Chapter 353: The Quest Society
Light found the edge of the curtains at dawn.
Agatha had not slept.
She lay still in the dark and let Nightingale’s words work through her a second time, and a third, the way you worry a splinter you can’t quite reach. The mortals of this continent are the most powerful ones. So much can change in four hundred years. Why can’t you let go of past ideas? You still have much time ahead of you. Confirm it with your own eyes.
She rolled out of bed and crossed to the clothes-rack. Her hand rested on the robe of the Taquila Quest Society — she held the fabric a moment without putting it on, remembering the day the Three Chief Witches had given their unanimous approval, remembering what it had felt like to earn it. Existence is truth. That had been the Quest Society’s most revered motto: not belief, not doctrine, not tradition. Existence. What was actually there.
If those mortals could genuinely prove their ability, if what Nightingale described was observable and real rather than the loyalty-fervor of a woman in service — then the motto demanded she look at it.
Agatha put on the robe, opened the door, and walked toward the great hall.
I may be the last member of the Quest Society still alive, she thought. The last survivor of Taquila, certainly. Rebuilding a new Holy City won’t happen in a day. But before I decide what comes next, I might as well see what this prince with gray hair is actually capable of — what it is he’s done that has witches taking his orders.
After breakfast, Wendy accompanied her to the prince’s office.
Agatha studied him at a glance. He looked like any man from four hundred years ago — nothing external that should have marked him. And yet his presence was wrong for a merchant, wrong for a mercenary, wrong for a farmer, wrong for the head of a guard company like her Kaff. Those types were transparent, their deepest concerns readable in the first moments of conversation, the way symbols on parchment were readable. This man was not. Especially his eyes — a simple grey, nothing unusual in the color itself, but what lived behind the color was something she couldn’t place: confidence, yes, but not the blind optimism of the fortunate. Something quieter than that. Something that had the texture of experience accumulated across a very long time. As though he’d seen enough of the world to have stopped being surprised by it.
Why do I feel this way?
Roland Wimbledon, she noted to herself. Remember this name.
“How did you sleep?” He smiled. “Did the oatmeal and fried eggs four hundred years into the future agree with you?”
“They were acceptable. It would have been better without the unannounced visitor.”
He looked briefly caught, then resigned. “Fair enough. She’ll knock next time. And if you want to take a walk and see how people here live, Nightingale can show you around — or if you’d rather read, Scroll has everything she’s ever read still in her head.”
“People’s customs.” Agatha frowned. “With the demons massing on our doorstep, you want me to take a stroll? If you genuinely cannot hold them off, all the history and local color in the world means nothing.”
He smiled again, differently this time — not reassurance, something more like amusement at a problem he’d already solved. “Heavy industry and civilian livelihood are both part of the equation. Why are you so interested in the cannons?”
“What do you mean by heavy and light?”
“Nothing — forget I said it.” He set down his pen. “You’ll see for yourself this afternoon. We’re testing new weapons. But first, I have questions about Taquila — about the Holy City as it was four hundred and fifty years ago.”
New weapons. Mortals operating new weapons. Her mind went immediately to crossbows and mangonels. Improvements on those would not be enough. Not against what was coming. But she kept her expression still. “Ask.”
“You said Taquila was governed by witches and that mortals without magical ability occupied the lowest class. How many meals did they eat each day? What was their staple food? Did they eat much meat?”
Agatha blinked. She had prepared herself for questions about demon battle formations, about the composition of the Bliss Army, about the sequence of the Battles of Divine Will. Not this.
“The mortals had their own hierarchy. Those who served Senior Witches — running errands, guarding the city — ranked roughly with the lowest assistant witches. Below them were farmers and merchants, and below those were slaves and coolies. As for what they ate — I have no idea. No witch in the Upper City paid attention to such things. My own guards and servants received three meals each day. During ordinary months, they got meat once a week.”
“What were they paid?”
“Paid?” She raised an eyebrow. “Money, you mean? They entered my service and vowed to remain for life. In exchange I gave them shelter, food, and knowledge. No other compensation was necessary.”
He nodded and wrote. “Did witches participate in farming, livestock breeding, or iron-forging?”
“All such work fell to assistant witches. Ordinary mortals working alone could never meet the Union’s needs — assistant witches were superior to commoners in every material respect.”
This pattern continued for nearly half an hour. He asked about the basic structure of daily life in the major witch cities: labor arrangements, food supply, the organization of production. Detailed questions, specific ones. Questions about things Agatha had never thought worth attention.
Does he not understand that demons have already taken more than half of the Dawn Region? That the third Battle is close? These small domestic questions seem designed to tell him nothing useful.
He paused at last and passed his notes to Scroll.
“You mentioned being a member of the Quest Society. That the Society specifically studied Magic Stones and the nature of magical power.”
Finally. A question that had weight. Agatha straightened slightly. “Yes. What is called a Magic Stone is a God’s Stone of Retaliation that has been transformed. It can suppress a witch’s ability in the usual way — but it can also grant her entirely different powers.”
The reaction around the room was immediate. Tilly blurted: “How?”
A small, familiar pleasure moved through Agatha — the pleasure of having information that others needed. This was what the Quest Society was for. “The Society sacrificed endlessly over four centuries to learn the relationship between magical power and the Stones. I can share what we found — but in exchange, I want your knowledge about increasing witch awakening rates.”
Tilly and Roland exchanged a look. “No objection,” Tilly said. “But I’m still confused about something.” She raised her left hand. The blue crystal on her finger caught the light and scattered it in streaks of cold brilliance. “This Magic Stone was found in ancient ruins. It allows me to fly. It’s enormously powerful — in battle, it gives both an attacking advantage and an escape route, and it’s saved considerable time in daily travel.” She let her hand drop. “So why did you retreat on foot? How was it that even a Senior Awakened Witch like yourself didn’t carry a Stone this useful?”
Chapter 353: The Quest Society
Translator: Meh/TransN Editor: – –
As the night wore on, a soft ray of light peeked through the cracks of the curtains.
It was daybreak.
Elsa had barely slept all night. Her head had been spinning with Nightingale’s words.
“The mortals of this continent are the most powerful ones.”
“So much can change in 400 years. Why can’t you let go of past ideas?”
“You still have much time ahead of you. You can confirm it with your own eyes.”
Elsa rolled out of bed and walked over to her clothes-rack, resting her hand on the robe of the Taquila Quest Society. As she reminisced about gaining the unanimous approval of the Three Chief Witches when she earned this robe, her spirits leaped with joy. Exploring the mysteries of magic power had always been her lifelong pursuit, and the Quest Society’s most revered motto was “Existence is truth”. So, if those mortals really could prove their ability…
Elsa put on her robe, opened the door, and walked towards the grand hall.
“In any case, I am probably the last member of the Quest Society, as well as the sole survivor of Taquila. If I want to rebuild a new Holy City, it will take more than a couple of days. But before that, I might as well have a look at what this mortal prince could possibly be capable of to have witches at his beck and call.”
After breakfast, Elsa, accompanied by Wendy, went to the office of the prince with gray hair.
At a glance, the Prince looked no different from people of 400 years ago. However, he gave off an aura unlike a common mercenary, merchant, or farmer, but it was also different from Kaff, her head of family guards. It took only one glance to see right through these kinds of people, whose deepest thoughts were usually very easy to read, as if they were only symbols on a piece of paper. However, she could not perceive the prince in the same way, especially his eyes. Although they were a simple set of gray pupils, they seemed to be filled with indescribable radiance and confidence. More importantly, this confidence was not blind optimism. It exuded a kind of calmness and peacefulness beyond his years. It was as if he had lived for… thousands of years, and knew all that was in this world like the back of his hand.
“Why do I feel this way?”
“He is Roland Wimbledon.” Elsa thought, silently memorizing this name.
“How did you sleep last night?” He smiled. “Did the oatmeal and fried eggs 400 years into the future suit your tastes?”
“It was so-so, but it would have been better if you hadn’t let a witch barge into my room.”
He was stunned for a moment, and shook his head resignedly. “Alright, she will knock next time. Oh, by the way – if you wish to take a stroll outside to explore the town and people’s customs, you can ask Nightingale to show you around. If you wish to read history books, you can ask Scroll; she has kept all the books she read in her mind.”
“People’s customs?” Elsa frowned, “With the dangers of demons looming over us, I would love to see how you have the audacity to claim that mortals can defeat demons. If you can’t fend off their attacks, all the history and customs are completely meaningless!”
The Prince smirked and said, “Compared with heavy industry, light industry and civilian livelihood are just as important… Why are you so interested in cannons?”
“What do you mean by light and heavy?”
“Nothing… Never mind…” The Prince sighed, “You will soon see, and we’re going to test new weapons this afternoon. But before that, I have some questions to ask you – questions about the Holy City of Taquila 450 years ago.”
New weapons mortals operating ? Elsa’s mind immediately went to crossbows and mangonels. If he simply updated these weapons, they would not be nearly enough to defeat the demons. However, she did not let her skepticism show. “Ask away.”
“You mentioned that the Holy City of Taquila was a city ruled by witches and that mortals without magic power could only belong to the lowest class. How many meals did mortals eat in a day? What was their staple food? Did they eat a lot of meat?”
Elsa was stunned. She did not expect him to ask such questions. “There were also ranks within the mortals. The mortals who served Senior Witches by running errands or protecting the city had the same standing as the weakest assistant witches. Below them were farmers and merchants, and lastly came slaves and coolies. As for what you asked, I have no idea – no witch in the Upper City ever paid attention to what mortals ate. As for the guards and servants in my tower, they were all provided with three meals a day. Except for the “Months of the Demons”, they got to eat meat once a week.”
“What was their salary?”
“What is that, money?” She arched her brow. “They became my attendants and vowed to serve me for life, and in return I gave them shelter and food, and I imparted my knowledge onto them. They didn’t need any other compensation.”
“I see.” The Prince scribbled furiously on a piece of paper and asked, “Did the witches participate in farming, livestock breeding, or iron forging?”
“Of course, all of these things were done by assistant witches,” Elsa replied. “Although they were only assistant witches, they were far superior to commoners – if commoners handled the work alone, they could never fulfill the Union’s needs.”
This back-and-forth went on for almost half-an-hour. He seemed to be especially interested in basic necessities of life in major witch cities and asked extremely detailed questions, which confused Elsa to no end. “Compared with these insignificant matters, isn’t he concerned about the demons who have already conquered more than half of the Dawn Region and are about to strike again?”
The Prince paused for a moment and handed his notes to Scroll. “You said that you were a member of the Quest Society and that this society specifically studied Magic Stones and magic power?”
Finally, such a decent question was asked. Elsa nodded, “Yes, the so-called Magic Stone is transformed from God’s Stone of Retaliation, and it can suppress a witch’s ability, but it can also give her unique powers.”
These remarks were a shock to everyone. The witch who called herself Tilly blurted, “How is it done?”
Elsa finally felt a rush of her past importance and was quite pleased, “For the past 400 years or so, the Quest Society made endless sacrifices to pursue the secret of the relationship between magic power and Magic Stones. I can share it with you, but you must also share your knowledge of increasing witches’ awakening rates in return.”
Tilly and Roland exchanged a glance, “No problem, but I am still confused by one thing.” She lifted her left hand, and the blue crystal resting on her finger glinted with a striking light. “This Magic Stone was discovered in the ancient ruins and enabled me to fly – there is no doubt that this type of Magic Stone is immensely powerful. When battling the demons, it will give troops an advantage in both attacks and retreats. Not to mention, it saved quite an
amount of time in my daily commute.” She paused, “So why did you still retreat on foot? How was it that even a Senior Awakened Witch like you did not have such a convenient Magic Stone?”