Witch Training Manual: My Water Magic Is Wrong

Mrs. Wilford's panel appeared.

Name: Celine Wilford

[Identity: Mayor's Wife]

[Actual age: 36 years old]

[Past: Born into a baronial family, she lived in Frosttown for fifteen years. In her youth, she was a renowned beauty in the capital; the most valuable part of her dowry wasn't gold or silver, but her face. Unfortunately, Wilford wasn't interested in that; he preferred his BDSM games outside of town to his wife.]

[Personal Status: Long-term unfulfilled desires. Her husband is often away on "official business," and she doesn't want to find someone else, considering herself a respectable person. Over time, she has developed a habit of self-entertainment. For the past six months, she has become obsessed with books imported from the capital, hiding in her room to read them, her face flushing, her heart pounding, and her hands trembling.]

[Note: She is very beautiful. Not the kind of beauty that comes from meticulous maintenance, but natural beauty. Her face, at thirty-six, shows few signs of aging, only a hint of loneliness from years of solitude between her brows.]

[Note 2: The first time she saw you, a thought popped into her mind: if this face were twenty years younger, she would definitely find a way to get her. Now? It's not impossible, but she doesn't know if he would even be interested in a middle-aged woman like her.]

[Note 3: Her husband hadn't touched her for many years. The last time they were intimate was five years ago; Wilford got drunk, mistook her for his mistress, and went to sleep afterward. She lay awake in the dark all night.]

Wayne's gaze lingered on Celine's face for a moment.

It is indeed beautiful.

She was thirty-six years old, with fine lines around her eyes, but not many. Her skin was fair and translucent, and her lips had a natural red hue, not from makeup. Her hair was pulled back, with a few wisps falling beside her ears, making her face appear even softer.

She was looking at him now, her eyes still red, but she had already wiped away her tears. She sat there with perfect poise, her back straight, her hands on her knees, the demeanor of a typical aristocratic lady.

He looked away and didn't look again.

"Where is the young lady?" he asked.

Celine stood up and walked towards the stairs.

"It's upstairs, I'll take you there."

The stairs were covered with a thick carpet, making no sound when you stepped on them. Celine walked ahead, her pace neither hurried nor slow.

Before we even reached the second floor, the sounds of smashing and looting could be heard coming from upstairs.

Celine quickened her pace slightly.

The second-floor corridor was a mess. Several servants were slumped against the wall, while the two in front lay on the ground clutching their chests, their faces flushed and struggling to breathe.

"Useless! All of you are useless! You can't even get through the door!"

Further down the corridor, against the wall, was a wheelchair.

A young man sat in a wheelchair, his arms wrapped in bandages and his face bruised and battered. He quickly glanced in Celine's direction.

"Ace!" Celine walked over quickly.

"Why did you come out?"

"I heard my sister woke up, so I came to see her." Ace's gaze passed over his mother and landed on Wayne, looking him up and down.

"Him, that bishop?"

Celine gave a slightly annoyed look: "Ace!"

Ace Villefort, Celine's son.

"If doctors can't cure this disease, how can the church cure it?" Ace twitched his lips, pulling at the wound on his face, and hissed, "My sister isn't a guinea pig."

Although Ace said that, he had actually been secretly glancing at Wayne several times.

The panel reappeared.

Wayne received more information about Ace.

Last night, Ace was on his way to find the witch to cure his sister's illness, but he was stopped before he even left the house. This was not only because he went against his father's wishes to find the witch, but also because his father had discovered the incident of him hitting someone with his horse that evening. The ending was predictable: another day of filial piety and parental love.

However, what made Wayne's mouth twitch was...

This kid has become obsessed with the "Holy Knight Style" popular in the capital and is interested in some of its unique social practices. And there's a very high chance he'll develop an interest in me!

He couldn't help but roll his eyes inwardly.

Sigh! What kind of amazing people are they all these days?

Celine glared at Ace for her impolite son.

"Get out of the way! Don't delay the bishop from treating your sister."

Ace's gaze lingered on Wayne's face for a moment before he slowly maneuvered his wheelchair to the side, just enough for one person to squeeze through.

As Wayne was about to push the door open, it was suddenly flung open from the inside.

A male servant tumbled out, his face streaked with red and white, his lips smeared as if he had drunk blood.

"A devil! She's a devil!"

Another one darted out right after, with two exaggerated blushes painted on her face and a topknot tied on her head that swayed as she ran.

"I quit! I quit!"

The two rushed downstairs without looking back, knocking over a vase at the end of the corridor, scattering shards of porcelain all over the floor.

Celine's face turned ashen.

She took a deep breath and looked at Wayne:

"Your Excellency, look..."

"It's alright!"

Wayne pushed the door open and went in.

The room was a complete mess.

The quilt was torn into strips and hung on the bedpost, feathers from the pillow were scattered all over the room. The dressing table was overturned, cosmetic boxes were scattered everywhere, and colorful fingerprints were everywhere on the walls, floor, and ceiling. On the innermost bed, a naked girl was sitting cross-legged in the center.

The panel popped up at this point.

Name: Sophie Wilford

[Identity: Daughter of the Town Mayor]

[Status: Haunted by Nightmares]

[Source of the curse: Portrait of Hena]

[Effect: Drags the user's soul into a dream, where they engage in sexual intercourse with a phantom until their life force is exhausted. This portrait is secretly circulated among noble ladies in the capital, claiming to "grant any wish," but in reality, it is a money-making tool mass-produced by a certain sorcerer.]

Status: Unable to extricate oneself.

[Methods to break the spell: 1. Burn the portrait itself; 2. Have someone other than the caster enter the dream and bring her out, but the person entering must bear the risks of the dream.]

Wayne turned to look at the door.

"Where is that painting?"

Celine stood in the doorway, twisting her handkerchief between her fingers.

"What painting?"

"The things she touched," Wayne said calmly, "the kind of paintings that flowed from the capital, paintings that can grant wishes."

Celine's expression changed.

It wasn't surprise, but a panicked feeling of having something on my mind.

"How come you...?"

She swallowed her words halfway through. This bishop was indeed quite capable. The doctors had examined the patient for two days without even figuring out the cause, but he pointed out the painting the moment he entered the room.

"The painting... is gone." Celine's voice trailed off. "Yesterday we interrogated the servant who sold the painting, and he said it disappeared on its own. We searched the whole house, but we couldn't find it anywhere."

"The painting was on her bedside table the night she had the accident," Celine said, her voice trembling. "When the servants noticed something was wrong with her, the painting was no longer there. They searched the floor, under the bed, in the cupboard—they couldn't find it. It was as if... as if it had grown legs and run away."

Wayne didn't say anything.

This matches what's written on the panel.

It seems necessary to enter her dream.

Wayne closed the door and gave instructions before leaving.

"No matter what happens later, don't come in."

Before Celine could speak, the door slammed shut with a loud bang.

"Mother..." Ace said anxiously.

Celine interrupted him.

"We can only trust the bishop."