Hate Me, Witch!

“Teacher… what happened to her?”

Xia Ya stared in the direction the Golden Elf had left, a hint of confusion quietly rising in his heart.

Over the past ten years, Xia Ya felt like he had turned into a bit of a sports student in his past life—constantly accumulating, building up layer by layer.

So after all this time, even Xia Ya himself wasn’t quite sure how far he’d come.

After all, in the ashes of the Imaginary Belt, there was nothing he could really use to gauge his strength.

His only sparring partner was Little Ai.

The problem was, that was his little wife. Their “sparring” was strictly limited to that.

Neither Xia Ya nor Ailora could ever really go all out against each other.

If Ailora were ever asked to unleash the Holy Lance on Xia Ya, she’d rather aim it at herself.

Xia Ya turned on the tap at the sink, cleaning the tea set he had just used to entertain his dear teacher, then carefully sorted and placed each item back onto the shelf.

He knew clearly that what had just descended into the Imaginary Belt was merely Hathaway’s starrealm avatar.

But even so, he still couldn’t see through her.

This Golden Elf, far older than anyone from the Eight Pages of the Black Tower, who bore the name “Eternal”—the weight behind her presence was far more mysterious than lofty titles like “Throne” or “Golden Calamity.”

Still, this wasn’t unexpected.

Xia Ya had always had a clear grasp of his own talents.

With his exceptional mental power, the insight and experience of a transmigrator, and the help of the system, he was without doubt a top-tier existence in the Western Continent.

But if he wanted to completely surpass his own teacher with just ten years of effort, that was a bit unrealistic.

After all, talent wasn’t something Hathaway lacked—she was a High Elf of the Golden Race. And from what he could piece together so far, his teacher was probably an ancient relic from the First Era.

Just how many years old… even thinking about it felt kind of disrespectful.

Still, how could someone like her almost trip when stepping out the door?

That would be unthinkable for any Legend.

“Looks like I still gotta work hard—for the future of our family’s younger generation.”

Xia Ya shook his head with a sigh.

He walked upstairs, following the staircase to the second floor.

He arrived at the closed door of the Meditation Room, then gently pushed it open and stepped in.

Inside the spacious training room, a girl sat cross-legged with her eyes closed. Soft sunlight streamed through the glass window, casting a glow on her light golden hair, making it shimmer like glazed crystal.

The resplendent Knight’s Lance hovered in midair, radiating silvery light.

The moment Xia Ya opened the door, the lance instinctively turned and aimed straight at him, a fierce aura bursting forth.

But the very next second, sensing Xia Ya’s presence, that sharp intent vanished. The lance tip drooped slightly.

Xia Ya smiled and walked to Ailora’s side, then sat down cross-legged beside her.

He interlocked his fingers with her soft, delicate hand.

Just like Xia Ya, Ailora hadn’t changed much over the past ten years.

The contract with the Holy Lance didn’t seem to have had much effect. Though her figure had improved a bit from her earlier washboard-flat days, at most she’d reached a modest “twin peaks in the distance” level.

Even though Little Ai had planted an entire mountain of papaya fields and diligently drank papaya milk three times a day for ten years, it was all in vain.

So, it had become her obsession—her insecurity about her figure made her double down at night to make up for it.

Which also meant that Xia Ya had enjoyed a decade of blissful nights.

Teacher outfit, maid outfit, nurse outfit… they rotated through all kinds of themes.

Good thing, anticipating all possibilities, Xia Ya had saved a huge batch of alchemical potion recipes in Yui’s database, along with a stash of magically preserved plant and herb seeds.

Otherwise, the few alchemical potions he’d brought with him wouldn’t have lasted these ten years.

“Teacher just stopped by. The historical turbulence around the Imaginary Belt fragment is starting to stabilize.”

“In a few days, we’ll be able to leave this place.”

Xia Ya held the girl’s hand, feeling the warmth in his fingers, and spoke softly by Ailora’s ear.

He felt her delicate hand squeeze his just a little tighter, and smiled again. “Don’t worry. Until you’ve unlocked the final restraint on the Holy Lance, I’ll stay with you. I won’t leave Eden.”

He reached out with his other hand to gently stroke her soft golden hair, twisting it playfully between his fingers before letting it fall.

He knew Little Ai, deep in meditation, couldn’t respond. But she could hear him.

“Since we came in together, of course we’ll go out together too.”

Hearing his words, the hand gripping his finally relaxed a little.

“I left your food and water in the insulated box outside the door. Whenever you finish meditating, you can eat anytime.”

“I’ll be meditating for a bit too, but I’ve instructed Yui to keep an eye on Eden. If anything happens, she’ll notify me through the Soul Pact immediately.”

Having said all this, Xia Ya gently patted the golden-haired girl’s head, then stood up to leave.

But just as he started walking toward the training room door, he felt a tug at his clothes.

The miniature Holy Lance had, at some point, turned around and hooked onto the hem of his robe.

Seeing the little lance clinging to him so reluctantly, Xia Ya couldn’t help but smile.

“Got it.”

He bent down and pulled the soft figure before him into his arms.

Then, he kissed her lips.

……

Ten minutes of intimacy later.

Xia Ya reappeared in the washroom.

“Yep, this is my true forever home.”

He glanced around at the familiar tiles and ceiling with a wry smile.

Only this time, he wasn’t heading to a Historical Echo—but to the coordinates listed on the invitation from the Golden Dawn.

A place much like the Imaginary Belt he was in now—detached from time and space, existing even beyond history—a world of black fog.

With a flick of his mind, a pocket watch appeared in his palm.

Xia Ya studied the hands of the watch, silently calculating the time node it corresponded to.

Then—

He heard several ethereal, indistinct voices of prayer echoing in his ears.

His mind stirred. He was just about to take action—

When something made him pause.

Within the mental construct forming in his Ocean of Consciousness, Xia Ya distinctly sensed a familiar presence.

“Suren?”

……

Western Continent, Capital of the Holy Theocracy.

Summer Blossom Capital, Fioren, Holy Court of Dawn.

The black-haired Saintess of Dawn sat calmly in her room, absentmindedly toying with a small doll in one hand while writing something with a pen in the other.

The magic lamp cast a gentle glow, illuminating the documents before her.

What was written on them, quite prominently, were the disciplinary actions decided by the highest ranks of the Church of Dawn toward the former God’s Chosen of Dawn—Hystalia Borgia.

“Terminate the alliance with the Borgia family and revoke Hystalia’s status as God’s Chosen, downgrading her to an ordinary church member?”

“That alone... that’s not nearly enough.”

A cold gleam flickered in Suren’s eyes.

“Someone’s trying to play the noble partner act, using the ‘ignorance is innocence’ card to look magnanimous.”

“But I’m different.”

“Because I’m just that kind of petty and vengeful bad woman...”

Her slender wrist gave a slight twist, and she erased the verdict just rendered on the parchment.

The Saintess of Dawn wasn’t just the outward symbol of the Church to the world—she was also a candidate for the next High Priestess.

Even though she hadn’t yet officially taken the title, her current status alone granted her authority within the Holy Court of Fioren, second only to the High Priest and a few cardinals.

Even a final decision made by the top-ranking Tribunal could still be influenced by her.

“Expel her from the Church entirely... but if I just do that, she’ll simply fall out of our sphere of influence. With her own strength and the remnants of the Borgia family’s power, Hystalia could still live quite comfortably.”

The Saintess’s pen paused briefly before she began rewriting.

“Keep her within the Church, but as punishment, reassign her to the outskirts of the Desolate Mountains. She’ll serve as a low-ranking priest in a newly established branch chapel in one of the mining towns.”

“After all, I’m not a devil or anything…”

She let out a light laugh. “Being a priest in a mining town is tough, sure, but at least she’ll maintain her connection to the Church—there’s even a slim chance she could regain her God’s Chosen status.”

“Whether it’s for the sake of reviving her family or some other reason... I’m sure Miss Hystalia won’t refuse.”

Ding—

Next to the desk, a crystal resembling a warning beacon suddenly began to flash.

Suren’s hand stilled.

She snapped her fingers.

The next moment, the sound of gears and mechanical devices echoed in sequence.

The doll that looked like a young boy, the pillows, even the books lining her shelves—every last one engraved with a certain someone’s name—were swiftly hidden away by the mechanisms.

They vanished into storage-grade subdimensions and subspace pockets, leaving only the most pristine, holy appearance.

Sanctified. Neat. Filled with silver statues, crosses, and holy water—just what a devout follower’s quarters should look like.

Only after all this did Suren tidy up her clothes.

It was then that soft footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Suren opened the door.

Outside stood an elderly woman in richly embroidered church vestments, her hair snow-white, cloaked in a deep red robe—

Cardinal Auriel.

Unlike other cardinals stationed across the various nations aligned with Order, responsible for managing regional affairs of the Church, Auriel was one of the cardinals who remained within the Holy Court itself—highly respected, immensely powerful.

“Cardinal Auriel, I didn’t expect to run into you the moment I stepped out.”

A bright, cheerful smile lit up Suren’s face.

“Are you on duty at the Court today? If you’d told me you were coming, I would’ve gone to find you directly.”

“I’m not on duty. I came to see you today for something far more important.”

As Auriel looked upon Suren, a trace of approval passed over the elder’s weathered face.

She gazed at the Saintess with a probing expression. A ring on her finger glowed, and a pale golden barrier silently shimmered into being.

Suren’s eyes shifted slightly—she recognized it instantly as a divine spell barrier meant to block sound and movement, prevent eavesdropping, and restrict information flow.

She herself was a big fan of these tools. She’d even used them back in the Arcane City of Lokiah when meeting Xia Ya in secret—to sneak in some naughty snacks.

Except the ones she used were activated via magitech, whereas Auriel’s were powered by divine spells.

Once the barrier was in place, Auriel finally looked back at Suren.

“You’ve passed the trial to join the Golden Dawn…”

“I’m here today to guide you to participate in our secret gathering.”

“I passed… the trial?”

Suren feigned surprise tinged with delight, right on cue.

“I thought someone like me would have to start out as a probationary member at most.”

“That’s usually the case.”

Auriel looked down at the girl before her and said calmly,

“After all, the Golden Dawn’s secret gatherings have always adhered to the principle of quality over quantity.”

“Those qualified to truly become part of the Golden Dawn are, without exception, seasoned legends—or beings who have already stepped onto the path of godhood.”

“With your current strength, only after a long evaluation period and reaching true Legend-tier would you have had a shot.”

“But Suren, you’re fortunate.”

Auriel offered a gentle smile.

“Because of your unique status as the Saintess of Dawn…”

“And also… your past relationship with Xia Ya Egut a few years ago.”

“We’ve decided to make an exception for you.”

The moment she heard the name Xia Ya Egut, Suren subtly pinched the soft flesh of her palm with her index finger.

But on the surface, the Saintess only showed a puzzled expression, along with a faint trace of disdain.

“I did have some history with him back then, but now we’re worlds apart. There won’t be any more contact.”

“Besides, he’s clearly involved with that witch from the White Tower—and who knows how many other women. He’s probably long forgotten I even exist.”

“And the most important part… According to rumors across the Western Continent, Xia Ya Egut is already dead, isn’t he?”

Auriel had been observing Suren closely the entire time. Only now did she give a small nod.

“That’s merely a rumor among the public.”

“But as members of the Golden Dawn, we naturally know that he is, in fact, still alive.”

“After all, he was personally chosen by the Eighth Deity…”

The Eighth Deity?

As the Saintess of Dawn, Suren was well aware that the doctrines and sacred texts of the Church of Dawn had always recognized only seven True Gods.

Which was precisely why, the moment Auriel spoke, she became intensely curious about what the other woman knew.

Not because of the Eighth this or that—but because it seemed to involve Xia Ya directly.

But then—

Drip.

The chime of a clock interrupted Auriel’s statement.

The elderly woman raised her wrist to check the time and did not continue the previous topic. Instead, she looked directly at Suren.

“It’s almost time.”

“Let me guide you to the Golden Dawn’s secret gathering.”

“Remember, your identity as the Saintess of Dawn holds little weight in front of those beings.”

“Speak less. Listen more.”

“If any attendee asks you a question, answer it truthfully.”

As soon as Auriel finished speaking, she lightly waved the scepter in her hand.

In the next instant, Suren felt a wave of black mist envelop her vision.

When she opened her eyes again, what lay before her was an ancient, bronze long table.

And atop that mist-shrouded bronze table, she seemed to glimpse a throne woven from golden branches.

Atop the branch-formed throne, a figure flickered in and out of view.

But the moment Suren blinked, the throne—and the figure upon it—vanished behind the black mist, as if it had never been there at all, like a fleeting hallucination.