Chapter 960: The Demon King

“Teacher, I really think you should get angry. If you don’t punish me, I’ll definitely sneak-attack you again next time.”

Arti said it again, unwilling to give up.

Dorothy: “.”

The home witch stared at the Demon King, who was lying inside the gift box, and fell silent.

What, are you hinting at something?

Her gaze then settled on the doll-sized beauty.

Hmm, I have to say, as the Witch King—an ultimate being nearing divinity—her body, having evolved to perfection, is flawless.

Even if one aspect might be slightly imperfect, another would compensate tenfold.

Arti was exactly like that—her slight lack of beauty in the upper body was entirely made up for elsewhere.

The Demon King’s legs were unquestionably the best in the world.

Her thighs were plump and lush, her calves slender and straight, with perfect lines.

Every single one of her restless, wiggling toes was adorable.

She was currently lying there, her calves kicking restlessly back and forth in alternating motion.

Her heels occasionally collided with that prominent part, causing it to ripple like pudding.

Is it really that bouncy?

Dorothy recalled her past experiences drumming, and she had to admit reality was even bouncier than she’d imagined.

Arti’s small version already had such a strong impact—she couldn’t even imagine how intense the big Arti’s would be.

The home witch hesitated, her gaze fixed on the rippling waves.

The Demon King seemed to notice her stare, but instead of restraining herself, she giggled and continued.

“Teacher, I truly know I’m wrong. I want a deeper reflection, so I won’t repeat this mistake.”

She emphasized the word “deep” with extra weight.

So the question is—what kind of reflection would be deep enough?

Dorothy, influenced by Arti’s words, began to imagine, and soon her blood began to stir.

So…

“Hmm, since you’ve admitted your mistake, I’m pleased, Arti. You’ve finally grown up. Go on now, or when your sister and the Dragon King arrive, I won’t be able to protect you.”

The home witch smiled warmly, as if a true teacher delighted in her student’s growth, and pointed again toward the window.

Arti: “.”

The Demon King fell silent.

Dorothy merely smiled without speaking.

Did she truly forgive this rebellious disciple?

The answer was naturally no!

This rebellious disciple dared to drug her this time—what might she do next time during a night raid? She couldn’t even bear to imagine.

But at the same time, the home witch had deeply realized just how low this disciple’s bottom line was. For someone who could say, “I’m here to join you,” after watching her and Sophilia’s performance, was her waist drum even a punishment—or a reward?

It was hard to say.

Perhaps when she first punished Arti, the Demon King had truly felt shame.

The second time, she’d at least been both embarrassed and furious.

But the third time…

Three times is enough. After that, this thing was probably enjoying it.

You can doubt anything, but never doubt a succubus’s capacity to accept anything—there’s nothing they won’t try if you can’t even imagine it.

It’s said that every year in the Abyss, many succubi die on the path of pioneering new playstyles. They even hold annual creativity contests—these events draw massive viewership in the Abyss and are the most popular Abyssal variety shows, with many witches secretly sneaking over to learn.

Oh, interestingly, witches have reportedly used transformation magic to disguise themselves as succubi, entered the contest, and won the championship.

Cough, cough, never mind—it seems witches themselves aren’t exactly high-minded in terms of playstyle acceptance. The elder sister doesn’t laugh at the younger.

That only proves how terrifying a succubus-witch hybrid can be.

Sigh, if only every succubus-witch were as easygoing as Madeline.

Dorothy sighed inwardly.

In short, to deal with this cunning, lewd brat, she had to grasp the core issue.

Arti could get along so well with Helmos—she certainly wasn’t an honest, trustworthy child. Her words couldn’t be trusted even by a single punctuation mark.

But there was one thing the home witch could be certain of.

That rebellious disciple was depraved—she was lusting after her teacher’s body.

So the best way to deal with her was: the more she wanted something, the less she should be allowed to have it.

Hmm, in short, today she wasn’t going to touch this rebellious disciple at all—she should just hurry up and crawl away.

Still, her thanks to Arti earlier had been sincere.

Arti, thank you for creating the opportunity for me and Sophilia; I’m awarding you the Best Assist Award.

The home witch gazed at the increasingly stiff rebellious disciple with genuine gratitude.

But…

Could a pure, innocent home witch really outwit the experienced Demon King of Succubi?

The home witch had also happily noticed that after repeated rejections, Arti had grown increasingly listless—her once lustrous, seductive purple eyes dimmed, her entire figure turning gray and pale, pitifully fragile.

That heartrending appearance even made Dorothy feel a little soft—wondering if she’d been too harsh.

But the home witch forcibly broke free from the succubus’s charm using the power of her Soul Contract.

Tsk, damn it—this rebellious disciple wasn’t just untrustworthy by punctuation marks; even her expressions and emotions couldn’t be trusted at all.

Though it’s widely known that the Demon King loves art, she herself has almost no artistic talent—but it’s also widely known that the Demon King is the greatest actor.

Though it sounds contradictory that the greatest actor understands no art, that’s exactly how it is.

True art strikes directly at the soul, delivering profound emotional impact—but Arti is like a mirror, reflecting back the viewer’s own heart. People often see their own inner selves in her performance, yet her own heart remains hollow.

Hmm, that’s what the Dragon King said.

As the Demon King’s direct teacher and as the true great artist of the witch world, the Dragon King’s evaluation was surely accurate.

Dorothy’s momentary softness was simply because she naturally tends to be soft toward those close to her—that’s the weakness of a family-loving person, and now Arti’s mirror-like performance had reflected that weakness directly into the home witch’s heart.

But in truth, Arti herself might not even realize why she does this—she merely feels she should perform this way, because it yields the best effect.

Just as a mirror clearly reflects people’s joys and sorrows, yet the mirror itself feels neither joy nor sorrow.

This is the pinnacle of illusion magic—Mirror Heart.

In simple terms, it’s making the enemy deceive themselves.

Arti wanted the home witch to soften, so Dorothy saw the image most likely to make her soften.

If the Demon King wanted to make someone furious, that person would see the version of Arti they most dreaded—say, Arti hugging her wife.

But the same trick won’t work on a good sister, nor on me, Dorothy. Arti, drop the act—your performance only makes me laugh.

The home witch thought smugly to herself.

Then, suddenly, the Demon King inside the gift box shuddered, and her face lit up with an expression of “I’m done.”

The home witch: “???”

Wait, you little brat, what are you doing?

The Demon King, having finished, finally stood up.

Just moments ago, she’d been doll-sized—now with one step, she instantly returned to her normal height, her clothing shifting from mere straps to a magnificent robe.

Now exuding an exotic fragrance, she glided forward with the most perfect catwalk to stand before the stunned, innocent home witch, her flushed face wearing a seductive smile.

“Teacher, you believed me. You really believed me, didn’t you? Hehe… what made you feel your insight and your smugness were real?”

“You didn’t expect this, Teacher, right? This is my pleasure route—sometimes, being deliberately ignored by someone important is quite enjoyable.”

The Demon King lifted a finger to tilt the home witch’s chin, her purple eyes sparkling with the joy of a successful prank.

Dorothy: “.”

Damn, you can do this? I can’t tell anymore—I really can’t tell.

Honestly, I often feel out of place among you witches because I have too much integrity. Arti, no wonder it’s you—you can even do this.

Just as the home witch was reeling from being tricked again, Arti suddenly hugged her.

Yeah, just a plain, proper hug—no extra groping or touching.

“Teacher, don’t think I’m that twisted, okay? I just knew you were pretending to dislike me, not really hating me—if you truly did, I’d actually be heartbroken, and that wouldn’t be fun at all.”

“Also, I’m not that clueless former guy who didn’t understand human hearts. Teacher, you gave me a heart.”

“Happy birthday, Teacher.”

The home witch heard the girl’s sincere words, then was released.

The home witch eyed the suddenly serious rebellious disciple with suspicion—she was suffering from scam PTSD.

So, was that heartfelt speech real?

But the Demon King who had just openly “finished” in front of her now had a flushed face, as if genuinely embarrassed.

Watching the blushing Arti, Dorothy’s heart gradually calmed.

For now, she’d believe this rebellious disciple was sincere.

“Alright, this is your birthday gift. Those two old things are coming—I’m leaving now.”

The shy Arti reached beneath her skirt, pulled out a gigantic gift box, and tossed it to Dorothy, then sprinted to the window and climbed onto the sill with practiced ease.

The home witch watched the girl’s movements but made no move to stop her.

On the windowsill, the unparalleled beauty turned back to glance at her one last time, then formed a gun with her fingers and fired at her.

“Bang! My dearest teacher, your heart shall surely be mine—Atee, member of the Heart Thief Guild, declares this as my advance notice. I shall return again.”

She said this in her typical otaku manner.

Then she pulled on the mask that covered half her face, flicked the cloak that had somehow already settled on her shoulders, and vanished into the night sky.

The Home Witch: “.”

Damn, my embarrassing otaku past is still chasing me.

But can this No. 2 thief really steal from me, the guild leader?

Hmph, next time, I won’t let you pull off another prank.

Dorothy smiled, shook her head, and turned her gaze to Atee’s enormous gift box.

She wanted to open it, but as her hand reached for the ribbon, her vigilance spiked to maximum.

Uh-oh.

Atee just said she’d come back—could it be that opening this box will reveal her again?

Using the same trick twice?

The Home Witch truly couldn’t tell anymore.

Though she’d just stubbornly claimed the same trick wouldn’t work a second time, that was pure bluff—after all, she didn’t have the Fool’s Wisdom power that her elder sister possessed; without preparation, she really could fall into the same pit twice.

Deception knows no bounds—if she truly believed Atee wouldn’t repeat the same prank, she might just hand Atee the perfect opening.

Damn it, damn that Mirrorheart Demon.

Dorothy finally understood why the Demon Lord was so feared—this insidious, unpredictable nuisance was truly revolting, leaving no sense of security whatsoever.

Mirrorheart Demon was the Demon Lord’s early title, and also the name of her demonic form.

Though her initial evolution template was a succubus, by mid-to-late stages, Atee’s innate talents had clearly transcended the succubus framework, becoming an entirely new kind of demon.

The pinnacle of illusion arts was named after this.

Yet perhaps only the Home Witch vaguely sensed that this terrifying creature had advanced even further.

The Mirrorheart Demon, once merely a mirror, had truly begun to understand the human heart.

Is this a good thing?

Good? Hell no—it means this disgusting joker will be even harder to defend against, and even better at striking at her weaknesses.

Dorothy prepared full defenses, then gritted her teeth and tore open the ribbon of the giant gift box.

And then—

And then she saw true art.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Huge, beautiful fireworks exploded over Long Wang’s Palace, causing all guests enjoying the banquet to look up and admire the splendid moment.

The dazzling fireworks burst open, revealing elegant brushstrokes.

This was Demon Lord Script.

“Dorothy, happy birthday.”

This was the gift of the Lord of Feasts.

At that moment, the banquet reached its peak.

Of course, the Home Witch, now covered head to toe in soot, stared at the simple doodle of Atee sticking out her tongue and making a face at the bottom of the box—her fury reached its zenith.

“Atee—”

The Home Witch roared.

Atee: “Teacher, do as you please—I’m gonna win, win, win.”