Chapter 87: Witch Cult, Sin Archbishop, Envy Arrives! (Patreon)

The royal capital, the slums.

Even within the same city, night looks different from place to place. The slums and the Castle District were two entirely separate worlds. There were no bright streetlamps here, no patrolling guards—only streets awash in sewage and sin squirming in the dark corners.

Inside an abandoned chapel, the air hung heavy with the stench of rot and damp.

Several Witch Cultists in black hooded robes, reeking of twisted fanaticism, had gathered beneath a broken statue, murmuring ominous prayers in low voices.

They were Petelgeuse's Witch Cult followers. By day they posed as ordinary people living ordinary lives while gathering intelligence. By night they put on their robes and assembled here to trade what they'd learned.

With the royal capital cracking down hard these past few days, not every sleeper agent could make it to the meeting on time. Those present were all minor ringleaders, each speaking for several others. Even so, there were twenty-three of them. If Russell were here, he'd be beating his chest and lamenting, "How did this country come to this?!"

And that was just the ringleaders. Add everyone up, and wouldn't there be a hundred bomber men lurking in the royal capital of Lugnica? Wonderful. So our royal capital is your Witch Cult's backyard, is it? Come and go as you please, do you?!

How Russell would lose his composure once he learned all this—that could wait. As the cultists debated how best to carry out the mission Petelgeuse had given them, a crisp set of footsteps rang out through the silent chapel.

The cultists warily drew their daggers. Not one of them spoke. Beneath their robes, their malevolent eyes locked onto the shadows at the entrance.

A slender figure slowly walked out of the darkness.

Accompanied by Elsa and Meili, a pointy-eared half-elf girl stepped out of the night. She swept back her cloak, and her silver hair shone dazzlingly even in the dark. Her pale violet eyes carried a noble, frosty air. Her identity was all but announced.

"A half-elf… Have we been discovered?! Wait, this aura…!"

The cultists froze. Of course they knew that this silver-haired half-elf girl was one of the five Dragon's Maidens in this Royal Selection. They had assumed the kingdom had sniffed out their gathering. But then the powerful reek of Witch's miasma coming off the girl plunged the already braced cultists into an even deeper daze.

That aura of the Witch was so pure and so powerful that they could barely breathe under its pressure, and it proclaimed beyond doubt that she was thoroughly "beloved."

Emilia stopped and gazed coldly at the fanatics before her.

Slowly, she raised her right hand and displayed her Gospel.

The cultists erupted in commotion, and some couldn't help dropping to their knees. Looking at this crowd of zealous, twisted creatures, Emilia drew a deep breath. She pressed down every feeling of "gentleness" and "weakness" in her mind and let cold reason take the high ground.

Her voice echoed through the ruins, icy and utterly without warmth:

"Pleased to meet you—or rather, I'm glad to see you again, devout believers."

"I am the Sin Archbishop of the Witch Cult, in charge of 'Envy'—Emilia!"

She raised her chin slightly, silver hair dancing in the night wind, like an ice queen descended into the mortal world.

"I don't know what orders you received before, but now, as the sole vessel in which the soul of the Witch of Envy is reawakening, I command you to obey my arrangements!"

"Prove your loyalty, for the true return of the Witch!"

When Emilia finished, the chapel fell into dead silence.

At that moment, Emilia was already panicking inside. She had no idea whether her half-baked acting could fool this crowd of lunatics whose heads were full of Witch. She kept replaying what she'd just said: Was the tone off in some line? Had she slipped on some expression? In short, she was a nervous wreck!

Besides, her looks were far too distinctive. Hiding her identity was nearly impossible, and a cloak that dulled the senses might have aroused suspicion, so she'd had no choice but to show her true face. But that raised a problem. Sure, everyone knows how Lugnica's matchmaking works, but nominating a Witch Cult Sin Archbishop as a Royal Selection candidate? Even in Lugnica, you can't play it like that, can you?!

What Emilia didn't know, on the other hand, was that anyone could be a Sin Archbishop, but never Envy. The Witch of Envy was alive and well, merely sealed away, and the Witch Factor was still inside Satella. So where did this fraudulent, presumptuous fake come from, claiming to be the Sin Archbishop in charge of 'Envy'?

But as it turned out, her worry was entirely unnecessary.

A moment later, fanatical cries erupted like an avalanche.

"Praise the Witch… Praise the incarnation of Envy!"

"Ohhh… The one our hearts long for!"

The cultists kowtowed madly, foreheads slamming against the hard flagstones with dull thuds. Some began to bleed, yet they felt nothing, their faces full of sickly ecstasy.

In the eyes of these fanatics, silver hair and a half-elf were already the face of the chosen one. Add the Gospel in her hand, to say nothing of that thick Witch's miasma, and with all these factors stacked in her favor, no amount of implausibility mattered. With their fervor, it simply had to be true!

Besides, even if there was no Sin Archbishop of Envy, who said the one in charge of Envy couldn't be the Witch herself? After all, Emilia had once frozen the Elior Forest for over a hundred years and earned the name "Witch of Frost." Ordinary people might barely know that title, but among Witch Cultists who worshipped the Witch of Envy, it was a name that rang out like thunder.

Who said an Witch of Frost wasn't a Witch? And just look at Emilia's face. With that face and that aura, how could she be a mere Witch Cult Sin Archbishop? This was Satella, the Witch of Envy, descended in person! Before so sacred an existence, even the slightest thought of doubting her identity was a grave offense, the kind that got your neck wrung by Archbishop Petelgeuse!

Looking down at the cultists kneeling and kowtowing madly at her feet, Emilia's lips curled into a cold, complicated arc.

She knew she had crossed a line from which there was no turning back.

But to protect the people she wanted to protect, and to uncover the truth behind it all, she would pay any price, even becoming a true Witch.

"Very good."

Emilia looked down on them coldly, her voice echoing in the darkness:

"Now, tell me everything you've gathered in the royal capital, word for word. I'm curious what that 'Sloth' fellow is trying to do in my territory."

In truth, her contact with the other Royal Selection candidates in the throne hall had taught Emilia quite a lot. At the very least, she now understood how to project pressure like someone in a position of authority.

Of course, the Council of Wise Men members and nobles who had bullied her with their power had also taught her plenty of ways to display "malice," which, it had to be said, was quite ironic.

In any case, once her identity was accepted, communication between Emilia and the Witch Cultists went remarkably smoothly.

"So your goal is to strike the royal capital while Crusch leads her troops to subdue the White Whale? That's rather wishful thinking."

Emilia gave a feigned, indifferent hum, looking down on the cultist kneeling before her, and said coldly:

"Didn't your Sin Archbishop tell you that the Beloved Children's forces in the royal capital have been mostly uprooted?"

"Even if I hold sway here, as long as Reinhard is around, taking the royal capital is simply impossible. I'd advise you to give up while you can."

Frankly, these words rather exposed Emilia's naive and kind nature. Asking a good girl like her to play a Witch who disregarded human life was just too much of a stretch.

The problem was that the crowd across from her wasn't exactly normal either. In their eyes, this was the Witch doubting their professionalism—and doubt meant concern, and concern meant love.

Well, this was unacceptable! To receive such concern from the Witch herself! They'd have to show some real skill!

And so another wave of cheers rose and fell among the cultists below. The cultist in the lead spoke, his face also aflame with fervor:

"Worry not, Lady Witch. We have no need to take the royal capital. We need only stage a feast of bloody slaughter and offer the blood to the great Dragon of Finality, to tell Him that the time to feast has come!"

"And as for the Sword Saint, you may rest easy. We've received word that Reinhard has agreed to join Duke Karsten's expedition. Once he leaves, this royal capital will be a lamb awaiting slaughter!"

Having said this, the cultist grinned.

"We have long been ready to spill our blood for the Witch and for the Dragon of Finality! Death is not our end, but the road to ascension! Blood for the demon dragon! Skulls for the Witch!"

At the words "Dragon of Finality," the fingers hidden beneath Emilia's cloak jerked.

She knew exactly what they meant. Though she had seen Natsuki Subaru's giant dragon form only once, that single glimpse had burned its savage, terrifying shape into her memory. If that dragon seized Subaru's body again because of this ritual sacrifice…

Emilia didn't dare think any further. A surge of uncontainable anger and panic erupted inside her, and she could only grit her teeth and force her expression to stay cold.

Fine threads of ice crystals began to spread beneath her feet, freezing a thin layer of frost across the damp ground around her. This oppressive presence, like the descent of a Witch, made every cultist present look at her with even greater fervor. They were one step short of seating her on the throne of Lugnica.

"The Dragon of Finality…"

Emilia gave a cold laugh.

"Do you think that great being needs offerings as lowly and filthy as yours? Or do you wretched worms from the gutter think you have the right to speculate on the will of the Dragon of Finality?"

At this, the cultist ringleader kneeling at the front shuddered violently. His forehead struck the frost-covered floor with a heavy thud, sending up a spray of broken ice flowers, and cold sweat had already soaked his robe.

"N-no… We wouldn't dare! We never meant such presumption! Please, Lady Witch, calm your wrath!"

He hurriedly explained:

"We act according to the Gospel's guidance. Lord Petelgeuse even sent one of his Fingers to oversee our work… As for the rest… we have no right to ask!"

Following his pleading gaze, Emilia saw that beside the ringleader stood a cultist whose posture was oddly stiff. He had to be the so-called "Finger."

Before coming here, Emilia had asked Puck about the Sin Archbishop of Sloth, Petelgeuse Romanée-Conti. For some reason, Puck's eyes always turned subtly reluctant when he talked about the man, and he would only say cryptically that it was better she didn't know for now.

Emilia understood. Deep down she also had a feeling that she'd known the man long ago…

Even so, Puck had revealed some basic information. For example, Petelgeuse's true form was an earth-attribute evil spirit. Through something like a forced contract, he could possess people with an affinity for spirits. These people not only shared a soul-link with him but could even serve as Petelgeuse's spare bodies when necessary. They were, so to speak, the core members of the Sloth sect.

It seemed she'd need to pass a message to that Sin Archbishop through this "Finger."

With her mind made up, Emilia slowly stepped forward. A piercing cold wind swept through the entire dilapidated chapel with her stride, instantly sublimating the moisture in the air into drifting ice crystals.

Elsa narrowed her eyes slightly and twirled her cutlass around a fingertip, seemingly quite pleased by the pressure Emilia had suddenly unleashed.

Emilia walked up to the hunched cultist and looked down at him from above.

"You."

Her voice was soft, yet it carried an authority that couldn't be resisted.

"You're Petelgeuse's 'Finger,' aren't you?"

The cultist only chuckled and didn't deny it. As the core member Petelgeuse had sent to the royal capital, he was in fact the commander of every Witch Cultist here. The ringleader just happened to be the closest to Emilia, a pitiful wretch who showed his unsightly side before the Witch. He himself would never display such an ugly sight.

"That's right," he answered respectfully. "Lady Witch, both I and Lord Petelgeuse are nothing more than your loyal servants."

"Good. Then I have something for you to pass on to him."

"Please, give your command."

"This play in the royal capital is now under the management of me, 'Envy.' This is the will of the Witch herself. Both the already fallen Lust and you followers of 'Sloth' have been far too disappointing!"

"Now it's time for me to personally correct this farce!"