[Location]: District 1 · Ludwig Branch Community · Townhouse No. 107
The afternoon sun had mellowed into a warm, golden haze, filtering through the enchanted windows of the Ludwig estate.
The living room was peaceful. The chaotic energy of the "Egg Explosion" had settled into a cozy, domestic hum.
Margaret sat in her armchair, her knitting needles clicking rhythmically as she wove a tiny hat from spider-silk.
She glanced at the plush velvet sofa, where a lump of crimson and silver had remained motionless for the better part of the afternoon.
"Hattie," Margaret asked softly, breaking the silence. "You haven't moved an inch in four hours. Your arm must be numb. Are you ever going to put her down?"
Hathaway didn't open her eyes. She was buried deep in the cushions, her chin resting on the top of a small, silver-fuzzed head.
"No," Hathaway whispered solemnly. "I am bonding."
In her arms lay Rory.
The newly hatched Siren Witch had finally fallen asleep after an intense session of gnawing on a Grade-4 Mana Crystal.
Hathaway held her carefully. It was a sensation she had never experienced before. Hathaway was a normal Human Witch—warm-blooded, her body radiating a steady heat.
Rory, however, was a Siren. Her skin was cool to the touch, like smooth, polished jade, or the refreshing side of a pillow on a hot summer night. She didn't emit freezing air like a block of ice; she just maintained a constant, supernatural coolness that felt incredibly soothing.
To the little Siren, Hathaway was a giant, comfortable, walking heater.
Asleep, Rory instinctively snuggled deeper into Hathaway’s neck, her chubby, cool arms wrapping around her sister, sticking to her like a koala to a eucalyptus tree.
"She is not just a baby, Mother," Hathaway murmured, rubbing her cheek against the cool silver fuzz. "She is a portable, intelligent air conditioner. This is the peak of functional fashion. I'm never letting go."
Margaret giggled. "Well, at least someone is comfortable."
Just then, the kitchen door swung open.
Anna walked in, wiping her hands on a towel. She checked the grandfather clock on the wall.
05:05 PM.
She looked at the cozy, lazy tableau on the sofa and raised an eyebrow.
"Hattie," Anna said, her tone shifting from motherly to playful. "Why are you still here?"
Hathaway blinked, finally opening one eye. "Excuse me? I live here."
"You are 18," Anna pointed a manicured finger at her daughter. "You just scored Top 0.1% in the A1 Exam. You are young, you are rich (relatively), and you are currently wearing a very expensive coat inside the house."
"Do you really plan to spend your victory night watching two old women knit and a baby sleep?"
"It's safe," Hathaway defended weakly, nuzzling Rory to absorb more coolness. "And it's comfortable."
"It's boring!" Anna declared, snatching the floating book from the air. "You are a Ludwig! We celebrate victories with noise, not naps!"
She leaned over the sofa, her eyes narrowing playfully:
"Besides... you have someone waiting for you, don't you? That Wellington girl? You mentioned she promised to open a bottle of 1882 Star-Dust if you passed."
Anna whistled low.
"Honey, nobody opens an 1882 vintage just to drink it alone. That is a social invitation. A very expensive one."
Margaret put down her knitting, her expression twisting as if she had just swallowed a lemon. She looked at Anna, then at Hathaway.
"Fine," Margaret huffed, stabbing her knitting needles into the ball of wool with unnecessary force. "Anna is right. You need to get out."
Her eyes flashing with a grudging concession. "At least you are going to a Bar. A public place with actual Lighting."
"It’s better than rotting in that... Crypt she calls a dorm room," Margaret muttered, picking up a baby sock. "Go. Drink her expensive wine. But if she tries to dim the lights, you come straight home."
Hathaway looked at the sleeping baby, then at her mag-phone on the coffee table.
They are right.
I worked like a dog for 30 days. I memorized 2000 years of history. I calculated spell trajectories until my brain smoked. I deserve a drink. A real drink.
She gently shifted Rory, careful not to disturb the cool little creature. She picked up her phone and checked the message she had received an hour ago.
[From: Victoria]
[Time: 04:00 PM]
[Message 1:] Meet me at 06:00 PM. Commercial Ring. The Hollow Mountain.
[Message 2:] Establishment: "The Witch's House". I have a reserved booth.
[Message 3:] Bring your deck. Specifically, bring "Her".
Hathaway stared at the last message.
"Her".
She touched her inner chest pocket. Through the fabric, she could feel the hard, cool edge of the card she always carried with her.
[The Witch of Eternal Slumber · Ovelia] (Starlight Foil).
Hathaway grinned. "She wants a rematch against destiny."
"Okay," Hathaway stood up. She gently pried Rory's cool fingers off her coat—the baby grunted in protest at the loss of the heater—and handed her to Margaret.
"I'm going out."
"That's my girl!" Anna cheered. "Go! Spend money! Flirt! Play cards! Don't come back until you've had fun!"
Hathaway walked to her room and opened the magical safe. She needed the rest of the army. She pulled out a heavy, black obsidian box.
Inside lay the rest of the [High Council] deck.
A deck famous for being composed entirely of Legendary Cards. A deck worth a small country, inherited from the original Hathaway—a hardcore whale who cared more about shiny textures than mana curves.
"I'm heading to The Witch's House," Hathaway announced, pocketing the heavy box.
"Have fun!" Margaret called out, rocking the baby.
"Don't lose your shirt at the card table!" Anna yelled after her.
[Time]: 05:55 PM
[Location]: District 1 · The Commercial Ring · The Hollow Mountain
Hathaway mounted the [Scarlet-Valkyrie] and took off into the twilight.
As she approached the commercial hub of the First District, the landmark dominated the sky.
The Hollow Mountain.
From a distance, it looked like a jagged, uncarved granite peak, silently suspended in the azure sky. It was massive, raw, and imposing—a piece of wild, prehistoric nature floating in the middle of a civilized magical metropolis.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
A colossal cave opening served as the entrance, guarded by a shimmering, translucent Wind Barrier that rippled like water.
Hathaway accelerated, piercing through the barrier.
The moment she crossed the threshold, the world inverted.
The interior was a vertical, cylindrical metropolis.
The entire mountain had been hollowed out, forming a Cylindrical Void that extended for kilometers upwards and downwards. Dozens of ring-shaped platforms were stacked layer upon layer on the inner walls of the hollow mountain, each ring a bustling commercial district.
It was a kaleidoscope of magic. Every platform glowed with neon blue runes, burning red lanterns, or soft, alchemical green streetlights. These lights illuminated the massive internal space, banishing the shadows of the cave.
The originally empty central airspace had become a Chaotic Broom Highway.
Thousands of Witches were diving, climbing, and circling in the void. The air was filled with the whistling of brooms, the chime of magical bells, and the laughter of riders.
Hathaway merged into the traffic, taking a deep breath. She didn't need a map. The smell told her everything.
The air circulating in the Hollow Mountain was a mixture of scents from all over the Starry Sea, a breath of the civilization itself:
A gust of wind hit her face, carrying the heavy, metallic steam and oil of Favania.
A second later, it was replaced by the intoxicating, sweet floral fragrance of Casendiara.
And underneath it all, the faint, salty tang of Marigold Bay's ocean breeze.
She descended towards the Market Ring, following the scent of expensive alcohol. She navigated through the forest of neon signs until she spotted it.
"The Witch's House."
It was distinct not because it was flashy, but because it was quiet.
A row of deep brown "Wine Bamboo" grew at the entrance, emitting the scent of malt and hops. As the wind blew, Hathaway could hear the faint slosh-slosh of liquid moving inside the hollow segments of the bamboo.
A small, elegant wooden bridge crossed a miniature stream, leading to the entrance. It looked like a secluded pavilion in a bamboo forest, a touch of Zen amidst the neon cyberpunk chaos.
Hathaway landed softly on the bridge, dismounting her broom. She checked the time.
Two minutes early. Perfect.
[Location]: "The Witch's House" (Interior)
Hathaway pushed open the wooden door.
A wave of rich wine aroma mixed with expensive perfume washed over her.
It wasn't a rowdy tavern. It wasn't a dark nightclub.
It was a Library.
The interior was a massive cylindrical space, bathed in warm, amber light.
1/4 of the room was a polished mahogany bar, stocked with bottles that glowed like gems.
2/4 were curved, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and quiet reading tables, lit by floating warm-light orbs.
1/4 was a raised stage.
Hathaway’s eyes were drawn to the stage.
Two tall, stunningly beautiful Witches were performing. One sat at a grand piano, the other stood with a violin.
They were playing a complex, rapid-fire sonata. The music was technically flawless, every note precise.
Hathaway squinted at them. She saw the faint, transparent shimmer around their hands.
[Mage Hand].
But not just simple telekinesis. This was Scripted Casting.
These Witches had likely drunk a "Skill Potion" containing a pre-programmed musical macro. The model contained the "fingering," "pressure," and "timing" data for the song.
It's automated, Hathaway thought, holding back a twitch of her eye. There is absolutely no soul in that performance. It's just a magical MIDI player.
But then, the Violinist Witch tossed her hair back and winked at the audience while her [Mage Hand] executed a perfect vibrato.
The patrons—mostly high-class Witches sipping cocktails—stopped their whispered conversations to applaud enthusiastically.
Hathaway sighed and started clapping too.
Fine. Who cares about the soul of music when you have pretty big sisters putting on a show?
"You're staring at the pianist's legs, Ludwig."
A cool voice drifted from a secluded booth near the bookshelves.
Hathaway turned.
Victoria sat there, blending perfectly into the library aesthetic. She wore a Midnight Blue evening gown that looked like it was woven from the night sky, reading a book titled The Philosophy of Silence.
"I was analyzing the spell structure," Hathaway corrected, walking over. "It's a very efficient use of [Mage Hand]. Soulless, but efficient."
"It keeps the ambience," Victoria closed her book. "Sit."
Hathaway sat down. The booth was private, shielded by a sound-dampening ward.
"I assume you didn't bring your own wine?" Hathaway asked, looking at the empty table.
"I am a VIP member," Victoria tapped the table. "I have a cellar here."
Victoria raised her hand slightly, signaling into the air.
Almost instantly, space distorted gently next to their table. A woman stepped out of the ripple.
Hathaway blinked.
This wasn't a typical waitress.
She wore a sharp, tailored black vest over a white silk shirt, gold cufflinks catching the light. Her hair was styled in a loose, elegant bun. She held a silver tray, but her posture was relaxed, confident, even slightly lazy.
But what hit Hathaway was the Presence.
The mana rolling off this woman felt like a suppressed volcano. It was heavy, dense, and refined.
High Witch, Hathaway realized with a jolt. At least.
A Witch of this caliber could command a legion on the battlefield. Yet here she was, holding a tray.
"Victoria," the High Witch smiled, her voice warm and teasing, like a big sister greeting a favorite sibling. "Back so soon? Did you miss me, or did you miss the wine?"
"Both, Elise," Victoria replied, a rare, relaxed smile appearing on her face. "But mostly the wine. The 1882 Reserve, please."
"Straight to the heavy stuff? Celebrating?" Elise leaned against the booth, ignoring the usual servant protocols. She glanced at Hathaway with amused, golden eyes. "And who is this silver-haired cutie? A new girlfriend? Or the student you've been complaining about for a month?"
"This is Hathaway von Ludwig," Victoria introduced. "My student. And today, the Top Scorer of the A1."
"Ooh. A Genius," Elise's eyes lit up. She gave Hathaway a knowing smile. "Nice coat, Miss. Fits the Ludwig vibe perfectly. Flashy."
Hathaway felt herself blush under the gaze of this powerful woman. "Thank you."
"For the starter," Victoria interrupted the flirting. "Two glasses of 'Deep Sea Ice Moon Sugar'."
"Excellent choice to wake up the nerves," Elise nodded. "I'll have the bartender prioritize it. Anything for our favorite Wellington."
She didn't walk away. She simply dissolved into mist and vanished, reappearing behind the bar across the room in a blink.
Hathaway stared at the empty space.
"Victoria," Hathaway whispered. "She... she's a High Witch. Why is she serving drinks?"
"Because this is 'The Witch's House'," Victoria explained calmly, leaning back. "Do you know who owns this establishment?"
Hathaway shook her head.
"Heidi Lucent. The 10th Seat."
Victoria said the name with reverence.
"This place isn't just a bar. It is a Stage. It is a Market. And it is a School."
Victoria tapped a hidden menu on the table, projecting a list of "Staff Exchangeable Rewards."
[Point Exchange System]
- 300 Points: Rare Alchemical Herbs (District 4 Imports).
- 10,000 Points: Letter of Recommendation from the Lucent Family.
- 514,500 Points: [Legendary Spell: Greater Time Stop (Heidi's Modified Ver.)] & Research Manual.
Hathaway’s jaw dropped.
Time Stop?!
You can earn a Legendary Spell by waiting tables?
"Now you understand," Victoria smirked. "The Witches working here aren't servants. They are ambitious elites. They come here to earn points, yes. But more importantly, they come here to build connections."
"Elise is a master of Evocation. She works here to find investors for her independent research lab. Being a 'Hostess' here gives her access to the wealthiest clans in the Inner Sea—like the Wellingtons."
Victoria paused, elegantly picking up a napkin. A subtle, aristocratic amusement touched her eyes.
"Did you know? Even Lin Zhaojun started here."
Hathaway froze. "Lin?"
"Wait," Hathaway whispered, pointing at the ceiling. "This is Heidi's place. Lin and Heidi are... well, you know."
They are Mortal Enemies.
Lin working for Heidi? That’s like a mouse working for a cat.
"They are enemies now," Victoria said, gracefully swirling her empty glass. "But before the 'Millennium Sovereign' debuted? Lin was in her mid-twenties. A civilian genius with staggering talent, but desperately broke."
"Broke?" Hathaway raised an eyebrow.
"Growing Witches burn money," Victoria explained. "She needed astronomical capital to fund that flawless combat system of hers. So, she came here. And she became the... 'Prince of the Bar'."
"She had that face—handsome, sharp, effortless. She wore tight, tailored vests, mixed potions with artistic precision, and used that dangerous smile to build the most terrifying network in the White City."
Victoria smiled, a look of profound, almost academic admiration on her face.
"Hathaway, she made every wealthy patron feel like the only girl in the room. They didn't just buy vintage wines. They became her Angel Investors. They funded her bespoke gear, her alchemical resources, and the most expensive commodity in a society of scholars—restricted knowledge."
"But in this city," Victoria leaned slightly forward, her smile turning sharp, "massive investments come with expectations of exclusivity. Power players do not like sharing their favorite assets."
"By the time Lin was ready to debut, her 'sponsors' had grown aggressively possessive. Several elite Arch-Witches—and even a couple of heavyweight club owners—casually offered to 'consolidate' her debts. They wanted to buy out her other creditors and monopolize her portfolio."
Victoria murmured, "A hostile takeover, disguised as absolute pampering."
Hathaway covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking violently as she tried not to laugh out loud.
Sweet Mother of Mana.
It all makes sense.
She thought of Lin's effortless swagger. The way she mentally dismantled opponents.
She didn't learn that in an academy. She learned her 'Heartbreaker' psychological warfare right here!
"She cleaned out the Commercial District," Victoria concluded, raising her glass in a mock toast. "Then she stepped into the arena, crushed her former boss, took the championship prize, and bought her own freedom."
Hathaway nodded silently, the irony tasting absolutely delicious.
The undisputed G.O.A.T. didn't just debut for glory. The 'Millennium Sovereign' started her career as a Gold-Digging Prince Charming, sprinting away from a dozen gilded leashes.
That is so... incredibly Lin.
"Enough gossip," Victoria said, as a ripple in space announced Elise's return. "Our drinks are here."
Elise stepped out of the mist, placing two crystal glasses on the table.
The liquid inside was a mesmerizing azure blue. It was violently boiling, churning like a storm, yet jagged crystals of ice formed and melted within it in a perpetual loop.
A cloud of cold steam drifted over the table.
Victoria lifted her chin, signaling to the terrifying drink.
"Drink up, Ludwig. You'll need the liquid courage for what comes next."
She pointed a gloved finger at the black obsidian box Hathaway had placed on the table.
"Because after we drink... I want to see if you have the guts to play Her."