Witch Training Manual: My Water Magic Is Wrong

Dora led Wayne through the corridor.

Discussions arose in the main hall.

The first to speak was a young witch in her early twenties, with red hair, named Viola, who was sitting by the window. She watched Dora's figure disappear around the corner of the corridor, put down her teacup on the table, and turned to look at Christina.

"Big sister, what's wrong with Dora...?"

Christina didn't respond.

Sitting next to Viola was another witch, a little older, named Cecily. She picked up her teacup, took a sip, and spoke in a very low voice.

"It's changed."

"What has changed?"

"Dora." Cecily put down her teacup. "Haven't you noticed? She's been acting strange ever since we came back from church."

Viola thought for a moment.

"You mean... those few days she stayed indoors last time?"

“Yes.” Cecily nodded. “She used to be so shy. She would blush if you asked her to say more than a few words to a man. But now? She invites people to her room and says things like ‘help me check the herbs’ or ‘help me break the curse.’”

She paused.

"She would never have said that before, even if you beat her to death."

Viola was silent for a moment, then looked at Christina.

"Big sister, are you just going to let her go like that?"

Christina said helplessly.

"Otherwise what?"

Aren't you afraid...?

"What are you afraid of?" Christina looked up at Viola. "Afraid that Dora will be eaten by him? Or afraid that he will be eaten by Dora?"

Viola opened her mouth, but no words came out.

"Dora is an adult; she knows what she's doing."

Cecily muttered something under her breath.

"I'm afraid that even if she knows what I'm doing, she'll still want to do it."

There was a moment of silence at the long table.

Lynette walked over from the window and pulled up a chair to sit down. She crossed her legs and lifted her skirt to the side, revealing half of her calves.

"I think it's pretty good."

Viola looked at her.

"What's so good about it?"

"Dora has finally come to her senses." Lynette picked up her teacup and blew on the steam. "Before, she would hide from men like a frightened rabbit. I thought she was going to be a nun forever."

She took a sip of tea and put the cup down.

"Now it's so much better. We dare to think and act, we have the courage and drive. That's what people from our mission should be like."

Cecily glanced at her.

"Aren't you afraid she'll get taken advantage of?"

"What loss could she possibly suffer?" Lynette laughed. "What loss could that priest possibly make her suffer? He's not that kind of person. If he were, those noble ladies of Audrian would have already taken advantage of him. Dora wouldn't even have a chance."

Cecily thought about it and realized it made some sense.

In fact, Dora did go through a period of depression.

After returning from church, she locked herself in her room, staring blankly at her laptop, at the herbs, and at the ceiling. Heaven knows what was so interesting about that ceiling, but she stared at it for two nights, as if answers could grow from it.

However, she quickly cheered up.

As the potion concoction expert for the Order, she chose to use the most familiar method to combat the loss of control, or rather, to use academics to give herself a dignified way out.

Using her knowledge, she concocted many potions. Of course, these potions weren't awakening potions, but rather potions related to perception. To put it simply, she wanted to figure out what Wayne's water magic did to people and why it could make them so obsessed.

She casually added a comment in her notebook: "The human pursuit of happiness is an innate instinct, ingrained in our bones. It has nothing to do with morality, faith, or willpower..."

The general idea is that it wasn't that Dora lacked willpower, but rather that Wayne's water magic was too cunning.

In the past few days, she tried more than twenty different formulas, from mild to strong, from single to compound, but none of them could achieve the same effect as Wayne.

What she wants is the state of "I know what I'm doing, and I can know it," not the state of "I know what I'm doing, but I don't know it."

The prerequisite for happiness in life is mastering oneself.

She doesn't like things getting out of control.

Fortunately, it was her turn to be in charge of the hygiene standards at the base these days. If it were someone else, they would be scolded to death for just washing clothes, sheets, and duvet covers...

Dora's room is at the end of the corridor.

The door wasn't locked; it made a soft sound when pushed open.

The room wasn't large, but it was very tidy. A row of wooden shelves stood against the wall, filled with bottles and jars of varying heights and shapes, arranged in a pleasing, staggered fashion.

The smell of medicine wafted down from the wooden shelf, mixed with the bitter aroma unique to dried flowers and herbs.

"Sit anywhere," Dora said.

She walked in and went straight to the wooden shelf, standing on tiptoe to reach the top shelf of medicinal herbs.

The wooden frame was taller than her. She stood on tiptoe, her fingers just touching the edge of the frame, her fingertips tracing a line on the wooden board, but she couldn't reach it. She reached up a little higher, her body stiffening as she leaned forward, her skirt hem rising a few inches.

Wayne's gaze paused.

Then he looked out the window.

There is a pot of lilacs outside.

The purple ones are in full bloom.

One pot outside the window, one pot inside the window.

In his memory, a saintess of St. Hilde also loved lilacs. That was many years ago, so long ago that he could hardly remember her face, but he still remembered how she spoke of lilacs.

As for why it was "Miss" instead of "Mr." or "Comrade," she said it was because lilacs bloom so vibrantly, one after another, like a group of little girls whispering secrets. Wayne thought this explanation made sense at the time, but upon closer reflection, she realized it didn't really make any sense; it was just something she made up on the spot.

If flowers can be called "Miss".

Can someone in front of me be called "Miss"?

Maybe!

On the other side, Dora didn't ask for help, but kept trying, raising her feet higher and higher.

After trying a few times, Dora took off her glasses, perhaps thinking that they were preventing her from reaching the herbs on higher shelves.

Dora, after taking off her glasses, was a completely different person from usual. She tiptoed to reach the medicinal herbs again.

Even though it was very high, and even if Wayne stood on tiptoe to reach it, he couldn't, Dora kept trying.

It seems she was more interested in showing off.

Miss Ding kept waving to Wayne.

"Can't reach it?" Wayne asked.

"Almost there." Dora's voice carried a stubborn refusal to admit defeat. She tiptoed a little higher, and her skirt rose a few inches higher.

It can be said that some fabrics, once produced, are not of much use, while others, even if they are thin, play a very important role.

"I'll do it," Wayne offered.

"No need." Dora withdrew her hand, letting out a slight breath. She turned her head. "Please wait a moment, I can do it myself."

Wayne looked around.

"How about... we stand on a chair?" He immediately realized that this was unnecessary—there was no chair in the room.

Wayne sighed.

Once the girl got stubborn, nothing anyone said could change her mind.

He glanced around again. There were indeed no chairs in the room, but in the corner against the wall stood a small, square wooden box with a thin layer of dust on its lid.

"What about that box? Can I step on it?"

Dora glanced in the direction of his gaze and shook her head.

"It's empty, I can't step on it."

Dora tried a few more times.

However, it was all in vain.

At this moment, although the treatment of the cursed petals has not yet begun, its more concrete form has already been presented in another way... just like a certain young lady?