Chapter 419

"Hey, aren't you being a bit too domineering?"

"Are you teaching me how to do my job?"

"Is this how witches receive guests?"

Faced with the fairy king's aggressive words, several young angels in the angelic delegation could no longer hold back and spoke up.

Where had they ever endured such humiliation?

After all, every young angel chosen to represent Heaven in this academic exchange with young witches was exceptional in talent and noble in status.

In Heaven's rigid hierarchy, they were all celebrated rising stars, treated with reverence and courtesy wherever they went—always the ones looking down on others, never the ones being lectured to from above.

Feeling insulted, the young angels' gazes turned hostile toward the members of the Tribunal.

"I thought witches and angels, both noble golden races, would be as refined and civilized as Heaven itself. I never imagined you'd be so barbaric. Don't you fear shaming the glory of the Divine King?"

"Great Divine King, you are the god above all gods—yet why are your kin so arrogant and ignorant? This is a desecration of your glory. The unjust shall face divine punishment."

For a moment, condemnation erupted from the angelic delegation—but it remained only words; surprisingly, no one was foolish enough to launch an outright attack.

"Tch, fine, I knew it wouldn't be this easy. Why can't I ever meet those dumbass novel tropes?"

Dorothy, seeing this, felt a small disappointment.

But it was normal—Heaven's delegation certainly wasn't assembled by just grabbing random young angels off the street. Every member had been meticulously selected by Heaven's high command. These roughly one hundred young angels were all true elites; there was no room for slackers or frauds.

Clearly, her blunt provocation had failed. Though the young angels looked furious, a closer look at their eyes revealed they remained calm overall—not truly losing control.

Especially...

Dorothy's gaze drifted to the two angels at the very center of the delegation, and she fell into thought.

The androgynously beautiful angel with ten wings, exuding scholarly grace and calm demeanor—undoubtedly the one marked for special attention in the files: Seraphiel, former archangel under the Radiant Lord.

To be honest, when the fairy king had mocked earlier, Dorothy had felt a chill. This ancient archangel unsettled her deeply—he radiated an unfathomable depth, much like the Grand Inquisitor Pan Shen she'd encountered days ago in the Tribunal's interrogation wing.

This girl is a Sage-level powerhouse.

To act so recklessly before such a ceiling-tier being made Dorothy feel like a delusional villainous clown—like dancing on top of a nuclear warhead, living on pure adrenaline.

Even with the power of her spell slots, she could at best match the strength of a top-tier Grand Witch—insignificant against a Sage.

But she wasn't truly panicked. After all, the clown mask on her face wasn't Senior Senior Fan Ni's tentacles—it was Senior Senior Fan Ni's true body. Though this future Fourth King, half-mad and severely weakened, was a disgrace among Sages, this was still the Witch World. She benefited from the World Mother's local bonuses. Even if she couldn't win, self-preservation was assured.

The only problem? This chaotic, joke-loving sister was way too loud.

"Wow, Damn Qian Bao, so powerful! Damn Qian Bao, so majestic! Yes, yes, just like that—don't back down! I've got your back! We can't let these angels look down on us! Charge! Don't be timid—you can go even further!"

Since the beginning, this masked sister had been whispering nonstop in Dorothy's ear, egging them on as if hoping for a fight.

Though her fierce support did give Dorothy courage, this damn jokester seemed utterly unreliable.

"Hey, Sister, if we go any further, it'll be too much. They're a legitimate diplomatic delegation. Isn't this attitude too hostile? Aren't we just provoking unnecessary enemies?"

Dorothy said, exasperated.

In her mind, even in wartime, you don't harm envoys—especially since the Witch World and Heaven aren't even at war. They should be received with courtesy, neither submissive nor arrogant, showing grace to foster harmony and mutual benefit.

But both the Tribunal's initial intimidation and Senior Senior Fan Ni's attitude left her utterly confused.

Am I the one who doesn't fit in?

The Zhaimonv thought to herself.

"Don't be timid, Damn Qian Bao. We didn't invite them—they applied to come. You know it's the Radiant Lord's doing. Their so-called academic exchange has no good intentions. Treat friendly guests with smiles, but when hostile guests arrive, grab your hunting rifle."

"In short, don't give them any respect. Witches don't play the hypocritical games of mortal nations. If someone resists, just beat them. The Witch World's status wasn't handed down from heaven—it was won by blood. Today, whoever resists, you beat them."

"Don't worry about that old angel. The entire Sage Council is watching. If he dares lay a hand on you, someone will come to deal with him. So go ahead, play freely—as long as no one dies, anything goes."

Sensing her master's desire to avoid trouble, Senior Senior Fan Ni reluctantly revealed some internal information.

These were classified secrets, not meant for someone of Dorothy's rank—but who cared? Dorothy had already faced the Radiant Lord directly. These details wouldn't hurt to share.

Dorothy: "......"

The Zhaimonv fell silent for a moment. She hadn't realized the delegation's visit carried such hidden stakes. Now she felt a headache coming—she'd clearly been turned into a pawn in some grand confrontation between titans.

"Damn it. Now I get why the reward for this mission was so generous. I thought Mom had slipped me a bonus—but turns out it's a trap."

Dorothy looked up helplessly at the sky.

The reward for this escort mission was absurdly high: completing it would grant her, as team leader, enough points to exchange for another forbidden spell slot or a set of high-grade alchemical gear. Even the other team members received several times the normal mission payout.

When she first saw the reward, her eyes had practically turned into floating point symbols. She'd thought Mom was seriously overdoing the favoritism—this was way too much.

But now it seemed...

Damn it. She'd been sold out by Mom.

I'm such a fool. Honestly, with Mom's serious, blunt, clueless personality, she'd never abuse her power. What made me think she was the kind of mother who spoils her child?

"Oh my god, this is messing with a Sage! The psychological pressure is huge! Thank goodness it's me—after all the titans I've seen, I'm used to it. If any other witch had been sent here, they'd probably have fainted. This..."

"Enough chatter, Damn Qian Bao. Can you do it or not? If not, I'll replace you."

The masked sister, growing impatient with her master's endless complaints, said coldly.

"Of course I can. I'm the best at humiliating people—nobody understands humiliation like me. I just mean this mission's too hard. We need a raise."

Dorothy dropped the act, speaking with full confidence.

Senior Senior Fan Ni: "......"

"Fine. The official mission reward is already maxed out—I can't increase it. But since you're my dearest master, Damn Qian Bao, if you can make these little angels kneel in submission, I'll give you a personal bonus."

"Perfect. Agreed, Sister. Let's make it official."

Seeing Senior Senior Fan Ni relent, the Zhaimonv rushed to seal the deal before she could change her mind.

Then she immediately shifted into work mode.

"Shut up. Do you think you're worthy to call the Divine King by name? Do you even deserve to?"

Having received permission from her true body, the fairy king no longer held back. She looked down with contempt at the angels who dared only to condemn but not act.

"Academic exchange? With you pathetic little angels? What's there to discuss? It's clear the higher-ups have been too kind to your kind—making us look like a kindergarten. What's next? Sending every stray cat and dog here? Raising kids is exhausting, especially other people's useless brats."

The fairy king's verbal assault went full throttle, pushing the young angels, who had barely held their anger, to the brink.

"How dare this vile witch speak so arrogantly and disrespectfully?"

"She says we're weak? No, it's the witches who are weak!"

The young angels' once-pale, handsome faces had turned green with rage. They couldn't fathom why this witch judge dared be so bold.

Though witches currently held the top position among the four golden races, their status was ill-deserved. They rose too fast—from mortal race to top catastrophe—in just over a hundred thousand years. They were nothing but nouveau riche.

Moreover, their rise had little to do with their own strength—it was entirely due to the three kings forcing them upward. The other races of the Western Universe respected the three witches' kings, but not the witches themselves.

After all, the three kings had advanced too far ahead—their people couldn't keep up.

As a new catastrophe, witches' overall strength was wildly uneven. Only a few geniuses reached the standard expected of golden races; most weak witches were weaker than even powerful bronze or silver races.

In short, the gap was extreme—their average individual strength paled in comparison to the three established golden races.

Thus, the truth was the exact opposite of what Dorothy had claimed: it was the angels who saw the Witch Academy as a kindergarten.

After all, by golden race standards, at least eighty percent of the Witch Academy's students were underperforming idiots.

For example, the real Dorothy—sixteen years old, with only 40,000 mana. In any established golden race, she'd have been discarded as trash. And two months ago, she'd had only 10,000 mana—worse than trash.

The Witch Academy's admission threshold was just 10,000 mana. To established golden races, that was a kindergarten. A normal golden race member should reach the legendary tier upon adulthood.

Take dragons: an adult dragon was a true mobile catastrophe to other races. A hero who could slay a dragon was a true legend.

But witches...

In witch terms, what other races called "legendary" was equivalent to elite witches—those with around 200,000 mana.

Yet the vast majority of witches couldn't reach that level. Even normal pure-blood witches reached only 100,000 mana at adulthood—half the golden race's minimum standard.

This revealed the enormous gap between witches and the established catastrophes. The witches' so-called geniuses were merely ordinary people in the eyes of true golden races.

Thus, it was no surprise the angelic delegation was furious—even the three angel-witch observers, who had remained silent, felt uneasy.

After all, as neutral bystanders, they had to admit: this clownish Grand Inquisitor had overplayed his hand.

Though Maria and the others were cautious toward the angelic delegation, they knew every single young angel in that hundred-member group was a prodigy in witch eyes.

They could tell the angels were young—average age around sixteen—with the weakest among them radiating about 300,000 mana.

To reach grand witch status upon adulthood—that was the true standard of a golden race prodigy.

So now, the three angel-witch observers watched the audacious clownish Grand Inquisitor with growing dread, worried he'd blow his own bluff—if they demanded a duel, how would he get out of it?

And as always, the more you feared something, the more likely it was to happen.

"Since this esteemed one speaks so highly of the strength of your witches, perhaps we, these weak angels, might be permitted to witness the power of your so-called great witches—just to broaden our horizons."

A calm voice rang out from the angelic delegation.

She said it.

The three angel-witch observers: "...."

Oh no—this clown had truly become the clown. The bluff had burst.

... The three angel-witch observers watched, anxious...