Academic gathering with Lich colleagues

"Heh heh, as long as we meow like a cat and silently say what we want to say with emotion, we can let the cat know what we're thinking!"

"Like this..."

"Meow~~"

Chapter 232 Vera Liz

"Meow meow~" "Meow meow meow~" "Meow~~~" Murray shook her head and imitated the meowing of a cat in front of the black Ankara cat. Afraid that her imitation was not good enough, she drew whiskers on her face with soot and clenched her fists, shaking them like a real cat raising its front paws.

Her actions did have some effect; the Ankara cat's attention was completely drawn to the meowing girl in front of it, and its head nodded from side to side as Murray swayed. However, the cat never responded to her "cat language," and looked at Murray as if she were a fool.

Just as Murray was showcasing her linguistic talents, an argument was taking place in the tent just a curtain away.

Wenli and her sisters watched the messenger, seated with her eyes closed on the cloth, a vengeful witch and one of the witches who had convened this gathering. Vengeful witches, as the name suggests, are a group of fanatical avengers focused on punishing those who persecuted witches. They would reenact the witch trials on the sinners, using the blood of their enemies to quell their rage. Wenli's group of Death Witches, in their lifetime, had never been fond of these impulsive sisters, for they had personally committed a mistake—a mistake that had torn the witches apart, leaving them as several displaced groups. Revenge and harm were not the witches' sole purpose in life; this thought led Wenli's witch clan to decide to establish a witch's kingdom. They chose to settle down, but Cinderella shattered, falling beneath the flames brought by the holy light.

The envoy wore a pure white silk robe, her smooth skin carrying a hazy, magical quality. Her features were exquisite, and her eyes were smiling, especially when she looked at the wounds of Wenli and the others, which resembled corpses. That smile became even stronger.

“Narcsia, what do you mean by saying we can’t enter?” Wenli floated in front of Narcsia, her eyes filled with suppressed anger.

“As organizers of this gathering, we vengeful witches are responsible for maintaining its safety and stability, as well as the purity of the witches themselves. Mother Wenli, your kind seems ill-suited for this gathering.” Nacia stood up, clasped her hands together, and leisurely circled Wenli, as if examining an object. “Are you dead now, or witches? I’ve heard that a group of my unworthy sisters have joined Andrei. Isn’t that a purely lich society? A distorted world controlled by men. How can I be sure, Mother Wenli, that you are witches seeking help, or dogs searching for your master?”

“We are not Andrei’s servants, you can sense that…” Wenli’s floating body approached Natsia, and invisible magical energy burst forth from the cracks in her body. That force gripped Natsia’s throat, hoisting her up like a fish out of water. “According to witch tradition, dear Natsia, you should show due respect to a witch mother. Has my sister Sersera been too lenient with you?”

Narcissa struggled and convulsed in mid-air, her face turning a purplish-red, her bulging eyes staring intently at Wenli. "Go ahead and kill me, you dead man. You know the rules, the traditions, of witch harm."

Narcissa was thrown to the ground, panting heavily. Wenli took a deep breath. "Trying to threaten a vengeful madwoman, I must have been too stressed lately. You win, Narcissa, but please tell Cecila that she is still as foolish as ever."

Nasia struggled to her feet.

“My mistress is far smarter than you. While you damned bastards were hiding behind the city walls, it was we who led our lost sisters to survive in the wilderness! Your people are a bunch of selfish scoundrels!”

"We're selfish? We gave the witch a home, a place to settle down and live, another option, a reason to refuse to become a tool for your tribe's revenge!"

"Home? Another hope destroyed! You made the witches weak and conservative. You sinners! You tamed our sisters in place of those men, like domesticating livestock! You deserved it! What did I see in the camp? A bunch of fools who didn't even have clothes and didn't know how to plunder! Share? Ridiculous! You are a bunch of complete losers!"

Anger contorted Narcissus's face, his skin turning a deep red as if steamed. But then, Narcissus let out a sinister, grotesque laugh. "Soon, the age of witches will arrive under our guidance. A new matriarch, the elder sister of all witches, will reappear, uniting the scattered power of her sisters, and the witches will raise their voices in this new era."

"Mistress? Sersera has already advanced to the level of Mistress?"

"No, we have shortcuts and new power."

"Are you all insane! The failure fifty years ago isn't enough for you to learn your lesson! There's no shortcut to the Mistress's appearance except through natural ascension! You were there too! Narcissus, why didn't you stop her! Stop the Final Witch Project!"

"Enough! Wenli! You who betrayed us after our failure have no right to question us! We failed last time because our chosen mistress was too weak. Although she had unlimited potential, she ultimately rejected us and returned to her damned family. This time, for the final witch, we will take a new approach. We will choose to cooperate with a more powerful race. She will accept us and become a collective with us, our mistress. Our revenge will be achieved."

Nasia pulled back the tent flap and went outside.

The pure black Ankara cat finally got bored with the skeptical Murray. She shifted her gaze and happened to see Nasiah storming out of the tent in a huff.

Her voice was gentle yet carried a hint of heroism, and as clear as moonlight.

"Nasiah, come this way."

The sudden appearance of the female voice startled the three girls sitting around. They looked at each other.

Lola: "Is that the older sister hiding in the corner speaking?"

Narcissa quickly squeezed into the haystack, ignoring the three little witches, and knelt on one knee before the black Ankara cat.

"Lady Veraliz, why are you here? It's not safe here."

The black cat's eyes were slightly narrowed, as if piercing through flesh to gaze upon Narcissus's hidden soul.

“No, it’s safe here, Narcissus. These are all good children. It’s the shadow in your mind that’s dangerous. All the witches should attend our gathering. It’s good for the unity of the whole, understand? Not one less.”

Nasia pressed her lips together and finally exhaled.

"The Vengeful Witch obeys your will."

“Good girl.” The cat strolled over and climbed up Narcissa’s drooping arm to her shoulder.

Before leaving, Vera Liz turned her body and raised her front paws toward Murray.

"I understand, meow."

"Meow meow meow~ Silly girl."

Chapter 233 The Witch's Disguise

Murray stood up, and Lola helped her remove the hay stuck in her hair—heaven knows how she got it there. Watching the black cat on the departing witch's shoulder, Murray's eyebrows arched slightly as she leaned close to Figny's ear.

Did that cat just talk?

Figny turned to look at her companion. Three minutes had passed, and she had gained a deeper understanding of her friend. And so…

“I’m glad you agree with me from three minutes ago.” Fagin said expressionlessly, her amber eyes revealing no pity or contempt.

"And now?" In reality, Murray didn't understand what she meant; he just went along with the context and answered without really thinking.

"Now I'm worried about my partner's intelligence."

When Lola finally couldn't help but chuckle, Murray finally realized that he had been tricked by the cat named Vera Liz and his companion named Figny.

She bared her teeth and claws, ready to teach Figny a lesson, when the light, floating figure descended before the three of them. It was Ms. Wenli.

Murray abandoned her plan and squeezed herself into the shadows behind Figny, like a student afraid of being punished by a teacher.

Ms. Wenli was indeed the strictest teacher; with her stern face, she was no less than a fierce ghost with blue faces and fangs in Murray's eyes.

The vengeful ghost roared.

"My little sisters, can anyone tell me how that black cat got into our camp?"

Murray and Lola lowered their heads, their eyes meeting through the gaps in their hair as they told each other about the impending doom.

Even when facing the most dignified Ms. Wenli, Figny's voice remained icy.

“The black cat was brought back from the forest by Murray and Lola after they left the camp…” Figny, as always, chose to be a good student, then changed the subject, “However, it is my duty to supervise the camp, and it was my dereliction of duty to let them run away from the camp. Ms. Wenli, please punish me.”

Wenli looked at the three little ones who all had their heads hanging down.

“Fegney, are you trying to excuse them? You know our rules; there’s no precedent for lenient punishment.”

“I’m just stating the facts, Ms. Wenli. I’m not trying to excuse them; I just think I should be punished along with them.”

"Is this your idea? Regardless of reward or punishment, you'll all share the burden?" Wenli's body slowly approached, and magical energy swirled around the three of them like snakes sliding in the air. Her voice turned cold, and her aura pressed down on Fagin.

“…Yes, that’s my personal understanding…correct.” Fagin stood up straight, trembling, and raised her head, her pupils reflecting Wenli’s sharp hand that was constantly approaching.

It's like a gentle breeze caressing your hair.

"Although I really want to be angry, you did a great job this time, kids." Ms. Wenli smiled faintly, and the upturned corners of her mouth looked like an iron tree in bloom in Murray's eyes, even the hand that gently stroked her head seemed so unreal.

“That black cat holds a high position among the vengeful witches. Narcissus just came back to me and agreed to let us into the witches’ gathering. You did a great job. We’ll meet in the center of the camp in ten minutes and then head into the gathering area together. Get yourselves ready, kids. The disguises can be off.”

Ms. Wenli left; she still had to inform the other witches.

Murray never expected to receive praise, and felt a little excited.

"Vera the cat is amazing! It's incredible that a cat can do so much!"

Figny rolled her eyes. "Yeah, that's amazing. A talking cat casually commanded the other witches to open the door for us. Isn't that incredible?"

"That's no ordinary cat, you idiot!"

Ten minutes later.

The witches of death, slowly walking towards the center, removed their disguises, stripping away fabrics that could no longer be called clothing. Some let them fall to the ground, while others carefully preserved them.

Just like newborn infants, the slender witches, like works of art, slowly approached at Wenli's call. Their rough, straw-like hair, broken by the magic, sprouted new, smooth hair from their bald heads. Their grotesque features were stitched together by suspended magical threads, and the fine wounds were covered with delicate silk. The witches, who were once less than savages, had transformed into princesses of a ball, each the protagonist of their own story.

They smiled and held the hands of the sisters next to them.

“I will keep the hairband you gave me safe and sound. Although my clothes are beautiful enough now, the fabric you wore when you were suffering holds more weight in my heart.”

“Me too, Karin. My body is covered in gold and jade, but your gift will tell me that I am still the witch who needs your company.”

How could a race that had joined Andrei, a race that could enter the Wandering City, a multi-ethnic commercial metropolis, at any time, possibly be troubled by survival and wealth? Having spent years in contact with a group of liches who had no concept of wealth and used Oriu gold coins as their basic unit, the Death Witches were arguably the wealthiest witch race in the world. They didn't lack the ability to enjoy life, but they lacked the right to do so.

The reason they can disguise themselves as a weak group is quite simple. Witch gatherings are essentially recruitment events. After a witch community collapses, the witch clan, wanting to absorb fresh blood, always holds such gatherings. Witches without a clan, seeking protection and help, frequently appear at these gatherings. Witches are creatures who care deeply about material things and appearances; this is realistic and reasonable, as pursuing a better lifestyle is an instinct for every thinking being. Therefore, witch groups will better showcase their group's advantages at these gatherings, just as the most glamorous people always stand at the center of a class reunion.

However, such gatherings have an organizer, this time the vengeful witches, who don't get along with the witch of death. Swan Lake always has its best swan, and they compete openly and secretly for the benefit of their own kind. A weak beggar is far less harmful than a powerful predator, and once you gain entry, that's naturally up to your own abilities.

The Witch of Death had no idea that the Witch of Vengeance hated them so much that they needed even a cat's approval to enter.

Narcissa looked at the smiling, rejuvenated witches of death, whose smiles seemed to mock her.

“Narcissa, it’s a good thing that your companions are strong.” Veraliz’s tail swept across Narcissa’s cheek.

“I understand, Lady Veraliz.”

Narcissa took a deep breath, raised her arms, and the light green tattoo on her arms came to life. The dense, strange characters flowed onto the ground, forming a door with a green glow, like a moving swarm of snakes.

"Welcome to the witches' gathering, my 'wise' sisters."

Chapter 234 Rewards

Deeper into the dense forest, where the thick fog completely obscured the view, women in elaborate clothes emerged from the mist. They opened their eyes and looked at the strangely shaped tents erected before them, and at the strange goods displayed on counters, carpets, or in their hands by women of varying heights and builds.

A few loud cries of vendors, two or three figures gathered in front of the tents exchanging words, and pairs of eyes filled with fear and curiosity—this was the witches' gathering.

Before leaving, Narcissus marked out a designated area for the Death Witches to stay. This was necessary to prevent them from clashing with other groups and thus affecting the image of the gathering's hostess, the vengeful witch.

Wenli did not rush to have the witches join.

"Sisters, confirm your tasks: promote us, recruit new members, and procure materials. Those without tasks can stay at our base or help others. We are a collective; if you need anything, please let me or Istara know. If you wish to travel, please apply to Istara; there must be at least two people traveling together."

"Finally, draw our emblems. The sisters of the third rank, go and check on the emblems of the others."

Each person began to draw two arcs on the back of their hand with a special potion. The liquid spread on the back of the hand, turning into a pattern that resembled both a full moon and clasped hands. This was the mark of the Witch of Death.

Murray looked at the pattern on the back of her hand and pouted in complaint.

"Why did you get this tattoo on the back of your hand? It takes weeks to fade and it looks awful."

“To prove your identity.” Ms. Wenli approached the three young witches and personally examined each of their insignia. She took Murray’s hand and gently stroked the back of it. “Witch gatherings are fun, but they can be dangerous for young witches. Never underestimate the malice of others. Some witch clans are wicked. This is to protect you. Your clan is supporting you, Murray.”