[Time]: Day 5 of Enrollment, 08:00 AM[Location]: Yggdrasil Academy · Dormitory [Golden Bough] · Room 302
"You look proud of yourself," Victoria noted, observing Hathaway, who had just successfully ground a root with her left hand while reciting a history date with her right brain.
"I'm getting the hang of it," Hathaway admitted, flexing her sore fingers. "The logic feels... smooth."
"Is that so?"
Victoria smiled. It was a terrifyingly gentle smile.
"You have mastered the Process. Now, you must face the Volume."
Victoria pointed a pale finger at the wall of books that had been sitting on the desk since Day 1, the mountain Hathaway had spent four days pretending was furniture.
The Eight Pillars of Wisdom stood there like silent tombstones:
History: The Ruthless History (2,750 Pages)
Spell Theory: A Brief History of Spells (2,540 Pages)
Linguistics: General Manual of Language, Spells, and Runes (3,250 Pages)
Alchemy: A1 International Standard: Alchemy & Material Transformation (2,100 Pages)
Metallurgy: A1 International Standard: Properties of Magical Metals & Ores (1,800 Pages)
Biology: A1 International Standard: Anatomy of Magical Creatures (2,300 Pages)
Botany: A1 International Standard: Universal Material & Flora Identification (4,800 Pages). The thickest one, enough to kill a man with a single swing.
Liberal Arts: A1 International Standard: Witch Philosophy, Law, and Economics (1,500 Pages)
Total Page Count: 21,040.Time Remaining: 25 Days.
"You have been playing with History and Alchemy for four days," Victoria said coldly. "That is merely 20% of the curriculum. That leaves roughly 800 pages per day of new data."
"Begin," Victoria commanded, picking up her tea. "And try not to die. It creates paperwork."
For the next twenty-five days, time in Room 302 ceased to pass in hours.
It was measured in the diminishing height of the paper mountains, the deepening dark circles under Hathaway’s eyes, and the alarming rate at which Victoria’s private pastry stash disappeared.
Hathaway von Ludwig ceased to be a human being. She became a Bio-Organic Processor.
Day 7: The System Incompatibility (Spell Theory)
Subject: A1 International Standard: A Brief History of Spells (Page 402)
The room was silent, save for the aggressive scratching of Hathaway's quill and a low, rapid murmuring sound coming from the ceiling.
Hathaway looked up from the diagram of the [Standard Fireball], which was less a picture of fire than a nightmare of geometry, calculus, and fluid dynamics.
"This doesn't make sense," Hathaway muttered, rubbing her temples until they throbbed. "The book lists the Theoretical Limit of casting speed at 0.023 seconds."
She looked at Victoria.
The teacher was floating upside down in mid-air (apparently, it was good for mana circulation). The fashion magazine floated beside her ear on its own, while a small glowing wisp of light, a [Text-to-Speech Spirit], scanned 'The Top 10 Curses to Wear this Season' and recited it to her at 4x speed.
"Teacher," Hathaway interrupted.
Victoria flicked her finger, silencing the wisp, and turned her face toward Hathaway's mana signature, which was as close to "looking" as she ever got.
"What is it?"
"0.023 seconds? That's faster than a human blink. Even if I memorize the math, how can I physically channel the mana in that time?"
"You do not 'channel' it, you idiot," Victoria replied, still hanging upside down. "You are thinking like a primitive hedge wizard. You think casting is about 'Memory'."
Victoria waved her hand. "Tell me, Hathaway. You hold the copyright for [Fireball], do you not? You drank the potion years ago. You etched the model into your spine."
"Yes," Hathaway answered.
She recalled the entry she had read in the Original Hathaway's Diary.June 25th. Rain. The potion lost its engraving properties and turned into black sludge. It tasted like 'sulfur and despair'. A cup of 900-Solar Cola. She had to drink it three times before it finally stuck.
"Then why are you complaining about the math?" Victoria sneered. "Your spine knows how to cast it. It's a reflex."
"But that's the problem!" Hathaway slammed the book. "My spine acts on the reflex, but every time I cast it, like in the duel against you, it feels... Sticky."
"It feels like I'm trying to push concrete through a straw. There's a massive delay. The mana surges, but the output is shaky. I can't aim, and I can barely stop it once it starts."
Victoria moved at last, floating down, flipping upright, landing without a sound. She crossed her arms against the bookshelf and regarded her student with a pity that was mostly mockery.
"I told you this at the Entrance Duel," Victoria said coldly. "Do you remember my evaluation of your Fireball?"
Hathaway paused, the memory surfacing.Structure loose. Frequency too low.
"You said... my frequency was too low."
"Exactly." Victoria tapped her temple. "Hathaway, think. When did you engrave that specific spell model?"
"A few months ago," Hathaway replied, thinking back to the original Hathaway's diary. "Just before I turned eighteen."
"And what was your mana capacity back then?"
"About 8,200."
"And now?"
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
"42,000."
Victoria spread her hands, as if the answer was written in neon lights.
"You are a fool, Miss Ludwig. You are still using the legacy model you designed for your old mana capacity. That model is rated for a flow of roughly 8,200 M-Units."
"But now? Because of your... sudden awakening..." Victoria glanced meaningfully at Hathaway's red eyes. "You are trying to shove a Tsunami through that same Drinking Straw. It does not matter if your math is perfect. The structure itself cannot handle the throughput."
"Of course it feels sticky. Of course it shakes. The structural integrity of your spell model is screaming under the pressure of your own mana."
Victoria smirked, delivering the final diagnosis.
"Your hardware has been upgraded to a supercomputer overnight, but you are still running the architecture you designed for a fifth of your current capacity. Did it never occur to you to rebuild the framework?"
Hathaway rubbed her wrist, and her jaw came loose by degrees.
"That explains the duel," she muttered. "It didn't explode, but it felt like trying to steer a runaway siege engine with a single broken lever. It was... heavy."
"It was Casting Delay," Victoria corrected with a smirk. "You pull the trigger, the pressure builds up behind the narrow valve, and the spell fires seconds later with terrible accuracy and enough recoil to dislocate your shoulder."
She tapped the 2,540-page book on the desk.
"That is why you are reading this, Miss Ludwig. You are not learning to cast. You are learning to Patch Your Own Code. You need to understand the derivation logs so you can manually widen the valves in your nervous system. You need to upgrade the 'Garden Hose' to a 'Floodgate'."
Day 12: The Alchemical Soufflé (Alchemy)
Subject: A1 International Standard: Alchemy & Material Transformation
The room smelled of sulfur, burnt sugar, and abject failure.
Hathaway was standing over a small bronze cauldron. Her left hand was stirring clockwise at a steady 60 RPM. Her right hand was adding drops of Moonlight Sap every 3.5 seconds. Her eyes were glued to the thermometer.
And her brain was screaming in panic.
"It's turning purple," Hathaway rasped, sweat dripping down her nose. "The manual says it should be 'Pale Blue'!"
Victoria was sitting in the corner, calmly drinking tea behind a shimmering [Prismatic Shield].
"That is because your stirring speed fluctuated by 2% when you blinked," she critiqued without moving. "Alchemy is not cooking, Hathaway. It is chemistry with a temper tantrum."
"What do I do?!" The liquid in the cauldron began to hiss like a basket of angry vipers.
"You have two options," Victoria said, her voice muffled by the shield. "Option A: Stabilize it by adding Crushed Obsidian. Option B: Run."
Hathaway grabbed the jar of Obsidian. Her hand shook.
Splash.
She added too much.
The purple liquid froze. Then, it turned pitch black. The bubbling stopped.
Clang. It solidified into a brick.
"Ah," Victoria noted dryly. "You suffocated the reaction. Now it has solidified into a brick. Congratulations. You have successfully created Industrial Slag. Value: 0 Solars. Disposal Fee: 50 Solars."
Hathaway slumped against the table. "This is impossible. How do you keep four threads perfectly stable?"
"The same way you walk while breathing," Victoria dismissed the shield. "Push the basic upkeep to the back of your mind. Treat the stirring like background noise. You are trying to be the CEO of every single muscle fiber. You need to be the Chairman."
"Clean this up. And start again."
Day 15: The Taste of Metal (Metallurgy)
Subject: A1 International Standard: Properties of Magical Metals & Ores
Hathaway sat with a collection of metal ingots spread before her. She was blindfolded.
"Pick up Object 3," Victoria commanded.
Hathaway picked up a cold, heavy bar.
"It feels... smooth," Hathaway hesitated. "It's heavy. Is it Cold Iron?"
Thwack. A rolled-up newspaper hit Hathaway on the head.
"Don't guess!" Victoria scolded. "Feel the resonance! Cold Iron screams when it touches skin because it rejects mana. Does that bar scream?"
"No... it feels... numb? It's absorbing my heat."
"It is Void-Steel," Victoria corrected. "It has a thermal absorption rate of 400%. If you used that to make a cauldron, your potion would never boil, and you would freeze your hand off."
Victoria tossed another object onto the table. It clattered with a high-pitched ring. "Next. Identify it."
Hathaway picked it up. It vibrated against her palm. She turned it over once, then stuck out her tongue and licked it.
A sour, electric shock zapped her tongue.
"Tastes like a battery," Hathaway winced. "High conductivity. Low resistance. It's Thunder-Copper."
"Correct." Victoria's eyebrow rose a fraction of a degree. "See? Dignity is secondary to survival. If you buy fake copper in the market, your wand will explode. Lick the metal if you have to."
Day 18: The Language of Headaches (Linguistics)
Subject: A1 International Standard: The General Manual of Language, Spells, and Runes (3rd Edition)
"I can't pronounce this," Hathaway complained, her voice hoarse.
She was pointing at a rune on Page 1,500. 'Xy'lth-ra'.
"My tongue doesn't bend that way," she wheezed. "It feels like I'm swallowing broken glass."
"That is because you are using a human tongue to speak the language of Physics," Victoria sighed. "High Gothic is Resonant. You do not pronounce the 'Xy' with your lips. You pronounce it by vibrating the mana in your throat. Try it. Vibrate your vocal cords at a low hum, then snap the 'Ra' with your teeth."
Hathaway tried.
"Gggghh... Cough! Cough!"
A thin trail of blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.
"Pathetic," Victoria judged. "You sound like a dying radiator."
"It hurts!" Hathaway wiped the blood away.
"It's supposed to hurt. You are forcing your biology to speak a command that bends reality. Focus on the Intent. Visualise the molecular bonds breaking. Again."
Hathaway took a deep breath. She closed her eyes.
"Xy'lth-ra."
The air in the room vibrated. A small spark popped in mid-air.
"Better," Victoria nodded. "Now, recite the next 300 variations. Before dinner."
Day 21: The Salad of Death (Botany & Biology)
Subject: A1 International Standard: Universal Material & Flora Identification (4,800 Pages)
The floor was covered in dried herbs, preserved organs, and jars of suspicious fluids.
Hathaway was buried in the 4,800-page Botany Bible.
"This is ridiculous," Hathaway rubbed her eyes. "Why are there fifty pages just for 'Star-Grass'?"
"Because," Victoria said, holding up two identical-looking blue leaves, "One of these is Star-Grass, a common healing herb worth 5 Solars. The other is Blue Widow, a neurotoxin that will paralyze your lungs in thirty seconds."
She tossed the leaves onto Hathaway's desk.
"They look identical to the naked eye. The only difference is the vein pattern under UV light and the smell. Smell them."
Hathaway sniffed the first one. "Minty."
She sniffed the second one. "Minty... with a hint of... almond?"
"Correct. Almond equals Cyanide. Congratulations, you just survived a salad."
Victoria pointed to the massive book.
"This is not 'Abyss Research'. This is 'Grocery Shopping 101'. If you go to the market and cannot tell the difference, the merchants will scam you, or you will poison yourself. A Witch who cannot identify her materials is not a Witch. She is a Customer. And Customers are prey."
Hathaway stared at the two identical leaves on the desk, one life, one death, the almond still sitting faintly in her sinuses. Somewhere underneath thirty hours of sleep debt, a much older instinct woke up and started appraising.
She picked up the lethal [Blue Widow] leaf, opened her heavy notebook, laid the neurotoxin between two blank pages, and pressed it flat.
"Teacher," Hathaway murmured, tracing the leather cover of her notebook. "You said the [Star-Grass] is worth 5 Solars. But what about this one? If I extract the neurotoxin from the [Blue Widow] and sell it to a 'Customer'... how much is it worth?"
Victoria stopped mid-sip.
Hathaway kept her eyes on the page and let the rest of herself go to work: toxicity tables cross-referenced against body mass, the lethal dose, then the dose one notch under lethal, which was obviously where the money lived. Underneath all of that, a small clerical voice observed that the Academy sold blank vials at two Solars a dozen, and that nobody had ever asked to look inside her notebook.
The porcelain cup came down on its saucer without a sound.
"Nine hundred," Victoria said. "Twelve hundred if it is fresh. Anyone paying twelve hundred will decline to give you a name, and you will decline to ask for one."
Hathaway wrote the number down. Nine hundred Solars for a weed that had been trying to kill her twenty minutes ago. The tutorial had ended at some point without an announcement, and the game had quietly started letting her craft things it declined to warn her about.
"Miss Ludwig."
Hathaway looked up. Victoria had gone back to her magazine.
"Three weeks ago you were learning to survive the menu." Victoria turned a page. "Now you are learning to cook."