[Time]: Year 2004 of the Witch Calendar · 10:00 AM
[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.
There was no sky here. The emerald canopy of Yggdrasil, the World Tree, obscured everything, stretching large enough to cover half the planet.
Sunlight filtered through layers of leaves, transformed by mana into granular Tyndall beams. On those branches, thick as mountain ranges, hung thousands of Mage Towers in various shapes, 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 carried a high-concentration static sensation that made one's scalp tingle.
"This is Yggdrasil..."
Hathaway squeezed her gloved hands. Every breath felt like inhaling liquid gold.
Holy. Mother. Of. Mana.
In her past life, she had designed "Epic Hub Cities" in game engines, tweaking skyboxes and LODs to fake grandeur. But this wasn't a skybox. The sheer scale of the biological architecture made her knees weak. It was a declaration that Earth's logic had no place here.
"Yo, is this today's brave warrior?"
A voice laced with teasing laughter drifted from above.
Hathaway looked up. A senior student hung upside down from a branch mid-air, wearing 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 pity for a freshman in those eyes. Only the gleam of Finally, some entertainment.
"Tsk tsk, a Ludwig?"
The Disciplinary Committee senior flipped lightly to the ground. She circled Hathaway, letting her gaze linger on the deep crimson velvet military coat and pure gold lion head buttons, then whistled.
"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 Piñata 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 broadcasted the pattern of her pink teddy-bear panties to every crystal ball in the academy. Then, a Vicious Mockery Spirit 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 at the weaponized malice, but her developer brain snagged on a crucial logical inconsistency.
Wait. She voluntarily respawned to avoid the cafeteria. Which means... she wasn't expelled. She was still enrolled.
The senior pinched a glowing pixie from her snack bag by its translucent wings. Ignoring the tiny creature's faint protesting, she popped it into her mouth like a blueberry.
Pop.
She swallowed the glowing juice and pointed towards the center of the square.
"You know the rules, right?" The senior lowered her voice, 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."
Lie, Hathaway concluded, her panic settling into cold, analytical clarity.
If every freshman genuinely had to defeat a veteran student to enroll, the academy's acceptance rate would be zero. This wasn't a pass/fail exam. It was a predator initiation ritual.
The seniors didn't care if she won; they only cared if she had the teeth to bite back when cornered. The true penalty for failure wasn't expulsion. It was Social Death.
She turned to face the hundreds of students taking their break in the square.
The moment her oppressively rich red outfit appeared, the square didn't quiet down; it erupted into enthusiastic whispers. Countless gazes hit her like searchlights.
There was no hostility in those eyes. 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.
[Target Scanning...]
Hathaway's gaze scanned rapidly through the crowd. She needed an opponent.
That redhead? A tall Witch carrying a giant horse-chopping saber on her back was filing her nails with the blade.
Pass. Witches are all-rounder casters, but carrying a melee weapon meant she specialized in [Transmutation · Physical Reinforcement]. Hathaway didn't want to experience being bisected.
That girl with glasses? A short-haired girl looking quiet, like a total wallflower.
Hard Pass. 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 beading 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 fixed on the edge of the square.
"...That is?"
A silver-haired girl sat on a carved wooden bench, her style entirely out of place with her surroundings.
She wore an exquisite deep blue haute couture gown, collar buttoned meticulously, sitting as upright as if she were attending a queen's coronation. She elegantly held a cup of black tea, treating the surrounding noise as background static.
Hathaway narrowed her eyes.
[Target Analysis]
First, she is a Wellington. The famous family crest was embroidered on the velvet clutch placed on the table: [An Inverted Cello and a Shattered Monocle].
In a square filled with hundreds of unreadable black boxes, this was the only labeled one. But more importantly, choosing her solved the political meta-game perfectly.
If Hathaway picked a weak-looking student and lost, she was a coward. If she picked a powerhouse and lost, she was an idiot. But a Ludwig challenging a Wellington? That wasn't a duel; that was Manifest Destiny.
It was politically bulletproof. By leaning into the ancient blood feud, even if she got beaten to a pulp, she would lose with impeccable aristocratic justification. No one could accuse a Lion of cowardice for charging their arch-nemesis.
Second, there is something wrong with her eyes. Those azure blue eyes were breathtakingly beautiful, but they had no focal point. Her face was turned this way, but her gaze was subtly focused on the air above Hathaway's head.
Hathaway had seen that look in her past life—high myopia without glasses. 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.
A politically flawless target with a known mechanical flaw. Hathaway's lips curled. The stage is set.
She adjusted the lace on her cuffs. If she was going to use the family name as a political shield, she had to play the part. She stepped forward, her golden lion head buttons sparking in the sunlight, and stopped five meters from the bench.
She pointed straight at the silver-haired girl.
"I challenge her." Hathaway projected her voice, ensuring the entire square registered the activation of the blood feud.
...
......
"Excellent!"
The Disciplinary Committee senior snapped her fingers, 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. That wasn't a protective shield; that was an Expulsion Field.
The hundreds of spectating students were pushed fifty meters away by a gentle but irresistible force, like guests politely escorted off a dance floor.
[Reality Marble · Execution Court · Deployed]
In 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, Victoria, and the Referee Senior floating overhead.
Vrrrm.
The barrier closed. Outside sounds were cut off instantly. The originally noisy square became silent, save for the hum of mana flow.
Hathaway glanced outside the barrier.
[Outside the Light Screen · Muted State]
The students who were pushed away adjusted their hair elegantly, then took out their magi-tech terminals in unison—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.
Someone smiled and waved a handkerchief at her, mouthing "Rest in Peace." Someone crossed their arms, betting with a companion with great interest.
Hathaway caught the subtle shift in the atmosphere.
If she had picked a soft target, they would look bored. If she had picked a random powerhouse, they would look dismissive. But this specific brand of enthusiastic, pitying cruelty meant only one thing.
Ah, Hathaway thought, her grip tightening on her staff. They aren't just looking at a freshman execution anymore. I just triggered a hidden rival event.
She kept her chin high. Showing fear now would guarantee Social Death. She maintained her posture, fully committing to the aristocratic cutscene.
In the center of that dead silence, the silver-haired girl slowly put down her bone china teacup.
Clink.
Victoria Wellington turned her head slightly. In that moment, the world in her eyes was fundamentally 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 strictly a finely crafted piece of art.
Oh? Victoria's heart stirred. 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 was gentle.
Looks like a fellow countryman from Holheim? Victoria made a reasonable deduction. Only District 2's education system 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.
"Before we begin, may I ask for the young lady's name?" Victoria's voice was gentle, treating this strictly as an artistic exchange. "I always hold respect for someone with such a beautiful Mana Color."
Hathaway paused.
Taste? Beautiful?
See! Courtesy before combat, that's what you call nobility!
Sensing that the prompt required a dialogue input to proceed, Hathaway delivered the line designed to trigger the political immunity buff.
"I am Hathaway," she announced clearly. "Hathaway von Ludwig!"
...
......
Victoria's smile stiffened.
The red light blob she had considered a "Deep Sea Ruby" just seconds ago... The moment she heard that cursed surname, the filter shattered in her mind.
In her 1200-degree myopic vision, the elegant crimson mosaic instantly spoiled. 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.
"...Who?" Victoria asked, her voice trembling slightly.
"Ludwig!" Hathaway repeated, pointing to her golden lion head buttons just in case the blind girl needed an auditory cue. "The one and only!"
Silence.
Dead silence inside the barrier.
Hathaway watched as the elegant silver-haired girl underwent a terrifying transformation.
Just a second ago, the Wellington girl looked like a polite noble. Now, Victoria stood still, her entire aura freezing over as if she had just stepped in something unspeakable.
Hathaway saw those misty blue eyes slowly narrow into icy slits. Deep in her pupils, countless blue geometric rings began to rotate madly—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.
Okay, the faction penalty is real, Hathaway noted, watching the dramatic display. I expected hostile aggro, but treating my name like a literal pathogen? This blood feud lore is intense.
"How unlucky."
Victoria's voice had changed. The gentle tone was gone.
"I retract my previous statement." The young lady from Holheim let out a cold sneer. "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 stared at the glowing blue ring.
Then she looked at Victoria.
Wait, Hathaway's gamer brain stuttered, rapidly processing the information. A self-imposed constraint? She is actively restricting her own movement coordinates to a two-meter radius?
Any offense at being called a barbarian evaporated instantly, replaced by the cold, thrilling calculation of a min-maxer finding a glitch.
A stationary boss? In a constrained hitbox? You just gave up your entire evasion stat?
"Understood," Hathaway said, keeping her tone perfectly level to hide her excitement. Her grip on the [Silver Star] staff tightened. I have 42,000 M-Units of raw artillery and you just glued your feet to the floor. Thank you for your arrogance.
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, a fanatical smile on her face. She clearly heard Victoria's declaration.
"Oh? A 'Circle Challenge'? How confident." The Referee licked her lips, her voice amplified by mana. "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 shifted to Hathaway, turning 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.
She remembered Lin's teaching: Rookies watch the fireball hit the ground; veterans watch the muscle twitch before the referee lets go.
She tracked the referee's wrist.
I don't need complex spell structures, Hathaway calculated coldly. Defined hitbox. Zero mobility. I am just going to dump AoE on those exact coordinates until the server crashes.
Victoria didn't even look up. She 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. Under the Gravity Spell, it smashed toward the ground like a cannonball. That was a "Fastball"!
BOOM—!!
The fireball hit the ground and exploded. Heat waves rolled.
Entrance Duel, Start.