Hate me, Miss Witch!

The deep blue crystal burst into dazzling, captivating light.

Shiayar poured his spiritual power into it, then let the gentle force draw his consciousness upward toward the heights of the Spirit Realm.

Long-distance communication technology, much like the two-way teleportation array, was also cutting-edge magictech know-how that every nation on the Western Continent strove to develop and guarded as top-secret information. After all, anyone with a modicum of strategic insight would clearly understand the immense strategic value of magictech that allowed real-time communication regardless of distance. On the battlefield, even a few minutes' difference in the delivery of information could mean the world, potentially determining the victory or defeat of an entire engagement.

Of course, although they possessed similar communication technology, the Empire's approach was slightly different. They used the "Astral Wandering Spirit" to establish communication circuits in the Astral Realm, whereas the theocratic kingdom achieved it through the Spirit Realm.

Gradually, vague points of light appeared before Shiayar. He watched as the blurred points began to coalesce and casually dismissed his saintly Moon Reading guise. He had played an odd character in the Echo of History for over half a year, constantly pretending to be indifferent with a façade of concern for his country and its people. As a result, Shiayar had developed considerable PTSD for the phrase "faint smile."

Seconds later, the blurry points of light converged into a clear image.

A girl sat at her desk, focused on writing something. The glow of dusk fell upon her pale, exquisite face, and her jet-black hair draped over her shoulders, fluttering slightly with the evening breeze. Her right hand held a pen, while her left toyed with a small doll inscribed with several lines of arcane characters.

With Shiayar's experience, he recognized those lines as the language of the Succubus Tribe, often used for contracts and curses. This was an ancient ritual among the Succubi, one Dyres had once mentioned to him in casual conversation. According to ancient legend, when a Succubus girl found a man she fancied and wished to commit to, she would create a doll identical to her love interest. She would then inscribe it with a curse of infatuation, making the target helplessly fall in love with her.

The delicate doll also had black hair and eyes, its facial contours not overly sharp or angular, possessing instead a certain softness.

In simple terms, the doll's appearance wasn't just ninety percent similar to Shiayar; it was identical.

"Who is looking for..." The lazy and pleasant female voice had just sounded when it abruptly stiffened. "Shiayar."

The black-haired girl frantically hid the Shiayar doll behind her back. But her hurried, flustered movement caused the book she had been writing on the wooden table to fall. This clearly revealed the text within to the image projected by the Spirit Realm communication.

Although the exquisite book was forcefully shut after only a few seconds, Shiayar's spiritual power had now reached 5-Ring. A few seconds were more than enough for him to memorize the text from the opened pages.

[The black-haired, black-eyed Beastmaster boy, a snowy plains ferret on his shoulder, faced the girl from the Sacred Court. His frosty face showed a slight, shallow smile—wickedly charming and arrogant—his tone uninhibited and wild, "Interesting woman, you've successfully caught my attention. But have you ever considered, you're playing..."]

Looking at the panicked Dawn Saintess before him, her pretty face showing a touch of flush, Shiayar remained expressionless.

"Is this your new scheme to make me fall for you?"

As Shiayar spoke, the screen of the Spirit Realm communication also paused slightly. The next moment, the blush on the Dawn Saintess's pretty face, along with her shyness and irritation, all disappeared.

She took a small step back and, through the image of the Spirit Realm communication, regarded Shiayar with her chestnut-colored eyes, a faint smile on her lovely face.

"I've miscalculated."

The Dawn Saintess stretched out her pale finger, playing with the Shiayar doll between her fingers. Her demeanor transformed. She was no longer the noble girl who embodied "Chanting Flowers and Courting Butterflies," but rather like a solitary orchid in a valley: beautiful, yet shrouded in mist, elusive.

"Innocent and naive, untouched by the mundane world, ready to use a Succubus curse to be with her beloved.

"Even going as far as to write her beloved into her own novel as the male protagonist... Yet, when her beloved perceives her girlish crush, she desperately tries to hide it—a tsundere girl.

"I thought you'd like such a character.

"Even knowing it's all an act.

"Yet I failed to see even a moment's heart flutter from you, esteemed husband, which is truly disappointing to me.

"Is my allure as a woman... really so negligible?"

"And where did you learn to call me 'esteemed husband' and refer to yourself as 'this humble one'?"

"Of course, I learned it from the novels published by Student Shiayar at the Royal Book Society..."

The Dawn Saintess stepped back, her gaze turning to the bookshelf beside her. There, books stood neatly in rows.

Shiayar looked up—"The Count of Monte Cristo," "The Adventures of Brave Abin," "Hamlet's Revenge," "The Three Musketeers," "White Lyn..."

All were his masterpieces.

"I have collected and organized every one of your works.

"And I tried writing that novel to understand you more deeply from the creator's perspective..."

The sound of her voice, pleasant yet with an undertone of melancholy, brought a hint of helplessness to Shiayar's heart.