[Location]: District 1 · Yggdrasil Academy · Bridge of Sighs
Hathaway von Ludwig stood at the edge of the square, tilting her head back to truly see the "Apex" of this world for the first time.
There was no sky here. Or rather, the sky was completely obscured by the emerald canopy of Yggdrasil, the World Tree, which was large enough to cover half the planet.
Sunlight filtered through layers of leaves, transformed by mana into golden, granular Tyndall beams. On those branches, thick as mountain ranges, hung thousands of Mage Towers in various shapes. They were like ripe fruits, shimmering with arcane brilliance. Anti-gravity floating islands shuttled between the leaves, leaving trails of dazzling light. Connecting these islands were not bridges, but Siphon Corridors constructed from pure mana.
The air was filled with a high-concentration static sensation that made one's scalp tingle. It wasn't a natural phenomenon; it was the wave function collapse resonance caused by the unconscious mana leakage of tens of thousands of High Witches breathing, thinking, and casting spells in the same area.
"This is Yggdrasil..."
Hathaway squeezed her sweaty gloved hands. Here, every breath was like inhaling liquid gold mana.
Holy. Mother. Of. Mana.
Hathaway felt like an ant standing under a sequoia. In her past life, she had designed "Epic Hub Cities" in game engines, tweaking skyboxes and LODs to fake grandeur. But this? This wasn't a skybox.
The sheer scale of biological architecture made her knees weak. It wasn't just beautiful; it was terrifying. It was a declaration that Logic had no place here.
"Yo, is this today's brave warrior?"
A voice laced with teasing laughter came from above.
Hathaway looked up and saw a senior student hanging upside down from a branch mid-air. She wore a Disciplinary Committee badge (depicting bloody scissors) on her chest. In her hand, she held a transparent bag filled with glowing, frantically fluttering Pixies.
There was no "care" or "pity" for a freshman in those eyes, only the excited gleam of "Finally, some entertainment."
"Tsk tsk, a Ludwig?"
The Disciplinary Committee senior flipped lightly to the ground, circled Hathaway, and let her gaze linger on the deep crimson velvet military coat and pure gold lion head buttons for a moment before whistling loudly.
"Arrogant enough. I like it. But be careful, Princess."
She leaned in, her smile widening to reveal sharp canines.
"The last one who dared to transfer here looking like a walking velvet Pi?ata didn't end up in the infirmary." She chuckled, a low, malicious sound. "She triggered a 'Total Exposure' divination cascade trap right here at the entrance."
"First, a High-Tier Divination Scroll forcibly broadcasted the pattern of her pink teddy-bear panties to every crystal ball in the academy. Then, a Vicious Mockery Spirit—summoned by a Necromancy Scroll—spent the next 48 hours floating behind her, loudly analyzing exactly why her crush finds her repulsive."
The senior tapped her chin, pretending to recall a fond memory. "The psychic damage was so severe she voluntarily respawned back to the Underworld just to avoid walking into the cafeteria. I hear she's still refusing to regenerate."
Hathaway felt a chill run straight through her bone marrow. Her grip on her suitcase tightened until her knuckles turned white.
Physical injury? Fine. I can regrow an arm. But a broadcast of my underwear followed by a spirit roasting my love life? That isn't a prank. That is a Soul Execution.
The senior casually pinched a glowing pixie from her snack bag by its translucent wings. Ignoring the tiny creature's faint, bell-like protesting, she popped it into her mouth like a blueberry.
Pop.
She swallowed the glowing juice and pointed a finger towards the center of the square:
"You know the rules, right?" The senior lowered her voice, her tone full of inducement, like a salesman pitching a one-way ticket to the Void. "Pick anyone present as your 'Examiner'. Win by any means necessary, and you're in. Lose, and get out. Of course, if you manage to make us laugh, maybe we'll make an exception and admit you."
Hathaway took a deep breath, forcing her face to remain impassive despite the horror churning in her stomach.
As expected. This was the Chaotic Evil Witch Academy. No written exam, no interview, just a Public Execution—where the penalty for failure was worse than death.
She turned around to face the hundreds of students taking their break in the square.
The moment her "oppressively rich" red outfit appeared, the noisy square didn't quiet down; instead, it erupted into even more enthusiastic whispers. Countless gazes hit her like searchlights.
There was no hostility in those eyes, only curiosity and anticipation. It was the look of an audience waiting for a gladiator to enter the arena—they didn't care who died; they only cared if the blood sprayed high enough and if the pose was cool enough.
[Target Scanning...]
Hathaway's gaze began to scan rapidly through the crowd. She needed to pick an opponent. Someone she could beat, or at least someone against whom she could lose gracefully.
"That redhead?" Hathaway looked to the left. A tall Witch carrying a giant horse-chopping saber on her back was filing her nails with the blade.
—Pass. Although Witches are all-rounder casters, carrying a melee weapon meant she specialized in [Transmutation · Physical Reinforcement]. Hathaway didn't want to experience being bisected; that was pain on a physical level.
"That small girl with glasses?" Gaze shifted right. A short-haired girl who looked quiet, like a total wallflower.
—Absolute Pass! Don't be fooled by appearances. The book cover in her hand was still dripping blood; that was 'Abyssal Anatomy'. Academic types like that were usually perverts. The Abyss knows how many instant-death curse scrolls she had hidden under her robes.
Hathaway's gaze skipped over one "freak" after another, cold sweat starting to bead on her forehead.
Is there no normal person here? Is there no rich young lady stuffed in here just to gild her resume, with zero combat experience?
Just as she was about to despair, her gaze suddenly fixed on the edge of the square.
"...That is?"
There was a carved wooden bench. A silver-haired girl, whose style seemed completely out of place with her surroundings, was sitting there.
She wore an extremely exquisite deep blue haute couture gown, her collar buttoned meticulously, sitting as upright as if she were attending a queen's coronation. At this moment, she was elegantly holding a cup of black tea, as if the surrounding noise had nothing to do with her.
Hathaway narrowed her eyes, capturing key information:
[Target Analysis]
First, she is a Wellington. On the velvet clutch placed on the table, the famous family crest was embroidered: [An Inverted Cello and a Shattered Monocle]. This was the Ludwig family's arch-nemesis. And also the intel Hathaway was most familiar with—The Wellington family is strong, but their physical constitution is generally not as robust as the 'Lions' of Ludwig.
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Second, there is something wrong with her eyes. Those azure blue eyes were breathtakingly beautiful, but they had no focal point. Although her face was turned this way, her gaze was subtly focused on the air above Hathaway's head.
Hathaway had seen that look in her past life—it was the unique bewilderment of someone with high myopia not wearing glasses. But in the Witch World, the inability to fix vision with magic usually meant it was a side effect of High-Tier Mystic Eyes or the price of some powerful Curse.
Vision Impairment = Reduced Hit Rate.
Noble Background = Likely Lack of Real Combat Experience.
And... she looks quiet. Hathaway's lips curled into a confident arc. The advantage is mine!
She adjusted the lace on her cuffs and walked out with her head held high. The golden lion head buttons sparkled in the sunlight. Five meters from the bench, Hathaway stopped.
She raised her white-gloved hand and pointed straight at the silver-haired girl drinking tea.
"I challenge her." Hathaway's voice was crisp and loud, carrying the unique arrogance of a Ludwig.
...
......
"Excellent!"
The Disciplinary Committee senior floating in mid-air snapped her fingers excitedly, the sound as crisp as a starting pistol.
"Challenge Accepted! Positions!"
Before her voice faded, the senior threw her arms wide open.
BOOM—!!
A translucent pale gold light screen erupted from her center, expanding explosively in all directions. That wasn't a protective shield; that was an Expulsion Field.
The hundreds of students who were just spectating were pushed fifty meters away by this gentle but irresistible force, like guests politely escorted off a dance floor.
[Reality Marble · Execution Court · Deployed]
In just two seconds. A massive, empty circular arena with a diameter of one hundred meters was forcefully cleared out. Inside the barrier, only three people remained:
Hathaway on the left.
Victoria sitting on the bench on the right.
And the Referee Senior floating ten meters directly above the center, looking down at the two.
Vrrrm.
The barrier closed. Outside sounds were instantly cut off. The originally noisy square became silent enough to hear a pin drop inside the barrier, save for the subtle hum of mana flow.
Hathaway subconsciously looked outside the barrier.
(Outside the Light Screen · Muted State)
The students who were pushed away simply adjusted their hair elegantly, then took out their magi-tech terminals in unison, moving with such uniformity it looked like a religious ritual—that was the gesture for opening a Betting App.
The way they looked at Hathaway wasn't the look one gave a madman, but an extremely subtle gaze mixed with amusement and pity. Like looking at a circus monkey voluntarily sticking its head into a lion's mouth to please the audience.
Someone smiled and waved a handkerchief at her, mouthing "Rest in Peace." Someone crossed their arms, betting with a companion with great interest, holding up three fingers (probably betting she wouldn't last three seconds). This "Polite Cruelty" was far more chilling than frantic mockery.
Hathaway's confident smile froze on her face.
Something is wrong. This reaction is way too wrong.
If I picked a soft target, they should look bored, like "Tch, lame." If I picked a powerhouse, they should look shocked, like "Whoa, brave." But what is this anticipation of "We're gonna see a show, and a bloody one at that"?
"Gulp."
Hathaway swallowed hard, a strong premonition of doom crawling up her spine.
Did I... misjudge? No, stay calm. Wellington intel is transparent. No matter how strong she is, high myopia is a hard flaw. As long as I keep moving, she can't hit me!
Just as she was frantically mentally prepping herself.
In the center of that dead silence.
The silver-haired girl slowly put down the bone china teacup in her hand.
Clink.
A soft sound.
Victoria Wellington turned her head slightly. In that moment, the world in her eyes was completely different from ordinary people.
[Victoria's Perspective: Vision Simulator - Myopia 1200° + True Sight]
The world was an oil painting splashed with water. No outlines. No lines. Only large patches of bleeding colors. The crowd in the distance was gray static noise. The referee overhead was a green blob of light.
But just now, a mass of extremely magnificent deep crimson intruded into this blurred world.
It wasn't the chaotic, graffiti-like mana fluctuations of ordinary freshmen. It was a mass of deep, heavy, extremely stable red fluid. It flowed quietly in her vision, constructing a mesmerizing geometric beauty.
For someone possessing [Wellington Mystic Eyes], the flesh was just a shell; mana was the true appearance of the soul. In Victoria's eyes, this mass of red mana was simply a finely crafted piece of art.
Oh? Victoria's heart stirred, a trace of surprise flashing in her unfocused eyes. This tone... this texture, mellow as vintage red wine... She even felt a rare sense of comfort.
Usually, when meeting Ludwigs, Victoria suffered "visual rape"—those Lions' eyes were like humanoid tactical flashlights, and their mana was as blinding as exploding stars. Just one look made her feel like her eyeballs were going blind. But this red was different. It wasn't blinding; it was gentle.
Looks like a fellow countryman from Holheim? Victoria made what she thought was a reasonable deduction: Only District 2's education system, which emphasizes control and detailed construction, can cultivate such an introverted and organized mana circuit. This must be a scion of some low-key wealthy family.
"The honor is mine."
Victoria stood up elegantly, lifted her skirt, and performed an impeccable curtsy towards that blurry red blob of light. She narrowed her eyes, trying to see the other person's face clearly, but in her vision, the opponent remained a beautiful red mosaic.
"Before we begin, may I ask for the young lady's name?" Victoria's voice was gentle and kind, treating this completely as an artistic exchange. "I always hold respect for someone with such a beautiful Mana Color."
Hathaway paused.
Taste? Beautiful?
The ominous premonition from earlier was instantly diluted by this sentence.
See! I told you she's civilized! Courtesy before combat, that's what you call nobility! Those people outside are just jealous I picked an easy mark!
Hathaway regained her confidence. She straightened her back, mustering the imposing manner of the Ludwig family, and even deliberately raised her voice to be louder and prouder, fearing the other party couldn't hear:
"I am Hathaway! Hathaway von Ludwig!"
...
......
The smile on Victoria's face solidified.
The red light blob she had considered a "Deep Sea Ruby" just seconds ago... The moment she heard that cursed surname, the filter literally shattered in her mind.
In her 1200-degree myopic vision, the elegant crimson mosaic seemed to instantly spoil. It was no longer vintage wine; it was a bubbling hazard sign. It wasn't gentleness; it was the insidious camouflage of a glowing Neanderthal.
A Ludwig?
This thing that aligned perfectly with my aesthetics... is actually one of those walking flashbangs?!
A sense of absurdity and betrayal, like thinking you bought a limited edition masterpiece only to find it's a cheap bootleg, caused Victoria's mentality to collapse instantly.
"...Who?" Victoria asked, her voice trembling slightly, as if suspecting her hearing was distorted by the barrier.
"Ludwig!" Hathaway repeated proudly, puffing out her chest and pointing to the pure gold lion head. "The one and only!"
Silence.
Dead silence inside the barrier.
Hathaway watched, utterly baffled, as the elegant silver-haired girl underwent a terrifying transformation.
Just a second ago, the Wellington girl looked like a polite noble welcoming a guest. But now? Victoria stood perfectly still, her entire aura freezing over as if she had just stepped in something unspeakable.
Hathaway saw those misty, gentle blue eyes slowly narrow into dangerous, icy slits. Deep in her pupils, countless blue geometric rings began to rotate madly—that was the sign of [Wellington Mystic Eyes] attempting to forcefully parse reality.
She watched as Victoria took a handkerchief from her pocket and frantically wiped the fingers that had merely touched the air, looking at Hathaway as if she were a walking biohazard.
What is her problem? Hathaway thought, her proud smile freezing. I just said my name!
"How unlucky."
Victoria's voice had changed. The gentle tone was gone. Even through the blurry vision, Hathaway could feel a chill rush straight to her skull.
"I retract my previous statement." The young lady from Holheim let out a cold sneer towards Hathaway (though her gaze was off by half a meter). "Mistaking a barbarian like you, who only knows how to glow and explode, for someone with 'taste' is the biggest visual accident of my life."
She tapped her toe lightly on the ground.
Zzzzt.
A blue electric arc drew a circle with a diameter of two meters on the ground.
Victoria clasped her hands behind her back, chin slightly raised, with a look reserved for "sewer rats":
"Since you delivered yourself to me... Come on, Miss 'No-Battery' Lightbulb. If you can make me step out of this circle, I lose."
Hathaway looked at the circle, then at Victoria's utterly arrogant demeanor, and her temper flared up too.
Who are you looking down on? I'm a proper Witch with 40k M-Units of mana!
"You asked for it, Miss Blind Bat." Hathaway gritted her teeth and raised her hand, readying a spell.
Overhead, the Referee Senior had flown to the highest point of the barrier. In her hand, she held a massive, violently burning crimson fireball. That wasn't a normal Illumination spell; it was a [Referee's Starting Pistol] compressed with ten times gravity.
The senior looked down at the two below, a fanatical smile on her face that said she loved watching chaos. She clearly heard Victoria's declaration.
"Oh? A 'Circle Challenge'? How confident." The Referee licked her lips, her voice amplified by mana to cover the entire square. "Fine! Since Miss Wellington loves to show off, I'll accept her Self-Imposed Handicap. Rule Update: If Wellington steps out, she forfeits immediately!"
Her gaze then shifted to Hathaway, turning sharp and cruel:
"But for you, Newbie... Unless you make her move, the match only ends when one of you stops breathing. Ready—"
Hathaway stared dead at the fireball.
In her right hand, the [Silver Star] staff hummed with a frantic energy, its sapphire core pulsing rapidly, mirroring her own panic. She remembered Lin's teaching: "Rookies watch the fireball hit the ground; veterans watch the muscle twitch before the referee lets go."
But she couldn't care about that now. She only knew one thing: The moment that fireball hits the ground, she is going to channel every ounce of mana through this expensive stick and smash every offensive spell she ever learned right into this arrogant "Blind Bat's" face!
Victoria didn't even look up. She just stood in that circle, closed her useless eyes, and tilted her head to listen to the flow of the wind.
Whoosh.
The referee's hand released.
The fireball didn't drift down as Hathaway expected. Instead, under the Gravity Spell, it smashed toward the ground like a cannonball. That was a "Fastball"! This is the tempo of Yggdrasil!
BOOM—!!
The fireball hit the ground and exploded. Heat waves rolled.
Entrance Duel, Start.