Chapter 82: Sister, After All, Is Just a Sister

In the combat preparation room...

“Come on, Captain!”

“Captain, you absolutely must teach that arrogant bastard a lesson.”

“Exactly! Who does she think she is, the second president? Our Armed Society isn’t some place anyone can bully.”

Alice’s squad members were cheering for their captain while seething at the challenger, eagerly anticipating their captain’s brutal retaliation against this reckless fool.

But when that blood-red gaze swept over them, everyone fell silent, daring not to speak another word.

Though their captain was usually gentle and sweet—so adorable they wanted to hug her like a doll—once her emerald eyes turned crimson, it meant she had entered battle mode, and at that moment, her authority was absolute, instilling pure terror in all who watched.

Titles like “True Crimson Princess beneath the Blood Moon” or “Undying Annihilator” weren’t given lightly—they were earned through actual slaughter in the arena.

Seeing her squad members finally shut up after daring to insult her sister, Alice turned away, already planning to find some excuse to make those loudmouths train extra hard.

But now, the little witch’s full focus was on the upcoming duel—her long-awaited rematch with her sister.

The last time the sisters fought was ten years ago, the day they first met: Alice had just returned home from summer break at the Witch Academy, only to hear her mother announce she was remarrying. The little witch flew into a tantrum, crying and screaming in protest.

But her mother was firm: she’d gone through great lengths to win over this man, and she wouldn’t let him go. Helpless, Alice chose to endure.

At the time, the little witch vowed to one day punish that mere human mage stepfather and that supposedly mediocre half-witch older sister—she would defend her family her own way. Since her mother, blinded by love, was no longer reliable, she’d have to rely on herself.

So on the very day her parents officially formed their new family, three-year-old Alice launched an outright duel against her six-year-old step-sister.

And then...

And then there was no “then”...

It wasn’t even a duel—it was an adult humiliating a child. And her sister’s methods were brutally cruel; Alice’s buttocks nearly turned to pulp.

Her two mothers had never once spanked her—yet her first-ever spanking came at the hands of this hateful step-sister.

Little Alice hated her with all her heart.

After that, she frequently challenged her sister to duels—each one ending with her own buttocks in ruins.

But after that incident, Alice never challenged her sister again, and their relationship grew close.

Over the years, Alice had often considered restarting their duels, but every time she brought it up, her sister dodged: “Please, sister, spare me—I’m just a weak half-witch,” or “Why would a combat witch fight a research witch?” or “Look at your own mana levels versus mine, Alice—I certainly didn’t raise you to be a bully.”

In short, she refused outright. Alice, with no other choice, gave up, convinced that her sister was simply too afraid of losing to her little sister and thus avoiding the duel to save face. As the considerate, understanding younger sister, she decided to spare her sister’s dignity—and stopped mentioning duels entirely.

Still, though she refused to duel, her sister’s tactical theory was always formidable. Though her sister always claimed “just a little knowledge,” she clearly understood every tactic, every combat method.

Alice’s rapid rise in the Armed Society over the years—her explosive progress—came from every time she got crushed, she’d pull out her spellbook and beg her sister for private tutoring, then use her sister’s detailed duel strategies to dominate.

This made Alice admire her sister more and more, and she dreamed of one day fighting side by side with her, building their own witch domain. Even if her sister was truly weak, Alice would carry both their burdens—her sister just needed to stay behind and give her advice, as always.

Unfortunately, her sister spent all day obsessed with her petty research, her head full of base money-grubbing—she was no witch at all, just a greedy merchant.

Alice had nearly been dragged into her sister’s lazy, do-nothing lifestyle—until a few days ago, when she witnessed her sister effortlessly defeat the Student Council President.

Tsk. Sister, you still claim you don’t know dueling?

From then on, Alice realized she’d been fooled all these years by this sadistic sister.

Of course, given their current bond, she held no resentment toward her sister—but that didn’t stop the little witch from being furious.

She was truly angry. Only by beating her sister—or being beaten by her—could she feel better. She wanted a real, full duel.

Unfortunately, since then, her sister had hidden away inside the Shining Tower and never emerged.

Though Alice was now captain of the Thirteen Purification Squad, appearing glorious, she had no right to live in the Shining Tower—there were only 999 slots, reserved for the top 999 students in the entire academy.

If it were based purely on combat strength, Alice believed she might make the cut.

She ranked 14th within the Armed Society, but among the entire student body—including elite fighters who didn’t join any society, like leaders of other large clubs—she guessed she’d rank around 500th.

But the Shining Tower’s residency was based on comprehensive credits—not just combat, but academics, contributions to the academy, and more. And Alice...

Sigh. Her academic grades barely scraped by without failing—she was a serious drag on the system.

With this ranking, her overall position plummeted beyond 1,000th. Maybe when she grew older and stronger, she’d finally earn a spot in that tower every witch student dreamed of.

Alice had wanted to visit her sister in the Shining Tower these past few days—but she was too embarrassed to ask the Student Council President for a visitation permit. So she held back.

But now the opportunity had arrived—this challenger was a gift. Her long-awaited duel with her sister could finally begin.

The little witch’s battle spirit surged; her potent mana formed a phantom crimson moon behind her, her shadow writhing into a ferocious beast, and Alice herself seemed to ignite.

Yes! Sister, today I’ll finally avenge my childhood spanking.

The little witch thought.

But she hadn’t even warmed up before a magical array descended over her head, and her aura plummeted visibly.

“Tch. Damn evaluation standards. So frustrating.”

The little witch, feeling utterly drained, grumbled.

But what could she do? Today’s match wasn’t a free-for-all—it was a tactical combat assessment.

Under this format, the arena forcibly equalized both combatants’ mana levels and banned all gear except wands—no battle robes, scrolls, alchemical potions, etc.—to ensure fairness.

(Don’t ask how alchemists or other specialized roles are tested—this is a Tactical Combat assessment; other departments don’t need to take it.)

Though innate talents still created minor disparities, witches regarded such talents as part of the broader category of skill.

If you can’t win with equal mana, you’re simply outskilled—no excuses.

Alice’s original 200,000 mana was instantly slashed to just 13,000 by the array, leaving her feeling unnaturally weak and deeply uncomfortable.

But it didn’t matter—willpower could overcome this. Today, Alice would avenge her childhood humiliation with equal mana. Charge!

Though the once-dramatic crimson moon behind her had shrunk to a faint shadow, and her beastly silhouette had become puny, her aura no longer imposing—only cute—Alice didn’t care. She considered these trivial.

Still, her sister’s mana growth had been insane—how had she reached 13,000 mana in just a few days?

Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Good news. Focus on the match.

She’d studied her sister’s fight against the Student Council President repeatedly. She believed her sister won only because the president was careless—and got instantly obliterated by her sister’s time-space talent. But Alice wouldn’t make that mistake.

Sister, your blitz-killing style won’t work on me. Let me show you how much I’ve grown after years in the Armed Society.

Just imagining she might finally repay her childhood spanking—and maybe even spank her sister back—made the little witch ignite again.

This battle, she would win.

The combat prep room’s gate slowly rose. Alice mounted her broom and shot skyward, thinking this.

As the match began with a drumbeat, the little witch launched a lightning-fast assault—she’d witnessed her sister’s terrifying blitz style before, and this time, she wouldn’t yield initiative.

She drew her dual-wand pistols, mounted her beloved modified racing broom, and in an instant became a crimson streak.

At that moment, Alice felt like a cowboy with her favorite pistol, riding a swift steed—she felt certain of victory.

So she cheerfully charged forward.

And then...

“Thud...” A sound like a melon splitting.

Dorothy slowly retracted her right hand, now a monstrous dragon claw, and licked the crimson smear from its sharp tips.

“My foolish little sister, is this your growth over the years? Still far too slow.”

Behind her, the crimson streak—now deeper red—raced far before stopping, revealing the headless corpse still strapped to the broom.

Then the corpse slumped off the broom—but before it hit the ground, it dissolved into dust, vanishing into thin air.

“Next...”

Dorothy calmly wiped the blood from her hand and spoke.

Her eyes—now transformed from black to blood-red—calmly surveyed the crowd. The golden dragon pupils glowing within the crimson glare chilled all who met them; no one dared look back.

.....The entire arena was stunned.....