High School of Demon Hunting

Chapter 1426: Chapter 173 Ulysses

”True Ancestor? Glory?”

Upon hearing the bewitching words of the Mist Captain, the Old Witch Demon at the podium scoffed: ”We are a special group of wizards, not some lackeys of the so-called True Ancestor...”

”Where is your reverence for the True Ancestor?” the Mist Captain raised an eyebrow.

”Reverence?”

The figure of Ulysses shrank even more alarmingly, quickly reducing from a dozen meters in height to that of an ordinary human, but his voice remained as sonorous as before: ”Our reverence for Him is just like that little girl’s reverence for you behind you... Respect, fear, but not love Him, right, Little Nikki?”

The Female Demon uneasily stepped out from the shadow of the Mist Captain, glanced at the ’工’ shaped emblem on the chest of the Old Witch Demon, and bowed her head: ”Mentor.”

Ulysses was the Old Witch Demon who had brought her out of the Sahara Desert, the mentor who taught her to start eating from corpses and gradually get used to the temperament of demons.

Seeing The Duke, she easily recalled her struggles in the desert, the spicy taste of the beetle still faintly lingering in her mouth, and then thought of that day in the Captain of the Mist Ship’s cabin, of the despair and sweetness that surged to the tip of her tongue.

The Female Demon suddenly burst into tears.

The Old Witch Demon walked up to the Female Demon, raised his hand to her head, and spoke softly: ”... Every growth comes at a price. You are slowly becoming a true Witch Demon.”

The Mist Captain silently watched all this.

As an original breed of demon, it had always found it hard to understand the sensitive yet seemingly weak complexes of the Witch Demons. To it, demons eating wizards was as natural as wizards drinking water and eating meat; there was no reason to go insane over such a trivial matter. But as a Great Demon, the Mist Captain had enough wisdom. It would not say the wrong words at the wrong time, in the wrong place, to the wrong person.

After comforting the Female Demon, Ulysses turned his gaze back to the day’s main guest.

”State your purpose, Foggy.” He repeated the previous question, his tone and expression a few degrees more serious than before.

The Mist Captain tugged at the brim of his hat.

”No need to be so serious,” a feigned smile appeared on his face, his eyes as cold as ever: ”I just wanted to remind you that mayflies are only safe in sufficient numbers... and now, the new generation mayflies have not yet fully spread their wings, and the old ones are overly hunted by the Hunters. The progeny of the True Ancestor are in danger.”

”All nonsense.” The Old Witch Demon shook his head, clearly unsatisfied with the visitor’s answer: ”You’re not young either, you should know that the war between demons and wizards has never stopped... Demons have always been in danger.”

”...We need to unite all the forces we can,” the Mist Captain was not bothered by Ulysses’ mockery and kept speaking: ”The Sea Demon plans to launch an attack on the First University to free the brethren trapped in Black Prison. So, we need your help.”

Ulysses looked at the Mist Captain with the eyes one reserves for an idiot.

”Do I look stupid to you?” He lifted the long and slender staff under his robe, tapping the floor with a crisp sound: ”Witch Demons just like to stay in the laboratory for research, but that doesn’t mean we are oblivious to the outside world... What’s in Black Prison, what you plan to do, what preparations the school has made... Some things have been happening for more than a day or two. Nikita still came from my guidance. What makes you think we would pull chestnuts out of the fire for you?”

”No, this is not exploitation, but mutual benefit.” The Mist Captain’s face showed no embarrassment from his lie being exposed, his gaze as calm as ever: ”With your support, your tribe can receive fresh blood replenishment from the school, your Elders might get spoils from Black Prison, and you yourself might gain the True Ancestor’s approbation and respect from the entire demonic world.”

The wrinkles on the Old Witch Demon’s face didn’t quiver in the slightest, making it impossible to discern what he was thinking.

”That’s not enough.” The scepter in its hand tapped on the floor, producing a dong dong sound: ”If you truly had sincerity, you should have sent us an invitation six months ago... not on the eve of departure.”

”What’s the difference?” The Captain of the Mist Ship revealed appropriately measured confusion on his face while smoothly responding: ”Haven’t you made the necessary preparations? If I remember correctly, the number of Witch Demons who have returned to the Land of Desolation in the last half-year is more than the total of the past ten years.”

Nikita hung her head low, desperately trying to diminish her presence for fear that the two bigshots would become aware of her existence amidst their unsightly bickering.

Upon hearing the words of the Captain of the Mist Ship, Sir Ulrich finally fell silent.

Leaning on the slender scepter, it ascended the spiraling staircase to the second floor of the Wizard Tower.

The Captain of the Mist Ship followed behind it.

Nikita walked at the very back.

The voice of the Old Witch Demon, like a flowing stream, passed from front to back, clear and murmuring, seeping into the hearts of the guests: ”If you wish for the Land of Desolation to send troops, merely persuading me is not enough, as I am but one of the king’s staff... And I must remind you that your timing is indeed unfortunate. The Land of Desolation is incubating a change... a religious and spiritual revolution... the other Elders are more concerned with this matter.”

”Religious... revolution?” The Captain of the Mist Ship raised his eyebrows warily: ”A revolution against whom?”

”Our own,” replied the Old Witch Demon with an answer that was always somewhat unexpected: ”Every year, every month, every day, as new Witch Demons are born, they find it very difficult to adapt to their new identities... This is not good. The Land of Desolation is a grand laboratory, not a mental institution. The elders are all somewhat weary of these matters.”

Nikita felt this acutely.

Back in the Land of Desolation, she was not the only Witch Demon struggling to accept consuming living Wizards. There were many others like her amongst the newer generations of Witch Demons, regarded as dregs of their kind, met with disdain.

”...So we are fermenting a ritual of gratitude,” said Sir Ulrich: ”Many of the Witch Demons who mentioned a return to the Land of Desolation did so for this reason. They are unclear on what exactly will transpire in the Black Prison.”

Compared to the purposes of those returning Witch Demons, the Captain of the Mist Ship was more interested in the statement previously made by the Old Witch Demon.

”A ritual of gratitude?” it asked with a slight curl of the lip, genuinely intrigued: ”Could you briefly explain?”

”When a Wizard eats meat, they do not confess to the meat while eating. If the new Witch Demons want to change this mentality, confession can be transformed into gratitude... A heart filled with gratitude can give the newly birthed Witch Demons the courage to be themselves.”

Before the words had fully settled, the slender scepter in the elder’s hand tapped the grand doors of the second floor entrance.

Boom!

The doors flung open as though yanked fiercely by a Giant, forcefully swinging outward, drawing a draft that fluttered the corners of Nikita’s robe.

From the great hall on the second floor, a chill even colder than before followed the draft and blew outwards.