I hoped to win her affection.
If she could smile at me with fondness, I would plunge into molten lava and bring her Rupert's heart.
Chen Ligu silently recited the works of a witch poet. One hand was tucked into her pocket, while the other, wrapped in a black leather glove, held a cane. She looked toward Jiang Han, who was cheering at the bustling scene.
Jiang Han was especially adorable today.
Her enormous cat ears were covered in neat, soft fur, their colors almost seeming to sparkle beneath the sunlight.
This cat girl seemed to have endless things to say and a smile that never stopped.
She was chatting idly with a witch.
Chen Ligu looked at the shop with a sign reading [Buying Weapons, Buying Old Tanks, Cursed Items at 20% Off], then spotted the proprietress inside.
A witch whose streamlined muscles could only be described as powerful.
She had a pipe clenched between her teeth and her arms folded. Standing over 1.8 meters tall, with a taciturn air about her, she had a distinctly hardboiled style.
The dark green cold-weather outfit she wore was durable and utterly devoid of sex appeal.
She was dressed in a retired-frontline-style standard witch hunting uniform: a leather greatcoat over a vest and impact-resistant undershirt, paired with long work trousers. Combined with a broad peaked cap, it gave her an unmistakably iron-blooded aura.
A veteran.
She had most likely fought in hundreds of wars launched by witches, spending most of her life—what counted as adolescence for a witch—on the battlefield.
Chen Ligu could smell it: the scent of someone who had lived through war.
Even with only a thousand units of magic power, a witch like this would be an extremely dangerous opponent.
But...
Chen Ligu noticed the helplessness beneath the