Miss Witch Doesn’t Want to Become a Songstress

Isanisha gently cradled the black-haired girl from the sea of flowers, brushing her cheek lightly. Meanwhile, the bloody hollow in Tilan’s chest gradually healed, returning to its original state.

“This child has worked so hard,” Isanisha murmured with a soft sigh. She then lifted her gaze, her pale golden eyes, though ethereal, seemed to pierce through everything about Ranbell—her thoughts, emotions, past, abilities, and skills.

Lifting her wide, gossamer-thin sleeve, rose petals from the sea of flowers swirled into the air, sweeping toward Ranbell like a storm.

The crimson spear reappeared, but before Ranbell could fully manifest it, it was shattered by the golden petals. These petals clung to her, igniting golden flames that burned away everything about her. Even with her near-immortal bloodline, she began to feel fear.

Ranbell darted through the sea of flowers and the air, desperately evading the pursuing petals. Only after tens of seconds did she finally escape the golden flames, realizing that the golden-haired elven songstress had disappeared at some point.

In the center of the flower sea now stood the black-haired girl, her eyes closed. Her delicate fingers trembled slightly beneath her navy-blue gown, and then her eyes slowly opened. A rose petal imprint appeared on her brow.

Pressing one hand lightly to her chest, she raised the other slightly, her body turning gently in the wind. A pure and clear song emanated from her lips, like the refreshing springs of summer, clearing one’s mind.

The golden sea of flowers slowly faded, only to be replaced by new hues.

The once-bright daytime sky darkened into night, and a massive moon emerged behind the girl, casting its radiant light. Its details—craters and rugged terrain—were unusually vivid.

Under the moonlit sky, black grass swayed lightly in the breeze. Amidst the rustling sounds, buds slowly blossomed, releasing specks of glowing fireflies. These flickering lights danced like tiny lanterns, as deep blue flowers bloomed in the darkness.

Ranbell stood on the opposite side of this black-and-blue flower sea, her eyes meeting the girl’s from afar. She tried to explain, but the girl simply raised her finger, pointing toward her.

Blue petals began to drift in the night. Ranbell soon found her movements slowing, her once supersonic body now rusted and sluggish. Eventually, she froze entirely, her thoughts silenced.

Much later, the illusion dissolved, revealing the castle room once more. Tilan, leaning against the wall, felt a unique change within her.

A second time, she thought to herself.

The first time, she had dismissed it as an accidental vision of time during her talent’s awakening. But now, after this second occurrence, she understood its true meaning.

Though Isanisha had long passed, as the founding songstress of the Federation, her countless hopes and thoughts had crystallized into a miracle. Even hundreds or thousands of years later, her will and spirit lingered like the fading light of a sun, still affecting the present.

Though faint, this power dispersed across the galaxy and continued to weaken. Yet, as long as the Federation endured, it would persist, awaiting the next songstress of her caliber to hear and awaken it.

In the Sixth Epoch, following the loss of the Three Crowns, this first songstress, through her faint yet enduring song, became an invisible bond linking the disparate galaxies and species within the Federation.

Because of a shared dream and the lingering glow of Isanisha’s golden vision, countless strangers—even those separated by thousands of light-years—believed they were part of one nation, one people, united under a single name.

This era no longer allowed the establishment of nations through enslavement. Building a shared identity was even harder than forging mutual interests. At the start of the Sixth Epoch, countless geniuses and leaders tried to construct a nation spanning galaxies, but all failed. Scarred by the tribulations of the Fifth Epoch, humanity no longer trusted rulers. The lingering pain made people prefer isolation over encountering their kind too often.

“Cunning and ruthless kin are scarier than strangers.”

This sentiment captured the agony of the Fifth Epoch, when civilization crumbled. Lies and deceit ruled, minds were twisted, species were modified, races degraded, and genetic enslavement proliferated. Humanity, unrivaled in the galaxy, descended into madness and self-destruction.

Thus, when Isanisha rebuilt a stable and peaceful nation from ruins in the Sixth Epoch, she earned unparalleled respect and reverence. To this day, there were those in the Federation who silently followed her legacy, striving to uphold a vast but slowly decaying nation.

Shaking off the distant memories and emotions, Tilan surveyed her surroundings and found Ranbell frozen in place, still unmoving.

In a sense, freezing was akin to stopping time. Within this mental world, her abilities were amplified, allowing her to wield powers far beyond her Sequence 6 or 7 status. However, this enhancement was limited to her innate talents and did not reflect true Sequence 6 mastery. It was a fleeting advantage, not something she could rely on indefinitely.

This method of staining and reshaping the world into one’s mental imagery was a technique Isanisha had just taught her. More accurately, Tilan had witnessed the process firsthand, every detail etched into her mind, enabling her to master it quickly.

After ensuring her safety, Tilan left the room, retrieved her belongings from her bedroom, and activated a signal transmitter from her luggage. Receiving a confirmation response, she felt somewhat reassured.

Shortly after, fighter jets launched one after another in Southern 5th District, 4th District, 3rd District and 1st District, carrying advanced mechs. Fully armed elites boarded iron-gray aircraft, whose engines roared to life, scattering stones and dust as they sped into the night.

At 11 PM, 76 “Destroyer” tanks advanced rapidly through the forest, sweeping and searching every corner. Overhead, drones with spinning rotors monitored and locked down everything within a 20-kilometer radius.

Soon, 20 Sequence 6 light mechs stormed the castle. Scanning devices marked their targets, and gunfire and laser blades resounded as they swiftly subdued the resisting servants and family members.

Ranbell, once so confident, now sat dazed in the “White House,” unable to comprehend how, in the blink of an eye, her world had been overturned. How could an ordinary girl with no notable background summon such a vast and well-trained force within minutes? Even as the daughter of a high-ranking Federation official, it was impossible to exert such dominance.

All she had wanted was a promising new heir for her family. After centuries of slumber, she had barely moved about for a few years. Was she about to be forced into another slumber?

No, this time, being captured by the Federation wouldn’t be as simple as sleeping.