Chapter 58: Fake Sisterhood (Part 4)

“Hehe, good thing Wormface has her eyes covered and can’t see me.”

Bémore slipped away with the Flame School’s seniors, praying that Samimi and Rebecca wouldn’t recognize her—and somehow, she actually got away.

But she was just deceiving herself, like covering her ears while stealing a bell.

“Pathetic.”

Of course Samimi noticed Bémore. She even calmly watched her retreating figure, like a coward shrinking into her shell.

It matched perfectly with Samimi’s understanding of Bémore, the White-Haired Witch.

Unlike the gung-ho Pure White Knight Fabiana, this socially anxious girl had zero initiative. She didn’t dare come cause trouble and was instead terrified Samimi would come after her. She’d rather disappear forever than confront her.

And that was just fine with Samimi—she wasn’t one for clinging to old grudges either. If they could each live peacefully, all the better.

They walked away from each other, back to back, hoping to never cross paths again.

But just as Samimi turned away, Bémore couldn’t help glancing back. All she could see was Samimi’s retreating figure.

At her side were two loyal companions, while Bémore’s own crowd was a bunch of self-important hypocrites from the Flame School. A flicker of envy stirred in her chest.

Even if the Hero’s Party had its own hidden motives and divisions…

“Bémore, you must fulfill the president’s mission properly.”

“You have the most potential out of all your juniors.”

“From now on, you’re in charge of monitoring the nun in black.”

“We’re doing this for your own good.”

The Flame School seniors nagged endlessly as they walked, buzzing around like flies. So annoying. But she couldn’t say anything back.

“Yes, yes, thank you for the guidance, senior,” Bémore replied with a fake smile, her mental state slowly cracking.

Because reality kept rubbing it in her face—why does Wormface get to have devoted followers? What did she do to deserve it? What right did she have? The contrast was making Bémore feel like a total clown.

When she returned to the Flame School’s castle, every apprentice inside looked like they were facing the end of the world.

As usual, Bémore couldn’t even rest. She was dragged into the conference room to pour tea and serve snacks.

“Those heretic mages are unforgivable!”

“Are we seriously not going to fight back? The other schools think we’re a joke now!”

“Lady Orange Lion, we can’t just sit back and do nothing!”

Inside, the shouting was like a chaotic marketplace. It’d be at least another hour of the vice president and president bickering, complaining, and talking in circles.

By the time the meeting ended, Bémore’s eyes were dull and lifeless.

This was why she hated coming back.

If it weren’t for the academy’s mandatory evaluations, she’d never have returned to the Continental Magic Academy.

Meanwhile, at the Moonlight Pavilion, the atmosphere was warm and friendly.

Thanks to Samimi’s introduction, Rebecca officially joined the family of heretic mages.

Everyone sat together at meals, exchanging magic knowledge, free of judgment or barriers.

Word had spread about how Samimi had beaten the arrogant Flame School vice president—everyone was thrilled, feeling vindicated.

It turned out the heretic mages had long suffered bullying at the hands of the Flame School. Many were even afraid to attend classes because of them.

Even the derogatory term “heretic mage” was something the Flame School had slapped on them.

In their view, heretic witches deserved to be burned at the stake, while Flame Mages were glorious purifiers of dark magic.

So the nickname “White-Haired Witch” wasn’t flattering at all—it was meant as mockery.

Even Bémore’s title had been given by her own school, intended as an insult.

“They’re all good kids,” Samimi murmured, heart aching at how long they had endured this.

Despite everything, the girls at Moonlight Pavilion had never tried to harm Rebecca, even though she had been part of the Flame School. Their tolerance was remarkable.

If it had been Samimi in their shoes, she would’ve snapped a long time ago.

But now that she lived here, she wouldn’t allow her sisters to be bullied any longer.

To avoid being pushed around, one had to maintain strength and authority.

Samimi stuck to a disciplined schedule, attending class every day with Niubao and Rebecca. They always sat in the corner of the magic theory classroom, diligently studying healing spells.

Often, spies from the Flame School loitered nearby. But none of them dared approach too closely. Even if they eavesdropped, they wouldn’t understand anything—they were just learning how to save lives, after all.

One noon after class, the quiet campus routine was suddenly disrupted.

Tap-tap-tap-tap! A burst of hurried footsteps echoed through the corridor.

A large group of unfamiliar mages stormed into the theory classroom, blocking Samimi and her companions’ path.

Their robes weren’t crimson or marked with sun symbols—clearly not from the Flame School.

Instead, their attire bore lightning runes—they were members of another major group: the Lightning School .

“Can I help you?” Samimi asked.

“Greetings, Sister. I’m Leo from the Lightning School,” said a tall lightning mage, stepping forward with a solemn tone. “I’d like to spar with you. Please don’t misunderstand—I hold no personal grudge. I seek a scholarly exchange. I want to witness your dual-casting ability. I hope you’ll accept.”

“No problem at all. I’d love to see some elemental spells from another school. Of course, it’s a friendly duel—magic brings us together,” Samimi replied with a calm, welcoming smile.

“Wonderful! Shall we set a time?” Leo said, visibly pleased.

“How about now? Though I’m not familiar with the arena protocols here,” Samimi said.

“No problem—please follow me,” Leo replied.

With that, the crowd left the classroom and made their way to the Hexagonal White-Brick Arena in the center of the campus.

Let’s talk about this arena—it had quite the history. Rebecca had recently explained it in detail.

Even Samimi, a transmigrator from another world, didn’t know about this, which meant it was definitely high-level insider knowledge.

The white bricks of the arena were crafted from magic-resistant stone —a product of a thousand years of research at the Continental Magic Academy.

They could effectively absorb magical attacks, using a principle similar to that of magical shields to significantly reduce spell impact.

The only drawback was that the material couldn’t be made thin. Otherwise, they could’ve created lightweight anti-magic armor. As it stood, the bricks were only usable as heavy flooring.

News that the Penitent Nun was about to duel a Lightning School elite spread like wildfire from the magic theory classroom.

Within minutes, every apprentice had heard about it.

“Bémore! Snap out of it! Go now!”

The news also reached first-line spy Bémore, courtesy of a screeching senior sister.

Bémore’s expression and movements resembled a walking corpse. Her magical dreams felt just as lifeless.