Chapter 140: Chapter 140
The Demonkin youth Lant was naturally ecstatic at Yvette’s question and immediately bowed his head to the ground again, choking out, “Thank you, Lady Witch————”
“Don’t celebrate too soon. Before that, I’ll give you a probationary period. If you can’t satisfy me, I won’t teach you anything.” Yvette said.
She thought she must be letting her fondness for Rosalyn color her judgment. The idea that the Demonkin might have been a race Rosalyn particularly favored, combined with this boy’s reverent worship of Rosalyn and his miserable circumstances, had made her nod before she’d fully thought it through. Still, if Rosalyn were alive and here, she likely would have helped the boy too—if only from the standpoint of balancing the races and checking the Abyssal Demons’ power.
“As long as you grant me the power to avenge my family, I’ll endure whatever the process demands!” Lant said firmly.
Yvette nodded slightly. Then she remembered something and asked, “Have you heard of a dragon called Dugrabi? The son of the Flame Dragon King of the Dragonkin.”
She’d been a bit stunned by the news about her chief disciple earlier and only just recalled she hadn’t asked about Dugrabi yet.
Lant shook his head blankly. “I—I haven’t heard of him.”
Yvette hummed and didn’t find it odd. The Dragon Kingdom lies in the southeastern sea of the Eastern Continent, while the Demonkin live in the south of the Western Continent—practically worlds apart. Lant was just a village child; unless the Demonkin as a people had a special faith or feeling toward the Supreme Demon King, it would be normal for him to know nothing. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ novel·fire·net
Besides, isn’t Dugrabi only a couple hundred years old now? Dragons don’t reach full maturity until seven hundred; he probably still had a long way to go before truly standing out.
She planned to first teach him basic Rune Cognition—use rote memorization and recall efficiency with runes to test whether he really was as diligent as he claimed. If he performed well, she’d teach him the Tome of Earth Magic and the Tome of Heavenly Punishment; if not, there would be no follow-up.
By now it was nearing midday. Footsteps sounded as Abella, wrapped in her robe, sauntered lazily down from the second floor.
After rescuing the boy from the Otherworld and putting him in an empty room on the first floor the day before, Abella fancied her relationship with her Master had grown closer. She thought she deserved a higher station, so after reporting it, she had moved her bedroom overnight to an empty room on the second floor—deliberately opposite Rosalyn’s old room, as if to place herself on equal footing with her Master’s students.
After all, she’d been the loyal retainer who kept watch for the Master for a hundred years—what’s wrong with having a bit more status?
Seeing the boy awake and humbly kneeling on the rug beside the Master’s sofa, she sniggered inwardly. Finally, someone lower-ranking than her had shown up—did that mean she could start ordering subordinates around?
Smiling, she stepped over with a practiced deferential air and greeted the Master, then curiously asked, “Little brother, who are you?”
“Auntie, hello.” Lant raised his head timidly and said politely, “Nice to meet you. My name is Lant Quinn, from the Demonkin.”
He spoke the Radiant Tongue, which—promoted by the Supreme Demon King—had become the common language across East and West. Abella had learned it from Dugrabi, so communication posed no problem.
“Auntie?!” Abella immediately noticed the odd form of address, froze for a second, and her expression soured.
Dare to call me auntie, you brat—she snarled inwardly like a wolf—but after flashing a warning glance at the Master, she suppressed her anger and forced a smile. “Mm—don’t be so formal. You can call me Sister Abella.”
“Hello, Sister Abella.” Lant obediently complied.
Abella stopped looking at him and turned to the Master, speaking in the Black Tide Tongue: “Master, what’s with this brat? Can I kill him?”
“No. He’s a Demonkin from another world—his family was slaughtered by Abyssal Demons, and he drifted here.” Yvette said. “I just took him on as a registered disciple, so he’s half my student now.”
“A student?” Abella’s eyes widened. Only Lant stood there puzzled; otherwise she would have been on the verge of sobbing as she clutched at the Master’s skirts.
She’d waited at her Master’s side for a hundred years and never been promoted to student. Now this stinking brat shows up and becomes one in a day—how dare this happen!
She immediately went into mourning and wailed, “Master, you’re being careless! Taking a student is such an important decision—how could you decide so rashly? You must think it over!”
“So there’s a probationary period,” Yvette said. “We’ll observe his character and talent, then decide whether to teach him.” She hadn’t picked up on the subtext in Abella’s words.
“But don’t you think there’s someone by your side who’s more loyal, more reliable, and more utterly devoted to you—suitable to be your third disciple?” Abella wore a smile that was three parts flattering, seven parts coy, and tried to bat her eyes. “Hehe~”
“By ‘more loyal and devoted’ you mean you’ll write me into your smutty stories and make me suffer?” Yvette glared at her. “Burn those things and I’ll agree.”
Abella’s expression collapsed. Becoming a formal student and gaining inheritance and more privileges was precious, but to pay the cost with fifty years of her personal work—no, impossible. She was an artist with a sacred, noble soul; how could she sacrifice her art for such vulgar gains as knowledge and power?
What’s the difference between that and them taking her life?
Seeing Abella fall silent, Yvette was dumbfounded—she really treasured those smutty stories that much?
She glanced at Lant, who still looked befuddled by the encrypted conversation, and said in Radiant Tongue, “This sister is also a magic practitioner. If you have questions about Rune Cognition, you can ask her.”
Although Abella, like Dugrabi, learned ready-made techniques rather than the basic theory behind rune sets, she was still competent in Rune Cognition. After all, it’s the foundation for mastering spells—akin to the vocabulary in learning a language.
Yvette was too lazy to teach that basic material herself; let Abella handle it.
“Thank you, Sister Abella.” Lant said sincerely.
Abella’s mouth twitched. The thought that this brat had arrived yesterday and already taken a master today made her blood boil with jealousy, but she dared not go against the Master—so she ground her teeth and spat, “Fine—I know—”
Wait, you little brat. I’ll show you the most terrifying hell of knowledge!
I’ll drown you with it!
Feeling the chill radiating from the Spider Woman, Lant smelled trouble. He studied the young aunt’s face and thought her gaze looked frightening—best not bother her unless absolutely necessary.
Indeed, living as a dependent is miserable.
Late that night, in the manor villa.
On the first floor, Lant recited the basic runes he’d just learned. On the second floor, Abella sprawled on her bed in a very unladylike pose, snoring loudly. On the third floor, Yvette sat at her study table, staring at a half-finished design sketch for a new vehicle. After a moment’s silence, she rolled it up and tossed it into a drawer.
She suddenly felt that whether she left Ish Island to explore the continents or stayed put no longer mattered.
Rosalyn had fallen. Dugrabi was an immortal-blooded being she needn’t worry about. She seemed to have lost the drive to travel.
And with the Doomsday Witch—the greatest potential threat of the Land of the End—gone, her own survival pressure had dropped to nearly nothing.
Of course, Lant was only a country boy; his answers might not be the truth. Optimistically, perhaps only the Doomsday Witch had died and Rosalyn had survived. She comforted herself with that thought, then suddenly thought of Necromancy and all the concepts proposed by the Holy Spirit Sect.
Now she finally understood the mindset of those foreign believers who, even knowing the Holy Spirit Sect was a cult, still gave real money to support it.
Fortunately, she had obtained the Holy Spirit Sect’s necromancy techniques. Though they lacked the core secrets, they were enough for her; the rest she could research over time.
In the endless accumulation of years, be it necromancy or other conceptual magics, one day she would find a way to realize the miracle of “returning from death.” That, she had found, was her hope.