Millennium Witch

Book 3: Chapter 240: The Letter

A few minutes later, Lucia and Yvette retraced their steps with the two children and returned to the Lucky Coin Inn.It was the liveliest hour of the afternoon tavern rush. The dwarf proprietor was raising an oak goblet, drinking against a few regulars. Ale foam dripped along his beard and spattered dark stains across the bar. Lucia went up and shook his shoulder; only then did the dwarf turn around, bleary-eyed, and open another room for Ezra and Aina.

This time, though, Lucia booked the cheapest room for the two children—only sixty copper coins. Not exactly cheap, but compared to their own top-floor suite at twelve silver coins, the price gap was a full twentyfold.

“Isn’t there still a vacancy up in the top-floor suites?” After the two children went in, Yvette stood at the door, eyeing the bare-bones furnishings with surprise.

Her money had been transmitted from the gold on Ish Island, and she could even produce gold with her own hands; in theory she was wealthy enough to rival a nation and barely felt money being spent at all.

“Teacher, that’s where you don’t get it.” Lucia leaned to her ear and lowered her voice; warm breath brushed her ear. “I do pity them, sure, but we can’t be too good to them—or our kindness will get us pegged as easy marks.”

She paused, then added, “Besides, rescuing them was my call. Otherwise, you might not have gotten involved, right? So I should be the one to pay.”

“Do you have the money?” Yvette gave her a look.

She remembered that everything Lucia earned as a member of the Disciplinary Committee had gone to pay the rent at the Scholars’ Harbor Apartments, leaving her perpetually broke until, after formally becoming Yvette’s disciple, that expense became entirely Yvette’s to cover.

Not that it was necessary anymore, because before coming to Adelock—uncertain whether she’d ever return to the Academy—she had bought out Room 606 before leaving.

“Y-yes, I do!” Lucia said, eyes wandering, the tips of her ears flushing red.

Doesn’t sound like she does… Yvette thought.

After settling the forlorn siblings Ezra and Aina, Yvette and Lucia left the inn again and headed toward the Inner District.

On the way here, per the bullkin coachman Old Martin’s introduction, the famed adventuring city of Adelock was now divided into an Inner District, Middle District, and Outer District—roughly the inner, middle, and outer rings.

Their airship station lay in the Outer District, just in a relatively decent area, separated from the swaths where paupers, migrants, and drifters clustered. Walk a bit along the city’s edge and you’d soon see the shantytowns of plank shacks and tents where the law barely reached.

The Lucky Coin Inn sat in the Middle District; just outside, both sides of the street were crammed with gear shops, potion stores, taverns, and inns. Buildings jostled together, and teams of every stripe of adventurer thronged the road in a din.

At the deepest ring, the Inner District was known as the “Gem District”—the name says it all: the haunt of the wealthy. Security was excellent, prices sky-high; it housed the City Council, the headquarters of the major merchant guilds, and the most luxurious inns.

It’s worth noting the Inner District also had an “Old Street,” which corresponded to where the old town of Adelock had once stood.

On the way to the inn, to show them the city—and to pad out the fare—Old Martin had deliberately taken them on an extra loop through the Inner District. That let Yvette see the old churches of the three True-God faiths, worn by two centuries and looking small and dilapidated, far outshone by two local heavyweights: the Cloudpeak Sect and the Sunflare Sect.

Maybe one day there’d even be a church devoted to the Silver Witch, Yvette thought. It seemed possible—provided she actually turned up something in her research into the mechanics of faith.

What would give such a church the right gravitas for a name? she mused.

The Adventurers’ Guild wasn’t in the Inner District—its clientele were adventurers, after all—so of course it was in the Middle District.

After crossing several streets, Yvette and Lucia saw the bustling guild hall from afar, set on a small square in the Middle District.

At the entrance stood a very familiar bronze statue. One glance and—sure enough—it was the God of Serendipity again. The face had no features, but the height—one meter sixty-five—was precise to the millimeter. From the Academy of Truth to Adelock, of all the statues of “her,” some had plenty of flaws, but never once in height. Who knew what kind of craftsman’s obsession that was.

Inside the hall, Yvette handed Lucia her student ID and the materials fee. “All yours. When you’re done, just head straight back to the inn.”

Lucia answered obediently and went to queue at the end of a service window.

Yvette cast a glance at the ebb and flow around her, then slipped out at the corner. In no time, she was on the Old Street of the Inner District.

She wasn’t here for the Old Oak Inn; she’d come to Old Street to see whether the little house she and Moga had once bought together was still there.

Following the route in her memory, she turned into a quiet alley of the Inner District.

The bluestone pavement had been burnished smooth by time, dark-green lichens creeping up the corners of the walls. The old timber-and-stone house was indeed still there, but a spiked cast-iron fence now ringed it, and an invisible ward rippled in the sunlight.

Yvette passed through the ward and entered. The layout was much as she remembered, only more worn. The table lay bare—nothing on it at all.

Disappointment washed over her; she sighed. But as her gaze swept the empty desk, she arched a brow, reached out, and tapped. Light flickered; some hidden mechanism unlocked, and a letter—along with a matte silver-white metal token set with a green gemstone—appeared on the table.

She glanced at the token and saw a spiraling airflow motif carved upon it, but couldn’t place its affiliation. She opened the letter at once and read. In elegant cursive, it said:

“When you read this letter, I expect a long span of years will have passed. I don’t know what traces time has left upon you. For me, since our parting in Adelock, more than two hundred springs and autumns have turned. I have always looked forward to the day I see you again.”

“The Silverwind Merchant Guild is an organization I founded with several like-minded partners. With the token, you can reach me as quickly as possible. Wherever you are, the Silverwind Merchant Guild will do its utmost to furnish whatever you need.”

“May the wind guide your path, and may all be well with you.”

“

—Your forever devoted student, Moga Smollett.”

−

===

By the time Yvette returned to the Lucky Coin Inn, dusk had draped Adelock in a veil of dark blue. Lights blazed along both sides of the street, sending warm ripples across the damp flagstones.

She pushed open the inn’s heavy wooden door. Warm air rolled out carrying the scents of roast meat, ale, and tobacco. The hall was noisier than in the afternoon; several dwarves were gathered around a table throwing dice, their booming voices drowning out the bard’s lute.

Lucia sat at a window-side table with a half-finished glass of juice. Ezra and Aina sat opposite her, eating stew and macaroni.

The two wore very different expressions. Even having accepted the girls’ kindness, Ezra’s eyes still flickered now and then with wariness and confusion—no doubt guarding against the possibility that this show of goodwill hid traffickers beneath. There was an old saying in Adelock: “Here, everything has a price.” The slave trade was tacitly tolerated, with dedicated markets existing in hard-to-find corners.

Unlike her lanky, somewhat malnourished brother, the sister—Aina—had already let her guard down completely.

She had long dark-brown hair and was even slighter than her brother. She was tucking into her meal, telling Lucia something as she ate; Lucia, a model listener, nodded along and responded with indignant expressions—clearly they were talking about things that had happened back in the village.

Soon, noticing Yvette’s arrival, Lucia waved, wearing the smile of a job well done.

“Teacher, you’re back—look!” She slid two bronze badges toward Yvette, a little proud.

The badges were simple: a crossed sword and staff, a single star below, fine runes etched along the rim.

“Registration was smooth. When the guild people saw our Academy of Truth student IDs, they skipped us past Black-Iron and started us at Bronze. They even said adventurers with formal academy backgrounds are rare,” Lucia said.

Yvette picked up a badge and weighed it—slightly heavy, well made.

“Mm.” She handed the badge back to Lucia. “Keep it.”

“Where did you go, Teacher?” Lucia asked as she put the badge away, curious. Yvette’s expression was the same as when she’d left—but from what Lucia knew, such calm often hid a few developments.

“Took a walk. Looked over Old Street,” Yvette said evenly, saying nothing about the Silverwind token.

She planned to wrap up this little side quest with the Church of Omniscience before moving on to other things—like contacting the Silverwind Merchant Guild, and finding Professor “Evans Hockel,” who might be in Adelock or down in the Great Labyrinth.

She was very interested in the Ultra-ancient Civilization as well. The many texts she’d read all seemed to indicate it possessed formidable magitech. If the lowest levels of the Great Labyrinth truly held an Ultra-ancient Ruin, she wouldn’t mind doing a bit of archaeology here for a while.

Toward evening, outside Adelock, three figures stumbled along a muddy path leading southeast.

These were the three villagers of the Church of Omniscience whom Lucia had driven off that afternoon in the alley. The homespun robes they wore were spattered with mud and dried blood; the eerie paint on their faces had run, leaving them especially bedraggled in the deepening night.

Their gaunt, tall leader, named Holko, wore a face so dark it might drip. He glanced back at the shrinking outline of Adelock’s walls and let out a low curse.

“Holko, how are we supposed to explain this to the priest?” the slightly plump cultist beside him couldn’t help asking as they hurried along.

His name was Red Hammer; with no parents, he used a nickname as his name.

“The truth, plain and simple!” Holko snarled. “Two outsiders—very strong—ruined the god’s work! They insulted our god, said our God was an Eldritch God!” He ladled on embellishments, well aware how to inflame the higher-ups.

The other villager, a scar-faced man named Toby, panted and asked, puzzled, “Will—will people from other churches come after us?”

“What’s there to fear!” Holko barked, forcing himself calm. “Once we’re in the village, it’s our god’s domain. With the priest and so many brothers there, even the Crimson Sanctum won’t dare do anything to us!”

The three fell silent and focused on hurrying along.

Night thickened; shadows loomed along the path as if hiding countless eyes. In the distance, a patch of sparse lights nestled at the foot of a mountain finally came into view—that was Lute Village.

A rough wooden post stood at the village entrance. A huge, bloodshot, abstract eye was carved atop it; in the murk, that eye seemed to watch coldly every soul who passed.

At that sign, the three finally let out a breath, quickened their pace, and all but fled into the village.

The village’s atmosphere was the opposite of the outside’s calm. It was night, yet not quiet. Some houses glowed with wavering candlelight, and a low, chantlike murmur could be faintly heard.

Holko didn’t stop. He led his two companions straight to the largest building at the village center—a stone structure that might once have been a council hall or a granary. That was the Church—or rather, the temple—of Omniscience, the true core of the cult in Lute Village.

Inside, the lighting was dim; only a few candles flickered in wall sconces, throwing warped, dancing shadows.

At the far end stood a figure in a black robe, a mask painted with intricate eyes covering his face. He had his back to them; at the sound, he slowly turned.

“Holko—” a hoarse voice came from beneath the mask. “Where are the offerings?”

“Priest, we’re sorry!” Holko prostrated, fear in his voice. “We—we had them at first, but two foreign whores—they were strong—struck suddenly and spat blasphemies, saying our god is—.”

— a third-rate abomination! We fought for our lives, but—”

The priest listened in silence. After a long moment, he spoke coldly: “Those who blaspheme the divine shall suffer the agony of the Gaze.”

“Priest, you mean—”

“I will grant you a temporary Benediction. This is your chance to atone with merit.”

As a translucent force poured into the three, they let out low groans—painful yet tinged with ecstasy.

At the same time, beneath their clothes at the chest, an eye-shaped sigil slowly surfaced, its light flickering until, when it was done, it faded away.

When it ended, rapture and piety mingled on Holko’s face. He murmured, “Thank you for the god’s grace, Priest. We’ve already learned where they are in the city! We’ll go back at once and take them—and those two brats—as offerings to the god!”

The priest nodded coolly. “Go, then. Let those ignorant ones tremble before true Omniscience. And make it clean—do not draw the Crimson Sanctum’s attention.”

Contrary to what Ezra knew, in truth the Church of Omniscience in Lute Village still harbored some fear of the Crimson Sanctum. After all, the Crimson Sanctum was a True-God church with great pull; if it obtained solid proof, it could directly enlist other churches to help wipe out an Eldritch cult.

Fortunately for them, the villagers here had all become believers and were vigilant, so even if the Crimson Sanctum knew there were cultists about, for reasons like insufficient manpower, lack of evidence, and poor intelligence, it could do little for the time being.

“Yes!” the three—Holko and his companions—responded.

With the Benediction’s strengthening, they burst from the temple like wraiths and sprinted toward Adelock under cover of night.