The so‑called “Witch Gear” is the latest nifty tool Yekase built after pulling seven all‑nighters, filed as N‑701. It carries the N‑prefix for non‑combat gear because its power is actually her own, channeled through it.
So what can it do?
It lights up and speaks, chants her call‑name for her, then shifts the nano catsuit’s color and trim according to the chosen form.
Looks like that’s all, but getting it certified by the Magical Girl Satellite ate a mountain of effort.
Yekase inherited a slice of the Magical Girls’ gifts. She’s only drawn on them when fighting exogenous entities and the Emerald Pool—why are they all aliens, anyway? Day to day, Flash Energy feels handier. Perfect to turn into Lilim’s signature move.
Three buttons on the belt mirror three second‑gen Magical Girls who once stayed in the Voidscape and left residual concepts for Yekase to tap:
Soft‑blue frost from Magical Girl Winter Moon—your straightforward, old‑school ice mage.
A black beast claw from Magical Girl Shanon—right now mooching off Mira, clinging to her leg, Carol Liancheng‑style.
A white magic cannon from Magical Girl Rainbow—a firepower‑starved soul even more extreme than Ivaris.
Black and white—one melee, one turret, one shadow, one light. From elements to personalities, they don’t mesh. That conflict annoyingly persists here, so you can’t switch straight between them. You have to route through Winter Moon to cool and coordinate. That’s why this form exists.
What era is this, still playing traditional ice mage? Apologies to Winter Moon, but she just can’t make it sing.
After scaring off the Virtue Mercenaries, Lilim brought the bounty flyer back to the table and showed Dorothy through Mafty’s eyes.
Is there really a pair of eyes inside that bucket helm? How does she even see? Baffling.
“This ‘Jihead Four’… Teacher, you want to recruit them, right?”
“Mm.”
Lilim hummed lightly, a nose‑sound assent.
“We don’t lack fighters. We need escape artists, scouts, counter‑surveillance… and, most of all, the guts and mindset to stand against the Church. If they pass a close‑range check, we fold them into the Slackfish Cult as cadres.”
The decline of Europe’s Sinister Organizations doesn’t mean you lie down and sleep. You can see systemic oppression with the naked eye on this magic‑bearing continent too. She doesn’t expect to sweep it clean soon. But she can still do things—no special motivation needed, like a reflex.
“Then, when France is liberated, when your short‑term goal wraps… I want to ask you to help me run the Slackfish Cult.”
Dorothy’s voice carried obvious surprise. “Huh? Me? But Teacher, you must have people you know better, people more reliable…”
Lilim scratched her cheek, sheepish. “My lot, me included, have only fighting and research in our heads. No one knows how to run an organization…”
Down to bowing to a fifteen‑year‑old for help—she truly had no other path.
“Works for me. I’m happy to help. And spreading knowledge under the Slackfish Cult’s name lets us win over old nobles drifting from Christianity, while we can roll out education among commoners. Two birds, one stone.”
First line sounded very Ling Yi, second swung to Gu Xiangshi. You little fox… Lilim shook her head.
“The Slackfish Cult… will become the state religion of our French First Republic.”
“You’ve even picked the new country’s name?”
“Yup! ‘Republic.’ ‘Parliamentary.’ A civilization sealed for four hundred years finally takes its first step… Just saying it feels thrilling, doesn’t it!”
“Mm. Mm.”
Lilim felt it deep again: she’d better stay a hired fist—no, a pure researcher.
…
“By the way…”
They’d left the guild and were back on the street. Lilim watched the scene pulse around them. “Is there a festival right now? It feels lively.”
The bounty list refreshes with the Jihead Four, who only show up during festivals—solid logic.
But is there a festival in early June? Children’s Day?
Lilim glanced at the tin knight. It shook its head.
“You not knowing is fair—you’re not European. But you’re French royalty and don’t know?”
“This is Belgium. Why would a French court tutor teach Belgian holidays… Our legal holidays total barely ten days.”
Fair point.
Lilim flagged down a passerby.
He eyed her outfit, odd look and all. “It’s Arcane Week.”
Arcane Week?
Lilim pulled an experimental mass‑production scroll from a transport chest and slipped it into his hand. He didn’t know what it was, but parchment speaks to the fingers. He lit up and explained:
“Arcane Week is a yearly festival held in the first week of June. It celebrates the great Mr. Newton inventing the new Baseplate and spreading magic’s grace to Belgium. During it, all Belgians flip their body clocks, mimicking ancient witches who hid by day and roamed by night, and share cakes baked with magic.”
“Before Newton, Belgium had no Ancient Alchemists?”
“Oh, c’mon. Ancient Alchemy wasn’t something ordinary folks could afford to learn. Without Mr. Newton, I can’t even imagine our life now.”
Newton’s fame among commoners is that high?
A few Ancient Alchemists (no names) judge him harshly in uncanny unison. Leave aside his habit of planting trees in other people’s yards while experimenting—Lilim feels her own path mirrors his achievements in magic: one carried core tech from the lab to the street; the other ferried arcana from nobility to the crowd.
Shame there’s three centuries between them. They’d have a great talk.
“I see… Thanks for the rundown.”
“No worries! Drop by my shop sometime, right over there—Uncle Tom’s Bread!”
Lilim smiled and nodded, watched him go, then tapped the tin shell beside her. “Rare to hit a local tradition. Not gonna come out and play?”
“Wu‑gu…”
“Work needs doing, and so does unwinding. Tight then loose—that’s balance.”
“Wait a sec, I’ll put on a cloak…”
“I’ll pop back to the room and pick you up. I stocked a bunch of single‑use hair dye. I’ll share a bottle.”
“Stocked a bunch?! So Lilim’s character was set from the start!”
“No,” Lilim insisted stiffly.
You can’t just say that after being a girl long enough, an urge to dress up wakes in you. With Dorothy’s gold‑and‑black fox streak, she might spring a “Teacher, you don’t want your girly heart exposed to family and friends, right?” Liu RuoYuan would laugh her to death.
…
With the dye on, she popped into the classic pink‑on‑top, black‑underneath look.
Dorothy copied the play with twin tails, then eyed Lilim. “You’re not swapping yours again? Lilim’s already bound to Mafty, right?”
No way you’ll conjure a third identity out of thin air, Dorothy thought.
“Oh, fair point. I feel you by my side.”
Then Lilim turned into Yekase (Magical Girl ver.) right before her eyes.
“…………”
“How is it? Sailor uniform with a scarf—cool?”
“…And you still claim you’re not a sly old fox?!”
“If I couldn’t change, you’d blame my poor planning. If I can, I’m a fox. Layered defense, huh?” Yekase wagged a finger and smirked.
“Uu…!”
Fight flared in Dorothy’s eyes.
Don’t get competitive over this!
Yekase pictured a future French First Republic led by a golden little fox who competes with her teacher over who’s got more alts. She felt sad for the tens of millions.
“What’s this alt called?”
“Magical Girl Icarus—though it’s not suited to show up here.” Yekase dug a witch hat out of the transport chest, the one Sandryon sent on Xiaoyuan’s tricycle. “Just call me Yekase. Everyone calls me Luciferin anyway.”
On the original enrollment poster, Yekase was the big letters and Luciferin the small. Yet in Europe, not one person uses Yekase. Weird.
The wide, pointed hat shadowed half her face. Blue‑black hair draped over the sailor collar, gifting a hush that belongs to night. East and West fused cleanly, like those trendy little Japanese witches.
But what about that red scarf, burning like live flame?
It’s like a Western fantasy suddenly spawns a guy shouting stone‑shattering fist. Jarringly off.
Dorothy reached for the cloth that rippled with no wind. Heat kissed her fingertips. She jumped.
“Teacher, this is…”
“It’s where our will lives.”
“…………”
“We” means who?
But Yekase’s smile smoothed the air and stilled her questions. The topic ended.
Man in clothes, horse in tack. In a white sailor suit, Yekase breathed a bright, youthful girl vibe. A world apart from Professor Luciferin.
Yet after the scarf question, her outline felt a touch… solitary.
A far, unreal distance—Lymriel’s latex smile never made Dorothy feel that.
“Let’s head to the town square. There might be a big event.”
“Oh, okay…”
“Since it’s a special holiday, I called two friends too.”
“Wait, our cover IDs?”
“With this crowd, we’ll just play it as an accidental meet. Nobody’ll notice.”
Oh, so that’s why she swapped Lilim’s disguise early—
“—You just wanted to have fun!”
