Reincarnated as the Weakest Shadow Queen in the Academy-Chapter 46: Melisra

"Witch. Did you enjoy playing with human hearts in the mimic hunt?"

The man’s cold voice was a flat shunning. "I’ve cut down more than I need to, if not for you."

Melisra clutched her chin, pondering. Or at least trying to look serious.

"Everyone, I’m the Home Teacher of this Elite Class, Melisra," alas, she turned to everyone instead. "As you may have recognised, I am the announcer, and also the one who proposed the mimic hunt exam."

She gestured with her arms open. "Now this may seem sudden, but what do you know about the Third Generation Queen?"

As Ciel listened from the far back, a classmate raised her hand from the middle row.

Selvara Stormveil, with her cat ears lazily twitching, raised herself with a straight posture.

"Their schemish natures defined them," she answered. "But their births were tied to the shadebeasts’ weaknesses not long ago."

"Weakness would be a stretch." Melisra chuckled. "I tell you. They exist because we, the witches and the shadehunters, had been dominating them."

A certain grey-haired boy ground his teeth at the witch, though all of his classmates ignored him.

"About five hundred and seventy-one years ago," the witch continued. "After a decree by the church, we, the witches, were released, and thus turned the tides against the Second Generation Queens."

In Ciel’s head, she could easily describe Second Generation Queens.

Warmongers. All of them. Unlike Hunt, most of the Queens were natural talents at combat and strategy, which caused the frontal war to be difficult, even more so after the fall of the Elves.

That changed when Summer and the Witches intervened.

"Be grateful," Melisra hummed. "The Nightfall Barrier. The Lumoni Firefly. Even this Academy. We invented them and owned all the rights to... frankly, your lives."

She continued. "Throughout these years, nine out of ten Nightfalls were predicted using our tools alone. That’s not even accounting for our direct involvement."

Her chuckle, pretty and confident, broke her own chain of praises.

"But I’m not here to brag. I just want to tell you the shadebeasts had switched tactics again, and third-generation queens were their very first steps."

Melisra then moved her finger.

The air cackled with magic. Space bent as rabbits formed of pollens and dusts fluttered in the air, an illusion made by Melisra.

"Every one of you should know the mimics bypassed the weakness of the Nightfall, the inability to spawn within the Dawn."

The Witch’s finger then flung. And the rabbits grew monstrous.

Its tiny tooth sharpened into a dog-like fang. Its paws elongated till sprawling like jellyfish. The ears were the most horrific, their surface sewn full of eyes, glancing at every distance.

A transformation, not unlike a mimic intruding into a human’s corpse.

"Thus," Melisra retracted the illusion, her example of today’s class. "The Third Generation Queens learned corruption."

She waved dismissively, cruelly. "Puppetry. Delusions. Despair. Frency. Methods didn’t matter except for deaths and more deaths."

As Ciel listened, she noticed a trembling elf at her side. It was faint, almost restrained, but never enough to hide its fear.

Frowning, she placed a palm over Quia’s, a subtle warmth to let Quia know she’s here.

What Quia went through didn’t matter. Perhaps in her adventurous years, she had gone through enough of those monsters to feel some semblance of guilt.

Though Ciel had mistaken.

Because if she glanced further, the Queen would spot the elf’s lips bloodied, bitten so hard that they oozed blood.

As if the rage of killing that elf mimic still lingered. As if memories of killing something far worse still haunted.

Only the crazed noble found out from across Ciel, but the redhead merely sighed and chose to stay silent.

"Those Queens," the witch briefly glanced their direction, but snapped away when almost meeting Ciel’s eyes.

"Were first spotted just last year. Very recent, mind you, so as you can guess-"

Melisra’s light tone began to drip with malice.

"Those bastards, as you can guess, kill a lot of your seniors."

A dreadful silence dragged on through the classroom until Melisra laughed out loud, breaking the tension she herself created.

"But don’t worry. Your jobs were to kill shadebeasts, and many of them didn’t inherit after the Queen’s traits, except for a relative few."

She knocked on the blackboard behind her, grand and laced with gold on the wooden edges, as if she respected its sanctity.

"My job here is to teach," Melisra stated. "Third Generation Queens are known not to mess with the minds, but actual human conditions. Mimic Hunts were but a glance."

The Witch said with a low murmur, respecting.

"War orphans were their most frequent targets after all. It’s not the weak minds that crumbled. Those who forged through the fires of hell would inevitably be enamoured when shown a way out."

Grief descended. And even the grey-haired man’s anger didn’t stretch on and instead faded away, replaced only with a solemn silence.

"Well then," the Witch clapped. "I’ve nothing to apologise. After all-"

She sincerely warned. "The Third Gen Queens were already among us. They were rare, but you should not be a shadehunter if you expect yourself lucky enough not to encounter one of those bastards."

A smile then crept up her lips. "If not, you’re more than welcome to be sent to the frontlines! Hey, our death rates have recently gone down by thirty per cent! Impressive, right?"

Another silence loomed as Ciel wryly smiled.

That thirty per cent was impressive, if not for the fact that the original sat at around twenty-three thousand, as Summer mourned.

"Tch," the grey-haired prince clicked his tongue again. "Only a witch would joke about deaths."

"Witchcist..." Melisra pouted, though her lips burst into a mouthful of laughter. "Well, that topic aside, how about I tell everyone a funny story?"

Melisra’s finger then moved again.

This time, the dust and pollen combined to form a giant, five-foot monster.

Ciel’s eyes shook.

As if guilty of something, she retracted her hand on Quia’s, as she stared at the monster looming over in the classroom’s centre.

She instinctively felt it, from the deepest and most obscured part of her heart.

The humanoid monster was five feet tall, with coral peeking out of its skin. It had a long, protruding fishhead with gnashing teeth, paired with reptile claws, giving it a deadly look.

Melisra’s expression, however, was practically beaming as she commented.

"Behold! This giant ass shadebeast that only knew how to run!"

Ciel blinked.

Then blinked again.

Why did she feel strangely insulted? She pouted inside, yet kept her cheeks a flatline outwardly.

The Witch, unaware of Ciel’s dilemma, only joked. "This monster was first recorded back in four hundred years ago, but in my... personal estimation, I’m afraid it was much, much older than that!"

She raised a high finger. "Shadebeasts were only known for their instinct to slaughter. This? This one just seemed like a wuss as it ran away every time it got spotted! And it couldn’t even hide properly with its massive body... pft-"

That was because Ciel, in her past self, never picked a fight unless necessary.

The Shadow’s Will haunted, but never rewired her mind. Keeping lucid on the battlefield was a basic for Ciel at this point.

A defeated sigh escaped Ciel.

It’s just like the first Dawn or her first human kill—significant moments, reduced to mere chatters or illusions without weight.

Now that she looked at her past monstrous self, Ciel felt no nostalgia, but she couldn’t help feeling a strange sense of distance.

Was it really her? Ciel reached out with her question, yet no one but the Witch’s cheerful voice rang for an answer.

"Of course, make no mistake that this is still a shadebeast." The Witch opened a palm for the ’monster’. "It kills when approached. Much information about it had been...misguiding through the change of time."

Then, to Ciel’s surprise, Melisra pointed at the monster’s feet, large yet thin with scarcely any muscle, ill-suited to bear the weight of the heavy body above.

"In truth, slaughters should be much more efficient than running for this monster. For some reason...it chose the opposite."

"It is truly strong for living so long, so I don’t know why." Melisra shrugged. "For being a pacifist? Having a kindness out of her soul thing? Or..."

Then, her white eyes pointed straight at the back, meeting Ciel’s dead on.

"Just a dislike for killing, perhaps?"

Ciel didn’t wince away. The spellbind burned perpetually on her wrist, as Melisra’s eyes curved dangerously.

She had figured it out. The former Shadebeast couldn’t help but find it impressive.

"Well, if you ask me," Melisra hung back, not drawing away her gaze.

She then made a confusing, bizarre gesture with her fingers.

The index and middle fingers are first stretched straight, then clasped in a slow, rigid rhythm like scissors.

Then they bent back and forth slightly, as if digging out something.

At the Witch’s gesture, Ciel’s spellbind scorched, as if the other side was flushed with rage.

"That monster was due both rewards and punishments for all those it killed, and all those it didn’t!"

The ignorant Ciel, however, only gleamed.

Her chest fluttered. The pink-haired Witch’s words tasted genuine, if not a little bit teasing.

"Well then," Melisra waved, dismissing the illusion and returning to the podium. "Let’s begin our class by drilling in some basics."

She blinked with one eye. "Kruella will see you all later, and she’s much, much more brutal. Better enjoy the time with me when you can!"

The rest of the class went peacefully, for an elite class in an academy built for war.