Chapter 37: Rudeness and Misunderstandings

The Fusion Conundrum

She chose the same method as condensing the colorless crystal shards. Simply put, it was about merging the two energies together. The theory was easy to say, but in practice, it lacked direction. Should she draw both energies together simultaneously? Or first reactivate the energy of the colorless shards and channel it into the dragonvein stone? Or perhaps shatter the dragonvein stone to let its energy release and contact the colorless shards?

She had plenty, so there was room for trial and error. But as expected, once the dragonvein stone’s structure was broken, the energy within erupted instantly, dissipating into the air. Like the four elements, it became intangible and invisible. Trying to guide it with magic yielded no response.

The existence of mythical creatures was inherently elusive. Perhaps their race possessed a higher form of “magic.” Incorporating this into an advancement akin to a “class change” was likely the developers’ way of setting up the next plot point. The problem was, when Wenger faced this in reality, she predictably got stuck. Staying indoors meant she had little to do with dragons.

When life felt awful, every day was filled with annoyances, each moment steeped in frustration. Even drinking water could make you choke. Some people were genuinely unlucky, and slowing down didn’t always help. Wenger wasn’t that unlucky… probably.

She tried several more times, all ending in failure. She was tempted to give up. The girl opened the door to let some air in. The pocket watch from Bam wasn’t terribly accurate. Glancing at the sun, she estimated it was close enough. It was still a while until noon, and she wondered if she should nap. Though unnecessary, Wenger hung up her robe and sat on the bed.

Leaning against the headboard, she flipped through the enchanter’s manual. After a few pages, it seemed to overlap with forging. She could try it sometime later. Sunlight grazed the cloudy glass, casting a misty glow on the bed. Her small feet in white socks shimmered faintly in the light.

As if recalling something, Wenger set the book aside, knelt up, and reached to the foot of the bed to grab the lampfruit. She placed the flattened thing in the light, using it to prop her feet. It needed solar charging for nighttime use, after all. This world had its share of interesting things. Lampfruits, unstable and limited in origin, weren’t as common as oil lamps, but she found them fun and kept a few.

Pages turned quietly, the room filled only with the soft rustle of paper. The light slowly shifted, and Wenger, engrossed in the book, lost track of time. Until clumsy footsteps sounded outside, halting and sluggish, as if half-asleep. Then came a big stretch and a yawn.

Viyi rubbed her eyes, kneading Peach, who was practically a noodle, as she leaned on the railing. Peach looked half-dead.jpg Wenger opened the door, seeing Viyi still groggy. “Not slept enough?” “Teacher… morning~” Viyi yawned, covering her mouth, then blinked after a moment. “Teacher, you’re back!?” “Yeah, got back last night. You were up late too.” Wenger ruffled her hair.

“Ha~~” Viyi felt she could’ve slept until afternoon, but a fragment in her mind made her pause. “Teacher, did you come back alone last night?” “Oh,” Wenger sat nearby, pouring herself tea. “Mr. Vick came back with me.” “Eh—Uncle… uh…” Peach’s tiny hand clamped over the girl’s mouth.

“No manners.” Wenger said lightly, though it wasn’t a big deal. In someone’s mind, her teacher bringing a man home late at night didn’t seem normal, just like the first time she’d brought someone back. Hadn’t Village Chief Rhine said her teacher used to pick up kids? Now she was picking up adults? How terrifying…

If Wenger knew, she’d want to crack open Viyi’s head to see what was inside. “You didn’t even say you were leaving, and Sister Rella’s gone who-knows-where.” To her, adults seemed like that—disappearing without warning. Wenger fell silent, forgetting how bright the sun was outside.

She grabbed Viyi’s cheeks, as if to smelt them. Just kidding—she only looked into her eyes seriously and asked, “Do you want to go study magic?” “Teacher, what are you saying…?” Viyi shielded her face, confused by the sudden question. Was she annoying, so her teacher wanted to send her away? Were her previous students like this too? But Claude seemed fine, more obedient than her…

“What about the Church?” “Teacher, I don’t want to leave—” Wenger let go, thinking her student was hopeless, turning into a slacker like her. Should she start over with a new one? “Do what makes you happy,” Wenger set the thought aside. “Still sleepy? Go back to bed. I’ve got things to do.”

Viyi perked up instead. “Anything I can help with?” “Go study your notes properly. Don’t blow up my cauldron when you try.” “No way, Teacher. I got the workshop to make me one.” Wenger: “…Go on, then.”

The church might rely on her in the future. If not, the orphanage could be left to Viyi. As for herself? She was lazy. Besides, as a “trump card,” she couldn’t be used so casually.

A Hidden Discovery

After sending the girl off, Wenger returned to her room, thought for a moment, and took out the spatial crystal to probe it again with her mental energy. She pulled out several sacks, then noticed something else at the bottom. Reaching in, a piece of vellum appeared in her hand. Her first thought was an invoice for reimbursement, but opening it, she realized it was a spell scroll. A record of various magical texts.

She hadn’t asked for this—only the dragonvein stone. Had he left it behind, or was it a bonus? Wenger debated whether to find Vick now but was intrigued. It wasn’t hers to touch, but she’d already opened it… After a while, she put it away.

Her interest shifted to the spatial crystal—maybe there was more inside. Sure enough, she found several magic tomes. She didn’t know what spells they held, but they looked expensive. Even if they were for her, she couldn’t accept them! After nearly emptying the crystal, she found something else at the bottom. She reached out.

A white flower bloomed in her palm, dreamlike. At a glance, it resembled the chamomile she’d seen that morning, but closer inspection showed it was entirely different. Wenger didn’t recognize it, but fragments of her learned memories held a trace. A name rarely mentioned. Her subconscious didn’t seem fond of it. Simple yet beautiful, snow-white oval petals enveloped a pale yellow center. The witch sank into memory, the anemone quietly adorning her pale hand, as if the world bloomed in indifference.