High School of Demon Hunting
Chapter 1427 - 174: The Sacrifice of the Witch Demons

Chapter 1427: Chapter 174: The Sacrifice of the Witch Demons

Compared to the spacious and expansive first-floor classroom, the space on the second floor felt much smaller, with decorations and segmentation that made it resemble more a private clubhouse’s reception room.

However, this reception room had neither servants nor bartenders.

What it did have were the fierce specimens of various magical creatures scattered around the room, such as the Tanggula Ice Chilong, Welsh Green Dragon, armored Minoan Minotaurs, saddled Unicorns, Dwarf footprints, Giant eyeballs, dusters made from Centaur mane, and crafts pieced together from Fishman scales.

Many of these specimens were still ’alive’.

Nikita could clearly hear the wails emanating from deep within the bodies of those specimens. This pain, like rich spices, enriched the gradually drying emotions of the Witch Demons.

Ulysses The Duke led his guests further into the reception room.

Like a catfish falling into a lethargic sardine box, the fresh presence of the foreign guests attracted the attention of many Old Witch Demons in the room.

They slowly turned their necks, a hint of red light blooming in the depths of their dark eye sockets, bones creaking like rusty machines being restarted, gears turning without lubrication.

Nikita, with her head bowed and breath held, followed silently behind the Mist Captain, moving stealthily past the tables.

From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a bowl in the hands of an Old Witch Demon—the pale color of a Skull Blood Bowl filled with steaming, bubbling red liquid. The Old Witch Demon’s hand, like the shed claw of a chicken, was withered and pale, covered in gruesome scars.

The Female Demon quietly swallowed her saliva, retracting her gaze and staring intently at the heels of the Captain, daring not make the slightest move. The rational mind of a wizard mixed with the impulses of a demon created a group of insane Witch Demons, the older they were, the poorer their emotional control became. Only by becoming a Great Wizard Demon, through the power of the Law, could they restrain their madness and maintain their sanity in their decaying age.

And these ’Elders’ who usually stayed on the Second floor of the Mage Tower all possessed high Mana, yet not strong enough, and were very old Witch Demons who rarely interacted with those downstairs.

The young Female Demon highly doubted whether these crazy Old Witch Demons on the second floor would chop off her head just because she happened to step forward with her left foot first.

At the end of the reception room was a pitch-black wall, on which hung a series of shriveled heads featuring a four-antlered Shufu skull, the snake-haired Gorgon Sisters, and the three-headed Cerberus, each dog head baring a bloodthirsty mouth with dry Venomous Snakes entangled in their fur.

Of course, the majority of those ’decorations’ were heads of wizards.

Elder Wizards, Little Wizards, Warlocks, Witches, wizards with pointed hats, wizards with totemic tattoos on their bald heads, wizards with beards reaching the floor, and wizards with half-human, half-bear faces, and many more.

In front of the black wall stood a small altar.

The several feet high pedestal was divided into three levels and shaped like a Pyramid, crudely adorned with a few stone pillars, several sculptures seemingly chiseled by stone tools, and tied with several filthy cloth strips. Atop the pedestal was a Bronze Cauldron with three legs and two handles.

The Cauldron was uncovered, fire beneath it, with bubbling sounds coming from within, as though someone was brewing tea.

"Didn’t you always want to know about the reverence Witch Demons hold for the True Ancestor?"

"Now you can see it."

As he said this, Ulysses The Duke bowed at the altar and then pulled out a piece of dry cured meat from his pocket, tossing it into the Bronze Cauldron on the altar. The mouth of the Cauldron, like a Monster greedily opening its gaping maw, swallowed the Old Witch Demon’s Sacrifice in one gulp.

From the Cauldron came a gurgling sound, akin to a Monster belching satisfyingly after a full meal, or the sound of a Monster’s stomach digesting.

"May the True Ancestor bless us."

Sir Ulrich brought his hands together in prayer, devoutly uttering a phrase before standing up and stepping aside to look down at the audience.

"May the True Ancestor bless us!"

"True Ancestor bless us!"

The Old Witch Demons, who were originally sitting in their places, sipping ’tea’ and staring blankly, were compelled to stand up and follow Sir Ulrich’s sacrifice by offering their own blessings.

At the same time, they casually fetched some sacrifices from beside them and threw them into the Bronze Cauldron—decent ones, like Sir Ulrich, threw a piece of darkened cured meat; lesser ones threw a few bony bits with streaks of meat; and some overly presumptuous Old Witch Demons even tossed bugs into the True Ancestor’s offering.

Nikita saw very clearly, those were the kinds of bugs with hard shells and sour, stinky flesh!

The kind that she couldn’t bring herself to eat when she was nearly starving to death in the Sahara Desert!

Sir Ulrich turned around and spread his hands to the Captain of the Mist Ship:

"This is the reverence the Witch Demons have for the True Ancestor at this age—it pretty much comes down to this."

The Old Witch Demon’s tone carried a bit of innocence, but his wrinkled, old face was brimming with a smile known as mockery: "... Many wizards are forced into corruption and have never had the honor of confronting the True Ancestor’s might. So we sacrifice to Him, and He provides us a bit of psychological comfort... Young Witch Demons need more psychological comfort, so their sacrifices might be more ample; the elder ones, having seen through life, don’t need much consolation... hence the meager offerings."

"A very fair trade. Without talking about faith, just some eating and drinking, and we’re all still good demons."

The Mist Captain’s gaze fell upon the dark wall.

"A very beautiful collection," it sincerely complimented: "Especially that little wizard’s head... I could feel his unyielding soul in his skull as soon as I walked up the stairs, shining like a lighthouse in a storm."

Sir Ulrich responded meaningfully: "The younger the soul, the more vibrant and impulsive it is, like a crisp piece of hard candy. In contrast, aging souls are like taffy due to decay; although their flavor is rich, they are easily manipulated and stick to your teeth when eaten."

Whoosh!

The door at the entrance of the second floor opened once again.

A group of young Witch Demons filed in, led by a Female Demon with closed eyes and a ’work’ mark on her forehead, draped in a large cloak. Close behind was a sturdy-built male Demon with his head hidden under a hood, seemingly carrying a little girl in his arms, her two legs exposed and trembling outside the cloak.

Behind the male Demon, there were several figures, either tall and thin, or short and stout, or graceful—the only thing they had in common was that they all lowered their heads, hiding them under their hoods as if filled with awe of this unknown world.

Accompanied by the breeze blowing through the hall, Nikita faintly heard the Female Demon ask the Old Witch Demon at the entrance, who was holding the Skull Blood Bowl, which one was Sir Ulrich.

Just as Nikita thought, the Old Witch Demons all had terrible tempers.

The Old Witch Demon responded gruffly, refusing the Female Demon’s inquiry.

And then its head was smashed.

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