Chapter 11: Laughter and the Cat

“A research witch? Then I suggest you choose a long staff.”

Alice was struggling with Dorothy’s decision, clearly having strong objections, but the old shopkeeper had no opinion at all—he merely followed professional ethics and continued offering advice.

Among short staffs, standard staffs, and long staffs, the first two are better suited for battlefields and are the types most armed witches choose.

After all, battlefields change in an instant; sometimes casting a fraction of a second faster can truly save your life, and short staffs have a huge advantage here.

Standard staffs, with their flawless all-around advantages, also demonstrate higher adaptability to the complex combat environment of battlefields.

Long staffs, which conserve mana and greatly amplify spells, are generally used only by long-range bombardment and support armed witch units; these witches typically remain safely far behind the front lines, releasing their mana freely under heavy protection.

However, such witches are also prime targets for enemy assassination and decapitation strikes, making their role quite dangerous; the Sage Council has therefore set higher entry thresholds for these two roles to reduce unnecessary casualties, and only the most talented witches are trained for them.

If anyone still dares to attempt assassination, they’ll surely learn what it means to face the cruelty of a hexagonal genius.

After all, if you can’t utterly dominate a standard assault witch in close combat, how dare you become a bombardment or support witch?

Thus, these two types of witches have always been the elite among armed witches—the absolute top-tier troops—and are typically commissioned as officers immediately upon graduating from witch academies.

And elite status naturally means scarcity; the vast majority of witches who volunteer for armed roles ultimately end up choosing the overused path of direct frontline assault—assault-type armed witches.

Yeah, Alice is a disgraceful assault witch; though this little girl has extremely high mana talent—enough to become a bombardment or support witch—her talents and strengths are almost entirely oriented toward frontal assault, making her a born assault witch, and there’s nothing to be done about it.

Hehehe, though it’s terribly unkind, every time Dorothy, as the older sister, thinks of this, she can’t help but burst out laughing.

Of course, while assault witches are so common they’re practically ubiquitous, that doesn’t mean they’re weak; bombardment and support witches can only bully weaker opponents, but if they truly encounter a master assault witch, once closed in, they’ll still get crushed—still end up crying for their mothers.

After all, never challenge someone’s profession with your side hobby.

Dorothy believes her younger sister will surely become one of the top-tier assault witches, but still...

Hmm, when heaven intends to bestow a great responsibility upon a person, it first torments their mind and exhausts their body...

I hope Alice can endure this lonely period of growth before she becomes famous.

“Hahaha...”

Dorothy ultimately couldn’t hold back and burst out laughing.

This left the old shopkeeper puzzled.

“Miss Dorothy, are you dissatisfied with the long staff?”

“No no, I just remembered something happy. I fully trust your professional judgment—I’ll take the long staff.”

Dorothy forced her laughter down and spoke with solemn seriousness.

The old man glanced skeptically at the customer whose lips were twitching from suppressed laughter, but said nothing further; since the customer’s request was confirmed, it was time to begin work.

He once again carried the materials into the workshop behind the shop.

Seeing the old man leave, Dorothy no longer held back; she laughed happily as she released her sister, who had been stifling her laughter in her arms.

“Sister, I feel like you’re laughing at me.”

The freed little witch keenly sensed the malice hidden in her sister’s smile and immediately grew wary.

“No no, Alice, what are you talking about? We’re the dearest sisters—I’d never laugh at you.”

“Really? Then that’s good.”

Alice remained doubtful; she began questioning whether her intuition had failed her, but that couldn’t be right—her intuition was an SSR-tier ability, theoretically capable of brief future premonition at high levels, so how could it be wrong?

So...

“Sister, you’re definitely laughing at me.”

The little witch frowned, sensing something deeper was going on.

“No, really not—I’m just happy because I’ll get a new staff soon.”

Dorothy naturally wouldn’t admit it.

“You’re lying—you’re definitely laughing at me, you haven’t stopped. Are you looking down on me, a top-tier assault witch?”

This time, Alice wasn’t so easily fooled; she glared fiercely at her rotten sister, gritting her teeth.

“Swear it—sisters don’t laugh at sisters. If you’ve got nothing to hide, swear it, sister.”

The little witch flailed her arms and legs, preparing to pounce on her rotten sister, but Dorothy simply extended one finger to press against Alice’s forehead—her short limbs could only massage the air.

Alice, aside from not yet using magic, had used every ounce of strength—even the strength of a newborn—and her delicate little face was flushed crimson, yet she still couldn’t break through her sister’s one-finger seal.

“Hmph, fine, I’m done playing. You rotten sister, who doesn’t appreciate good intentions—such amazing talent, yet you won’t go to the battlefield to earn glory, instead becoming a research witch? Listen, sister, if you keep this up, when I go to the battlefield, earn glory, and become a lord, you’ll just be hauling bricks on my construction site.”

The little witch looked at her sister with utter disappointment, furious that her sibling hadn’t lived up to her potential; in Alice’s eyes, her own status as a genius assault witch lacked sufficient credibility, since whenever they fought, her sister easily subdued her with one hand—so the sister who could so easily overpower her must be a superior genius.

After all, her sister’s witch bloodline came from that family.

Unfortunately, her sister had shown no interest in combat since childhood, spending her days addicted to the magic web like a net addict, and now had even chosen a career path—research—that Alice considered utterly unremarkable; this made the little witch furious.

She had always dreamed of fighting alongside her sister, believing they’d be the most dazzling witches on the battlefield, building glory together and establishing their own witch domain—how beautiful and happy that would be.

Now, realizing her lifelong dream was about to shatter, Alice’s eyes grew moist; she turned away stubbornly, refusing to look at her rotten sister anymore.

This caught Dorothy off guard; she’d teased her sister countless times before, and the little girl usually just fumed for a moment before moving on—why was she reacting so strongly today? Why was she actually crying?

“Don’t cry, Alice. Think about it—while you build your domain, I’ll help you with construction. With sisters united, we’ll make our domain strong and prosperous. And don’t look down on brick-laying, okay? Earth magic witches are the future real estate tycoons. I’m telling you, new domain real estate is the most profitable right now—when I make money, I’ll support you...”

“Get lost, rotten sister. Don’t come near me for a month—I won’t forgive you.”

Hearing her sister double down on her research witch path, Alice’s tears fell faster; her dream shattered even more completely.

“Then tonight we’ll have roasted sub-dragon wings.”

Dorothy helplessly deployed her ultimate weapon.

“Yay! Best sister ever! I want double portions!”

The little witch instantly stopped crying and laughed; her resolve to ignore her sister for a month vanished somewhere unknown.

As the sisters played, the door to the workshop opened again, and the old man stepped out holding a sleeping baby kitten.

“I’ve fulfilled your request, Miss Dorothy—this is your new staff. Give her a name; it’s the finest work of my life.”

Dorothy: “......”

Alice: “......”

The sisters stared at the baby kitten in the old man’s arms, lost in thought.

What the hell? This is a staff?