Chapter 258: Equipment Exchange

Only after leaving the library far behind did Dorothy's face beneath her mask finally stop burning—this kind of public humiliation, caught red-handed in her own mistake, was truly unbearable for a socially anxious shut-in like her.

When you're in the wrong, your confidence naturally withers.

"Then, Miss Ghostface, where to next?"

She asked the secretary beside her.

"Huh?"

But Miss Ghostface seemed distracted—only when Dorothy walked ahead and waved her hand in front of her did she snap back to attention.

"I'm sorry, Lord Joker, it was my fault."

Realizing her lapse, Miss Ghostface swiftly performed a proper bow, then spoke again.

"Let's head to the armory. It's better to collect your gear first."

She still hadn't recovered from Lord Joker's earlier magic demonstration—she'd exchanged for the classic low-tier spell, Fireball, but hers never went beyond blue-green. How had Lord Joker's fireball turned purple, even to colorless at the end?

The secretary was deeply curious.

After all, she'd been the prettiest kid in the village, praised since childhood by the village head as a once-in-thousands-of-years genius, her grades always crushing her peers—even senior disciples decades older couldn't match her, and she'd always been proud of it.

But since leaving the village and arriving at this Tribunal, she'd realized that geniuses were the cheapest thing here. Not just the veteran staff with years of experience, but even among this batch of new recruits preparing for training, several were just as talented as she was.

And now, this new senior before her was absurd—not only had she joined with a Silver Badge, but that display just now had left her stunned.

"Can spell proficiency levels really be adjusted? But isn't the maximum level 'Mastery'? Was that Fireball just now at the Saint-level? But normally, reaching Saint-tier for a spell takes decades or even centuries of practice?"

Miss Ghostface secretly observed Lord Joker out of the corner of her eye, curious.

Though witches' ages are hard to judge by appearance or voice, from Lord Joker's mannerisms and her own feminine intuition, the woman couldn't be very old—definitely not one of those witches pretending to be young while being over a hundred years old.

"I really was living in a well, seeing only the sky above. This is the world beyond the village? So many powerful people."

"But it doesn't matter—this is what makes it interesting. I'll work harder. I must graduate from the upcoming training with the top score. I heard the top three in intensive training can be promoted directly from Iron Badge to Bronze Badge. Only as an Elite Inquisitor can you truly stand firm here."

Thinking of her dream to become a fashionable metropolitan witch, Miss Ghostface ignited—she would crush everyone for her dream.

Hmm, Step One of being a grind king: start by serving Lord Joker well. No more distractions—otherwise, her evaluation from this Silver Badge senior would drop.

The secretary tightened her focus and began guiding the way with full seriousness.

The two soon arrived at a massive warehouse. The moment they stepped through the door, Dorothy's eyes lit up—in that instant, a bold idea flashed through her mind.

There was just too much here.

Upon entering, the left wall displayed neatly arranged racks of alchemical weapons and high-grade wands; the right wall was even more astonishing—row upon row of witch battle robes hung in perfect order.

Though all the robes looked identical—black-gold armor, black robes, black cloaks, all-black from head to toe—clearly standard-issue gear—standard didn't mean low quality.

The Tribunal was backed by the Sage Council, a state-funded institution flush with funds, its internal standard gear prized as masterpieces in the outside world—any single robe here, even the lowest-grade one, could be sold for a small floating island.

Mmm...

Her finances had been tight lately—she was nearly starving, her shut-in magic soul drooling at the sight. Luckily, her mask covered her face, hiding her pitiful expression.

"Lord Joker, report to that counter over there to claim your new recruit benefits. The package includes one battle robe, one wand, one alchemical weapon, and a standard tactical potion kit. Before choosing, you may test them out—if you need modifications, just tell the staff. They're all expert alchemists."

Miss Ghostface explained carefully.

Dorothy followed the direction to a counter currently unoccupied. The clerk behind it was a witch wearing a cat-head mask, who appeared to be tuning a wand shaped like a longsword.

The shut-in witch didn't interrupt rudely. She stayed silent, watching until, after more than ten minutes, the cat-masked witch finished adjusting her blade-wand, then spoke.

"Excellent craftsmanship."

She meant it sincerely—she herself understood alchemy a little, and the cat-masked witch's skill was flawless; she felt inferior.

Though her theoretical knowledge was top-tier, alchemical touch required endless practice—this, like potion-making, was a bottomless money pit. And she was poor—she couldn't afford to practice.

But precisely because she was poor, she couldn't afford waste—so every time, she refined her technique meticulously, and her skill wasn't bad at all.

Still, this poor-man's training method was nowhere near as fast as paying for premium training.

So, do you guys hire at the armory? I'd like to come here to gain hands-on experience.

The shut-in witch thought to herself.

"Oh! Sorry, Lord Joker, I kept you waiting."

Hearing Dorothy's compliment, the cat-masked witch jumped, hastily tucked away her blade-wand, and apologized.

"Alchemist Black Cat, delighted to serve you. How may I assist you?"

Black Cat switched into professional mode.

"I'm here to claim new recruit benefits. Here's my identity token."

Dorothy pulled out her token and handed it over, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

Hmm, in the library she got thirty spells at once—can't she get three sets of gear here?

Unfortunately, her dream shattered quickly.

Though Black Cat paused briefly upon seeing the Silver Badge, she quickly swiped the token through a nearby machine. After reading its feedback, the alchemist spoke.

"Lord Joker, your current eligible equipment includes one Grand Inquisitor battle robe, one high-grade wand, one high-grade alchemical weapon, and one tactical potion kit. Would you like to claim them now?"

Dorothy: "Tsk..."

Seeing she couldn't score extra gear, the shut-in witch sighed bitterly, her spirits sinking.

Though she hadn't really expected much—military institutions always tightly controlled standard gear. Upgrading usually required surrendering old gear, and reporting losses or damage was a hassle.

But this was free benefit gear, not paid-for private equipment—so she couldn't complain.

"Yes, I'll take them now."

Dorothy nodded.

"Very well. Please follow me."

... Black Cat rose and led the way...