much more downcast. Her complexion looked awful, and even her hair color had visibly dulled, like a puffball left untended for ages. During internship activities, she was listless, often spacing out, as if possessed.

That still wasn’t the strangest part. What truly made Lucia and Flami incredulous was how her attitude toward Yvette had changed.

Before, during internship, when Yvette came up, it was basically just Lucia and Flami talking. Anya seldom joined in—at most she’d make a couple of snarky remarks. In short: undisguised dislike and indifference.

But now, the moment the other girl was mentioned, Anya—no matter how drained she’d just been—would squeeze out a smile and, with a gentleness a little scary, say a couple of nice things for that chestnut-haired girl.

It was like the sun rising in the west.

So two days later at noon, in the Battle Arts College cafeteria, Lucia had barely set down her tray before she couldn’t help asking, “Anya, what’s going on between you and Yvette?”

She suspected Anya had gone through what happened back in Sanggren Village—a complete personality flip. But it didn’t quite fit: the trio of village punks had changed across the board and stayed emotionally steady, whereas Anya’s mood was lousy and the change was mainly in her attitude toward Yvette. Otherwise, she was normal.

That made her wonder whether something had happened between Anya and Yvette—some small incident that shifted Anya’s attitude without telling her or Flami.

“Can’t hide it from you after all.” Anya’s face wasn’t the kind of great beauty Lucia’s was, but with diligent grooming she was delicately cute. She let out a miserable sigh, gave Lucia a meaningful look, and said, “The same thing as with you, Lucia. What she and I have—it’s like what she has with you.”

Lucia’s eyes flew wide.

What do you mean, the same thing?

As for what was between Lucia and Yvette—setting aside their years together—the key points were twofold: a life-saving grace, and the gift of teaching and transmission.

It couldn’t be the first; there hadn’t been any major dangers lately. That left only one answer—Anya had also been chosen by Yvette to receive a legacy!

And that was why Anya’s attitude had changed: just like Lucia, she was now half—no, likely already a formal disciple, having completed the full apprenticeship ceremony!

Lucia had come first, and she still hadn’t formally apprenticed; how had Anya gotten in ahead of her?

And Anya being so drained these days—was that because she’d been sunk in reflection, regretting how badly she’d treated Teacher Yvette before?

“Anya, you, you—”

“Leave it at that—let’s not talk about it.” Meeting Lucia’s stunned gaze, Anya sighed in relief. As she’d suspected, Lucia was controlled too. From now on they’d be two of a kind under the same fate, serving the same master together.

Only Flami was left completely in the dark from start to finish. What on earth was with these two? Why did it feel like she alone had been shut out? Whatever had happened, was there still a chance for her to get in on it?