“Why… why would you rather die…? Everything you did… what exactly were you aiming for…”
Bemore felt a chill run through her entire body. Her fingers trembled, and she could no longer hold the pair of short black-and-white batons in her hand. The weapons slipped from her grasp and fell to the ground.
The White-haired Witch’s heart was in turmoil. She couldn’t understand why Samimi would go through all that trouble to defeat Orange Pawn and Pawn King, only to want to die by her own hand in the end? It made no sense at all!
Yes, this was an illogical matter—so clearly something was wrong.
Bemore had obviously made the same mistake as the unlucky person before her: after being misled by someone’s acting skills, she lost her guard completely.
“Why are you crying?” A cold and sharp voice whispered right next to her ear.
“You!?” Bemore was shocked and delighted at once.
But her joy was short-lived. A swift slap landed hard on her face, instantly knocking her senseless and sending her sprawling to the ground.
“Why did you throw your staff on the ground? Are you mocking our duel?” Samimi, like one teasing a dog, flicked Bemore over with her foot, forcing her to lie on her back and look up at her.
“I… I thought you were blown to bits.” Bemore looked at the unharmed Samimi and suddenly realized she had been played.
“You’re really making me laugh. I exposed all my moves—don’t you think I know the Substitution Technique? Do you really think I’d be killed by your pathetic little Small Fireball? When I was thrashing the Lion King, what exactly were you doing? Sleeping? Useless!” Samimi couldn’t help but laugh at her own words.
This time, she hadn’t really pretended to be dead. She had assumed Bemore could see through her Substitution Technique.
She hadn’t held back either—her magical power and flying sword attacks were truly unsustainable once the Substitution Technique was activated.
As Samimi expected, by now the two of them should have been exchanging blows with fists.
“I…” Bemore was at a loss for words, feeling embarrassed. She really had been fooled for a moment.
“Your incompetence makes our duel boring. You’re not worthy of being called a Witch; you’re just a clown,” Samimi said coldly, pressing the Runic Staff firmly against Bemore’s chest.
After saying that, she rammed the Runic Staff into Bemore once more, then stepped back with a face full of disappointment and turned away.
Bemore slowly got up, staring at Samimi’s resolute back as she walked off.
This time, she truly felt the coldness of the Miworm’s feelings toward her.
In Miworm’s eyes, she had probably already gone from being a sworn enemy worthy of revenge to a worthless nobody not even worth a second glance.
Samimi would never look back at her again. She would keep moving forward, while Bemore could only stay stuck in place.
She had made the wrong choice again—she had never once made the right one.
Samimi’s final revenge was just a light slap—so light, far too light.
But that slap delivered a crushing mental blow, shattering Bemore’s world into darkness and despair.
If she couldn’t even have a Samimi who wanted to get revenge against her in this world, then what motivation did she have left to live?
She lacked the ability to take revenge on the Fire Apprentice faction. Now, she didn’t even have the qualification to be avenged. She couldn’t even be a bad egg Traitor properly; she had lost even a simple Revenge Duel.
Bemore stood dumbfounded, looking at Samimi being supported on both sides by Priestess Rebecca and Niubao. A deep pain welled up inside her.
She didn’t have a single friend around her…
Because the friends she counted on were exactly those people.
There was nothing left—no chance, no magic, no friends, not even enemies.
“What meaning is there in a person like me living?”
Her mind went blank. Suddenly, she dashed forward in a flash, jumped over the railing, and leapt down from the rooftop.
Self-loathing always killed quietly like this.
But at the last critical moment—
“Gotcha!” A pair of slender fingers clamped onto Bemore’s wrist with an iron grip.
Bemore looked up and saw Samimi saving her—again, it was her.
“Heh, I predicted your prediction. I knew that if you undercover agents fought on the rooftop, you’d definitely jump,” Samimi said with a stiff, bitter smile.
“What are you doing? Let go! I want to die,” Bemore pleaded.
“Do you understand the law? If you die, I’m the one who’ll take the blame. You’re just hurting me. Can’t you wait until we leave before you die?” Samimi replied.
Bemore was speechless—unsure whether she should feel heartbroken or just want to make a sarcastic remark.
But as she spoke, Samimi started slipping off too.
Because she had only managed to grab Bemore’s hand by stretching out most of her body, and it was becoming impossible for her to hold on any longer. She was about to be flung off herself.
“If you don’t let go, we’ll both fall,” Bemore warned.
“Trust Niubao!” Samimi was drenched in cold sweat but remained calm.
Then she let herself fall as well—the two of them jumped together.
But they didn’t need Niubao’s rescue.
Suddenly, the entire Flame Apprentice Grand Castle was covered by a certain force, then the force vanished in an instant.
One moment they were plummeting through the air; the next, they were inside a classroom, gently set down on the floor.
“What?” Samimi propped herself up on the Runic Staff and looked toward the window.
She realized this was the Flame Apprentice Conference Room, located on the lower floor beneath the rooftop. Their jump position corresponded exactly.
In other words, they had suddenly been teleported from outside into the room, inexplicably passing through a window.
“Time stop? Time reversal? Or some expert?” Samimi analyzed.
“It’s [Spatial Transfer],” an old and frail voice answered her question.
Samimi turned her head and saw their Basic Magic Theory teacher, the old granny, standing by the podium.
“Nun, you haven’t attended class in a long time. You really caused quite a scene this time,” the old granny said.
“If I could, I’d attend class, but there are some high-and-mighty guys who just can’t stop itching without a beating,” Samimi said coldly. “Old lady, who exactly are you?”
“You can call me Old Olli, but don’t call me old lady. I’m the dean of the Continental Magic Academy,” Old Olli introduced herself simply, but her words carried unparalleled weight.
Even Samimi had nothing to retort, narrowing her eyes.
The teaching staff at the Continental Magic Academy held extremely secretive positions—Samimi had never seen a teacher higher than a lecturer before.
Now they had come straight to the dean, who happened to be the old granny they often had class with before. It was indeed a little embarrassing, leaving her powerless to complain.
“You’ve made things a bit ugly,” Dean Olli said.
“Pfft, I don’t care if it’s ugly or not. Our School of Healing beat the Fire School. That’s all there is to it,” Samimi said, planting her Runic Staff and limping past Dean Olli.
“What good does that do? You’re Saints. Acting like this only damages the reputation and relationships of the Academy, and it puts your friends in even more trouble,” Dean Olli warned.
“My friends? You mean the Heretical Magician Four Sisters?” Samimi stopped, voice icy cold.
“You’ll leave, but can they leave?” Dean Olli asked.
“If my friends make any mistakes, I won’t hesitate to level this place,” Samimi threatened.
Bemore was still lying on the ground, completely dazed, having forgotten she had just jumped off a building.
Samimi actually dared to threaten the dean? She really had no fear of heaven or earth!