Chapter 25

At night, Dorothy packed her luggage in her room.

In her past life, this would have been a painfully physical chore, but now—magic truly is a wonderful civilization.

The lazy witch merely lounged lazily on her soft bed, thinking, while two autonomous mage hands diligently packed and stored every item she’d need for the journey, finally stuffing them into an open, small leather suitcase whose interior had been enchanted with a space-expansion spell.

The interior of this storage suitcase was divided into multiple folding layers; after space expansion, each layer had its own independent compartments—such as a dedicated potion section, a book storage zone, a wardrobe area, an equipment chamber, and a miscellaneous storage zone, essentially functioning as a miniature warehouse.

If you further upgraded the suitcase by adding a living creature storage enchantment along with a living quarters, it could even serve as a mobile home—perfect for wilderness adventures when no shelter was available; you could simply sleep inside it.

Thus, this item was widely popular in the witch world, considered an essential possession for every witch.

Dorothy’s suitcase was a birthday gift from her father several years ago—an exclusive, limited-edition piece crafted by a renowned alchemist, undeniably a high-end item capable of storing living creatures and boasting an enormous internal storage capacity with a full thirteen expanded layers, customizable to the owner’s preferences.

Even the exterior design, beyond its initial handbag form, offered dozens of alternate skins—backpack, shoulder bag, briefcase, tote bag, etc.—to match different outfits and occasions, making it the dream bag every young witch longed for.

Of course, such a magnificent creation came at a magnificent price; even though her father, a high-tier mage, enjoyed a generous salary in Haiyuedao and lived comfortably by witch standards, this suitcase drained nearly a year and a half of his entire income, earning him a severe scolding from his stepmother.

Even Dorothy, a homebody who rarely left and had no real need for a suitcase, was delighted to receive it—after all, she could use it as her secret base.

No boy could resist the temptation of a secret base all his own, not even a former boy.

The interior space had already been fully arranged by Dorothy: the top layer was the living quarters for mobile habitation, followed downward by the library, alchemy room, potion lab, equipment depot, training ground, breeding zone, cultivation garden, and finally five layers of general storage compartments.

If you stood before the open suitcase and looked inside, it resembled a marvelously precise miniature dollhouse—tiny, yet complete with everything: you could see furniture, instruments, collectibles, and even tiny exotic beasts thriving in the micro-ecosystem of the breeding zone, and a miniature garden brimming with rare flowers and unusual trees in the cultivation area.

Even after owning this magical suitcase for years, every time Dorothy saw this scene, she felt not only pride in her years of effort building this world within the case, but also awe and reverence for the peak witches’ power.

Such an item, which in other worlds might be hailed as a divine artifact akin to a flask-dimension or palm-world, was in the witch world merely a purchasable toy for anyone with a bit of money.

Witchcraft—truly astonishing.

No wonder many native inhabitants of worlds conquered by witches worshipped them as gods; to these weak races, witches wielding such power were no different from the deities of myth.

But the moment Dorothy thought of this suitcase as a gift from her father, her expression turned pained—even though she could no longer experience testicular pain.

The farce of the day had not yet ended; faced with her absurd lineage, Dorothy found herself unable to decide. She needed time to think.

Her parents did not force her to decide on the spot; the domineering Dragon Witch rose politely to take her leave, saying she would return tomorrow, and that Dorothy could take tonight to calm down and make her choice.

But how was she supposed to choose? How could it possibly be that easy?

She had long resented her mother, believing her to be a heartless woman who abandoned her husband and child—but now, with the misunderstanding cleared, she discovered it was her own adoptive father who had been the villain. Yet Dorothy simply could not bring herself to hate him.

After all, over a decade of familial affection stood between them—how could she suddenly hate him? Adam, aside from concealing and deceiving her about her mother, had been a qualified, even near-perfect father, fulfilling every fantasy Dorothy, a lonely orphan in her past life, had ever held for the role of father. Their bond had always been strong.

Moreover, as a former human, Dorothy could somewhat understand her father’s thoughts: which human parent would wish their child to become a bloodthirsty invader, a war-monger?

In this regard, Dorothy’s own views aligned closely with her father’s. Her reluctance to become an armed witch stemmed not only from her mother’s influence, but more so from her dislike of killing; in her past life, she had been an ordinary homebody, not a retired war veteran—she had never even killed a chicken. To suddenly become ruthless and decisive now was impossible.

Yet the cruelty of witches was etched into their genes; as a race that had waged war for hundreds of thousands of years, aggression, martial pride, and familiarity with slaughter and destruction were ingrained in the witch genome.

Dorothy, inheriting witch blood, occasionally startled herself with her own witch instincts—for instance, she could now dissect experimental creatures without flinching, not only unrepulsed by bloodshed but gradually exhilarated by the scent of blood; she also felt a fierce thrill at the prospect of combat—even though she still refused to become an armed witch, the moment she heard of a duel, she’d immediately dash over to watch.

Perhaps, as her father said, this was simply the nature of witches—especially since she inherited the blood of the Dragon Witch, one of the most warlike breeds even among witches.

Dorothy lay on her bed, extending her hand toward the ceiling, quietly studying her pale, seemingly frail hand, then applying slight pressure.

In an instant, layers of translucent scales appeared along her smooth arm, like a natural bracer; her long, delicate fingers—perfect for playing piano—transformed into five sharp, gleaming dragon claws, their tips flashing with chilling, icy light.

She was born for slaughter and conquest—this was her innate gift.

Gazing at this monstrous, terrifying natural weapon, Dorothy fell into deep thought.

Previously, out of resentment toward her mother, she had deliberately ignored this aspect of herself—but now, with the misunderstanding resolved, she no longer had any reason to waste this gift.

“Meow?”

Beside the troubled witch, the newborn kitten opened its eyes, puzzled, glancing at its master. Sensing her owner’s distress through their heart-to-heart connection, the kitten affectionately climbed onto her chest and licked her face.

“Hehe, Bastet, that tickles, stop it.”

Dorothy, tickled by the kitten’s barbed tongue, dispelled the transformation on her hand, then picked up the tiny kitten and held it aloft.

“Bastet, what do you think I should choose?”

“Meow?”

The kitten, still low in intelligence, tilted its head, gazing at its owner with adorable confusion.

“Tsk, you’re truly a useless little waste.”

As Dorothy scratched under the kitten’s chin, eliciting contented purrs, her inner turmoil eased considerably.

Cats truly are creatures that bring joy.

“Come in, don’t stand there like a fool—you’ve been standing at the door for half an hour, Alice.”

Holding the kitten close, Dorothy sat upright on the bed and called toward the door.

The door opened then, revealing the timid little witch at the threshold. She glanced at the mage hands packing items into the suitcase, and tears instantly spilled down her cheeks.

“Sister, don’t leave me—I can’t bear to let you go.”

The little witch lunged into Dorothy’s arms, her rigid body slamming into the kitten already nestled there, nearly crushing it—only Dorothy’s soft cushion saved the kitten’s life.

“Meow...”

After a shriek, the kitten struggled desperately to escape the narrow, deep gorge formed between the steel plate and the mountain.

But the merciless little witch paid no attention to the weak, pitiful, helpless kitten—she clung tightly to her sister, terrified that if she let go, her sister would vanish.

Dorothy sighed helplessly, reached out, and ruffled her sister’s soft golden hair into a bird’s nest.

“What are you thinking? I’m not going anywhere—this is just preparing for tomorrow’s school registration.”

She had already nearly made her decision.