Witch Training Manual: My Water Magic Is Wrong

Inside the bar counter of the tavern.

Lizzie placed the wiped cup upside down on the shelf.

"Sister, I heard from the women in town that the bishop has some kind of magical power. They say that confessing to him will bring the goddess's blessing and cure all diseases. Is that true?"

Leah took a bottle of ale from the shelf and wiped it with a rag. "The tavern has been too busy, and I haven't had time to go to the church. I was planning to go anyway."

Lina stood between the two, holding an account book in her hand, the pen tip touching the paper, but she didn't move.

"It should be true."

What does "should" mean?

"Well..." Lina thought for a moment, "it's probably true. The people in town wouldn't all lie together."

Lizzie threw the rag into the basin of water, splashing a small amount of water.

"Then our..." She glanced down at her chest, her voice lowering slightly, "Can it be treated?"

Leah paused for a moment while wiping the bottle.

Lina's pen tip made a dot of ink on the paper.

The three sisters fell silent for a moment.

Leah put the bottle back on the shelf, turned around, leaned against the edge of the bar, and looked through the crowd to place her gaze on Wayne.

"He doesn't seem like the kind of person who would treat that kind of illness."

Lizzie followed her gaze.

"What kind of disease?"

"That kind of thing."

Which one?

Leah reached out and flicked her forehead.

Lizzie covered her forehead and pouted.

How would I know if you didn't tell me?

Lina sighed beside her.

"What my sister means is that it's difficult to talk about that kind of illness. We're not familiar with the person, so we can't exactly walk up to them, pull down our collars, and say, 'Your Excellency, this area is swollen, could you please take a look?'"

Lizzie's face flushed red.

"Well... we can't just keep putting up with this."

"Just bear with it." Leah straightened up from the bar. "It's not like it's the first day anyway."

Lizzie opened her mouth slightly, then closed it again.

She turned around and continued wiping the cups.

He wiped it twice, then stopped.

"elder sister."

"Um."

"If... I mean if."

"If what?"

Lizzie lowered her voice, so low that only the three sisters could hear her.

"If we go to him, will he think we're...not proper?"

Leah didn't say anything.

Lina closed the ledger and put it on the shelf.

"We are decent people."

"But we..."

"What do you mean, 'we'?" Lina turned to look at her. "We're against marriage, not immoral. We don't date men not because we don't like them, but because we don't want to be tied down by marriage. It's completely different from going to the bishop for treatment."

Lizzie blinked.

"So...can I go find him?"

Lina did not answer immediately.

She looked in Wayne's direction for a couple of breaths.

"Let's wait until the tavern closes."

Lizzie's eyes lit up.

"You agree?"

Lina stuffed the ledger into the shelf.

"I agree, what about you?"

Leah leaned against the bar.

"I agree."

Lizzie raised her hand.

I agree.

The three sisters exchanged a glance.

The noise in the tavern gradually changed tone.

What started as drinking games, boasting, and clinking glasses turned into whispers. The whispers changed from "Bishop Wayne is really amazing" to "Bishop Wayne is still eating."

Diaz sat opposite him, having forgotten to drink the ale in his hand.

His mouth was slightly open, his gaze fixed on the stack of empty plates in front of Wayne. The plates were stacked in three piles, each about half a person's height, swaying precariously like three Leaning Towers of Pisa about to collapse.

"How many?" he asked the person next to him.

"Twenty plates." The person next to him swallowed hard. "They finished two chickens too, gnawing the bones cleaner than a dog licked them clean."

Diaz's lips twitched.

He recalled that when he broke through to the fourth level, he ate twenty plates of fried rice and five chickens, and was so full that he couldn't eat for three days. At the time, he thought he had a big appetite and was proud of himself for a while.

Looking at the three stacks of empty plates in front of Wayne, he suddenly felt that his past smugness made him look like a clown.

Wilford pushed his way through the crowd, a glass of wine in his hand, his expression shifting from shock to excitement, and then to a fanatical sense of "I must witness history."

"Bring ten more chickens!" he shouted towards the door. "And slaughter a cow!"

A gasp of surprise erupted from the crowd.

"ox?"

"Shinzaburo?"

"Mayor, are you going to bring out all your assets?"

Wilford waved his hand dismissively.

"I'm so happy today! Let's slaughter them!"

The young man guarding the door responded and ran away.

Diaz picked up his glass, took a sip, and put it down. His gaze lingered on Wayne's face for a moment, noticing that the bishop's expression remained unchanged—neither bloated nor strained, and even his breathing was steady.

"Your Excellency," Diaz said.

"Um?"

"Aren't you... going to make it?"

Wayne swallowed the food in his mouth and picked up the napkin next to him to wipe his mouth.

"fine."

"Are you alright?" Diaz's voice rose a half-octave. "You've eaten twenty plates! Twenty plates! And you're still alright?"

Wayne glanced at him.

"Breakthrough takes a lot of energy, and the body needs to replenish it."

Diaz opened his mouth, then closed it again. He remembered what his mentor had told him when he broke through to the fourth tier: breaking through to the fourth tier consumes energy accumulated in the body over more than a decade. Eating more proves a solid foundation, proving the quality of the breakthrough. The more you eat, the more solid your foundation becomes.

He ate twenty plates of fried rice and five chickens back then, and his master said he was a genius that only comes along once in ten years.

Wayne ate twenty plates of fried rice and seven chickens, and he still hadn't stopped; he looked like he had more than enough.

What is Navyn?

A once-in-a-century event?

A once-in-a-millennium event?

Diaz didn't think any further.

He was afraid that the more he thought about it, the more he would feel that he had wasted all these years.

Some people in the crowd started to make a fuss.

"Twenty-one rounds now!"

"Twenty-two plates!"

"Twenty-three sets! A record broken! A record broken!"

"What record?"

"Lord Diaz's record! Twenty games! It's been broken long ago!"

Diaz's face darkened for a moment.

The person next to him quickly added a comment.

"Lord Diaz has twenty plates and five chickens, while Bishop Wayne has twenty-three plates and seven chickens..."

Wilford walked back from the door with a satisfied look on his face, as if to say, "I've got everything arranged."

"The cow has been slaughtered and is being roasted. Wait a little while, and it will be served when it's done."

Wayne looked up.

"Mayor, this is too much trouble."

"What's the big deal?" Wilford patted his chest. "You saved me four times, what's wrong with me treating you to a meal? I could afford ten cows, let alone one."

He paused, then lowered his voice and added.

"And I also want to see just how much you can eat."

Wayne smiled.

"Then let's give it a try."

Gambling tables were quietly set up in a corner of the tavern.

A small square table, on which was covered a crumpled piece of parchment, on which a few lines of writing were crookedly written.

"For more than 30 rounds, the payout is 3:1."

"Forty rounds or more, the odds are 5 to 1."

"For more than fifty rounds, the payout is 10 to 1."

The dealer was a lame old man with gray hair and a face full of wrinkles, but his eyes were bright. He had been a mercenary in his youth, but after breaking his leg, he opened a gambling den in town. Today, he heard that someone was betting on how much Wayne could eat at the tavern, so he came with his money bag.

"Bet! Bet them all!" the old man shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Once you've placed your order, there's no going back!"