Academic gathering with Lich colleagues

"Enjoying the dejection of losers makes my sense of pleasure even sweeter."

On the altar, Kurona, draped in black gauze, knelt before a stone pillar, bathed in the afterglow. Her clothes had all been removed, revealing delicate skin as white as moonlight. The slender girl knelt amidst ancient runes that glowed with an eerie magical light.

Like a sacrifice offered to evil.

In Wenli's ear, Sersera's voice was like the evening breeze.

“I did it again, the ancient ritual.”

"Yes, Cecila, just as perfectly as you did last time... but you will ultimately fail."

“Vera Liz is not some little girl with amazing potential. Although that girl’s charm fascinates the witch, beauty is not power.”

"Is that so? But what happens after the ritual? You didn't tell that black cat, did you? Every awakened matriarch is not free. She is a puppet kidnapped by our power, a puppet destined to become our master. The matriarch will become our master, dragged down by us. Otherwise, the witchcraft power within her will tear her and everything around her apart."

“Nothing is truly free. So-called freedom is merely a cage that prevents us from feeling any limitations.” Cecila’s eyes narrowed, and the cold light in her gaze sharpened. “Besides, who says I would definitely lie and conceal things? The lesson I learned last time taught me that deception always comes at a price.”

"what do you mean……"

“Veralis, my future mistress, already knew everything about the awakening ritual. I am not the one who manipulated everything and ended up failing. We were just using each other for our own purposes. As long as I could achieve the future I desired, I was willing to be consumed myself. Even knowing everything, Veraliz still chose to exchange her freedom for power and become our mistress.”

Sersera gave Wenli a strange smile as she looked at her astonished expression.

“Veralis is an avenger just like me, no, her hatred is a thousand times stronger than mine.”

It got even darker.

The moonlight, hijacked by the shadows, cried out helplessly in the sky. Rolling, wave-like shadows loomed over the witch, like a tidal wave poised to overturn.

Within the shadowy tide connecting the top of the black stone pillars, two blazing lights appeared, like icy flames, like the cold light on ice. The black cat's eyes stared at the crowd, the light seeming capable of freezing souls.

Veraliz leaped from the top of the stone pillar, taking with her a surging tide of shadows that spread like ink in clear water, engulfing Chrona at the center of the altar.

In the writhing darkness, Chlorna let out a terrible scream, as if she were being tortured. The little witches standing nearby all flinched away, but this scene had become their nightmare.

The screams were distorted and warped; if you listened intently, you would notice a distinct difference between the final sound and the earlier ones. The last, soft sigh was no longer childish, but carried a unique quality.

The darkness that had blocked their path transformed; it became light and thin, like a smooth piece of cloth, dancing in the air. From the shadows emerged a woman never before seen. Her figure was far taller than those of this era, her appearance suggesting she was around twenty years old. Her body had reached the pinnacle of aesthetic artistry; her full curves and long, shapely thighs were encased in a layer of black, gelatinous clothing. The shadows spread across her graceful limbs, forming her outer garment. Her long, disheveled hair, like a lion's mane, along with her aggressive gaze, added a touch of wildness to the woman. Cunning and intelligence were hidden within her amber, vertical eyes.

The moment she appeared, a sense of oppression arose from the witches, who had already knelt before their mistress.

Sersella humbly stepped forward.

“My mistress. Mistress Villariz.”

The woman's face was expressionless, but the gaze she gave Cecilia seemed to be smiling. Her voice was sweet, like a kiss to your heart, and a tendency toward decadence and intoxication would open your heart and make you succumb to her.

“Cersera, skip the formalities and get to the part we want.”

Three witches were carried in; they were witches without a clan, whose strength had reached the third rank, but now they were as weak as infants. The power of witchcraft had eroded their bodies, and their organs were nearing failure. A witch's life is short, ending abruptly as her power increases.

Veraliz extended her slender fingers, like tender bamboo shoots, and from her palm, a shadow like that of a black cat poured out and burrowed into the witch's body.

"My people hunt in the shadows."

The shadows burned like torches on the three witches. When the shadows completely merged into their bodies, the witches, who were originally terminally ill, opened their eyes. They had beastly eyes like Vera Liz's. A bunch of cat ears stood up on their heads, their slender tails swayed freely, and their nails were sharp like claws, the tips of which gleamed coldly.

They became agile and powerful, their strength reaching the fourth tier.

Success! The witches' matriarch appeared, bestowing blessings upon her people. The witches' lives were no longer controlled by organ failure. Their path forward was as bright as that of other races, and even stronger. All the witches looked upon their new matriarch with joy, their savior.

"Lady Veraliz, please allow me to follow you!" "Me too!" "Me too!"

Vera Liz smiled, just like Cecila.

"No, this is not enough, my sisters. We are not fully strong. Our bodies have been redeemed, but our spirits have not. We are still the same people who think they are weak, unless we overcome our fears and become our own masters."

"Lady Veraliz, what should we do?"

“We were abandoned, hurt, fled, hid, feared, and numb. Why, why are we the only ones who have suffered this? We lost our homes, and everything beautiful about us was devoured by the self-proclaimed justice of the Holy Light! Now, are you still going to swallow your anger and pretend you are not hurt?!”

A terrible thought flashed through Wenli's mind, and a premonition rang in her ears like an alarm bell. She rushed towards Cecila, grabbed her collar, and screamed incoherently, "Answer me, Cecila, where are we? Where is that light in the distance! What are you planning!"

“Where is this? Just as you thought, Wenli, this is the Brinkins Lancher Mountains, over there…”

Violet waved her hand, tearing apart the clouds that enveloped the surroundings. In the distance, there was a city bathed in light, shining brightly even in the darkness, just like the firelight in the eyes of all the witches.

"Our enemies are sleeping soundly right under our noses, enjoying everything we have lost! Are we just going to lie prostrate in the cold wind and watch them enjoy their peace! Peace built on the bones of our sisters! The hunt has begun, my sisters! Let them experience what we have experienced! They will pay the price for what they have done!"

"That's the holy city of Locarote."

Chapter 239 The Lost Family Members

Following the caravan through the magnificent city walls, Lyle felt the grandeur of human civilization and its reverence for the Holy Light. The walls of the holy city of Locarrot were pure white, the hard marble structure coated with layers of white wax. You could see this spectacle from a great distance, and as it appeared on the horizon, you could see the white walls rising with the sun.

Locarrot City is completely open during the Holy Light Ritual; however, this "openness" only applies to humans. One by one, paladins in armor surge through the city gates, flooding into the city like schools of fish. Lyle used gold coins to disguise himself as a nobleman interested in the Holy Light. Legally, he was indeed a nobleman, assuming the Naslan family hadn't been definitively wiped out.

Through the carriage curtains, Lyle surveyed the city—clean and tidy. The residents here had a fondness for white; their houses were white, their clothes were white, and walking along the streets, combined with the smiles on their faces, truly gave it the appearance of a holy city.

The caravan's owner was a resin merchant named Hans, a passionate man whose extraneous use of Lyle gold coins was not ruled out. He would bring vast quantities of white resin to the city during each Holy Light Ritual, sometimes even going bankrupt to gather the raw materials, as he was certain to make a fortune. Businesses associated with religion or faith always commanded significant added value, and white resin was even an essential commodity for Locarrot during the Holy Light Ritual. At this time, the city's inhabitants would cleanse themselves and reapply a layer of pure white resin or wax; the Holy Light Ritual was the most important festival here.

Hans escorted Lyle to the front door of an inn, the most reasonably priced and best-serviced inn he had recommended. If it weren't for the fact that they didn't offer cargo storage, Hans would have been happy to keep his generous old friend Benedictine company. Benedictine was the alias Lyle had come up with for this trip.

The hotel, named Lion King's Pride, was clean and beautiful, but it lacked the flowers and plants of the Narnia Tequila Bar and the atmosphere of life. It looked so serious that it even resembled the Cassandra Sheriff's Office.

There's another peculiar feature. The buildings in Locarrot have a very peculiar characteristic: a continuous set of lime steps, about twenty centimeters high, around the outermost edge of each building. Even the doorways aren't lowered. Lyle finds this threshold inconvenient; guests could easily slip and fall, and it also forces the doors to open inwards, making it easy for dust to accumulate in the corners. Despite this, every household in Locarrot has this "little wall."

The owner of Lion King's Pride was a robust middle-aged man. Judging from his upright posture and demeanor, he might have been a soldier, perhaps even wounded in the knee by an arrow. He smiled and prepared what he called the best room for Lyle.

Sitting in the clean, spacious room, with the window open, Lyle understood what he meant.

Directly opposite the window was a beautiful church, its white marble slabs fitting together perfectly. Stained windows depicted angels, and behind their wings, the choir's sacred hymns, carried on the warm breeze, reached Lyle's ears. The Holy Cross atop the church emitted a soft light, a light that could tangibly materialize the abstract feeling of happiness.

As the choir's hymns drew to a close, the young nuns, after bowing to the pastor's gentle smile, left in small groups. Among them was a metal lump, followed by several novice nuns.

"Sister Karen, you sing so beautifully! Come back and become a nun with us."

Karen shook her helmet, which made a creaking sound.

"No, I want to be a paladin. Nuns and such are too weak; they can't even swing a hammer."

“But, Sister Karen, you started out in the choir, and you started out as a nun.”

"I will no longer be a nun. My father has entrusted me with the path of a paladin, and I will certainly carry on his will!"

A young nun looked at Karen's lump of iron.

"Sister Karen, my sister told me that paladins have to undergo rigorous training, and their breasts will stop developing and become hard muscles."

Karen snapped her head back, looked at the little nun, and said, "...Your sister must be lying! I don't believe it! I'm going home, and I'm never helping you guys fill in for rehearsals again!"

In a cluster of buildings a hundred meters from the church, a man was reading in his study. His features were strong and angular, his brown hair streaked with gray, but this slight aging did not diminish his charisma. Like a fine wine that had aged for a long time, his composed, mature air often attracted young girls. His name was Doranco Pompeii, a paladin, and he had a daughter named Karen.

Dolanco took a deep breath, a look of dejection on his face, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the book. He was facing away from the window, the sunlight shining on his broad back.

“You should have used the door; it wasn’t locked.” Sunlight cast a shadow on Doranco’s back, concealing his bitten lip in the shadow.

Her light figure touched the ground as she walked in, without a word.

“When Karen came back in that nun’s habit, I knew that this day would come sooner or later, my sister… Elian Pombay.”

Elian crossed his arms and looked at the familiar figure from his memory.

How did you know it was mine?

Doranco turned his head and stared at the hazy, dreamlike figure.

"Your habit of not liking to use doors hasn't changed, and you still have no sense of your own weight."

"I am very light now."

“It’s not so light that I wouldn’t notice.” Doranco watched as Elian strolled to his bookshelf and fumbled around on it. “You came to me for revenge, didn’t you?”

Are you involved in my death?

“I allowed you to go to Dulai, and only after your death did I discover what had happened to you…” Doranco said, closing his eyes as if to be completely at his mercy.

"So, the great fire that happened after Dulai, and the lord's death, were you responsible?"

“...Every paladin has their own code of conduct, and the path of justice we uphold varies from person to person. I will not harm others for my own selfish gain, but I will execute what I believe to be justice…”

"Yes, or no?" Elian's tone became more forceful, his voice icy.

“I did it. I strangled him and set his house on fire.”

Elian walked up to him, extended his finger bones to touch Doranco's cheek, opened the mask of the Silver Knight's armor, and looked directly into his brother's eyes with his soul flames.

"Thank you, brother."

The burly man with a gloomy look broke down at the call, and tears streamed down his face uncontrollably.

"Why are you crying, Doranco?"

"Because you're leaving, aren't you? A soul that has lost its obsession with revenge will dissipate, won't it?"

The warmth in Elian's heart vanished. "Doranco, stop reading paladin stories and use your brain. Karen is just as stubborn and stupid as you now. I won't disappear." Elian scrutinized his brother. He had always thought his brother was no different from a buffalo, and it turned out that even after getting married, he was still the same.

"Doranco, you killed someone, what is the punishment?"

"I was driven out of the Crusades, my path to promotion was cut off, and now I'm a lord in my hometown."

"You even got Karen to switch to Paladin."

"Of course, at least my daughter can fight back when she's bullied."

“You even showed her your Paladin novels, and now Karen is a complete idiot, practically another version of you. Do you know how much time I spent correcting her mistakes? This was originally your job.”

"What's wrong with that? It's only natural for an aunt to discipline her niece."

Elian clapped his hands. "That's right, that's exactly why I'm here. When I met Karen, I concealed my identity and fabricated some lies about Elian's childhood in order to get closer to her. To prevent being exposed, I'll talk to you about it now."

"Okay, go ahead and say it."

"When you were eight years old, your father caught you climbing a tree to steal bird eggs, and the punishment was that you were spanked fifty times by your own sister."

"Elian! You clearly did it! Climbing the tree! Getting spanked! Listen to what you're saying, does it make sense?! I got spanked by my sister! If Karen actually believed that, then it's a ghost!"

Elian stared at his brother, expressionless.

"Karen believed me, and she even asked me to tell her more embarrassing stories from your childhood."

"..."

Doranco's process of finding the answer was disastrous.