Witch Training Manual: My Water Magic Is Wrong

When Wayne saw the panel, it was already evening.

He leaned against the headboard, and the control panel popped up.

[Ace Wilford News Flash]

He drugged the fleeing paladin Leon, buying the drug from a traveling merchant who described it as "three-breath knockout"—strong, fast-acting, colorless, and odorless. Ace paid a Virgin Shield, thinking he'd gotten a great deal. Little did he know, that merchant had previously sold counterfeit drugs to Charman.

[Ace's plan: drug the person, tie them up, and interrogate them. If they're a liar, leave them to fend for themselves in the woods; if not, then... he hadn't decided yet. His plan ended there; the next steps hadn't been designed.]

[Leon's state: It was fake medicine; the fake medicine made him lose control. He couldn't tell who was in front of him, where he was, or even whether it was day or night. Only one thought remained in his mind: to release his faith.]

[Note: Leon broke free of his restraints and quietly approached Ace from behind. He whispered in Ace's ear, "Friend, it seems your sword has fallen to the ground."]

[Note 2: Ace's pupils contracted sharply, blood rushed from his limbs to his heart, and in that instant, his brain completed the entire calculation from "someone is here" to "it's over."]

[Follow-up...]

Wayne stared at the ellipsis for a long time.

What follows is definitely not anything serious.

Wayne closed his eyes.

The panel is great in every way, except it's too honest. It piles everything on, whether it should be written or not, and even the ellipses aren't meant to be meaningful.

He rolled over and pulled the blanket up to his chin.

As for Ace.

It's not his problem; that's something for the goddess to worry about.

Meanwhile, the Witch Cult.

Emily cornered Dora at the end of the corridor.

The shadows spread out from beneath her feet, blocking the path on both sides.

Dora had nowhere to retreat.

"Dora".

"What exactly happened to you that day?"

Dora pushed up her glasses.

"It's nothing."

"Your shadow tells me that you had a story to tell that afternoon three days ago." Emily took a half-step forward. "My shadow has never seen you like that before."

Dora's face began to flush red, from her cheeks to her ears.

"Can shadows talk?"

"Shadow knows everything." Emily's gaze was fixed on her face. "So, are you going to tell me or not?"

The corridor was quiet for a moment.

Dora remained silent for a long time before finally speaking.

"Mr. Wayne, he..."

"What's wrong with him?"

Dora's voice was so soft it was like a mosquito's hum.

"She's very good at making cream puffs."

Emily was stunned. She thought she was going to hear some earth-shattering secret, like "He kissed me," or "He hugged me," or something even more outrageous. And all she got was making cream puffs?

"this one?"

"That's it."

Emily stared at her for a long time, and Dora's face was still red, even redder.

Emily began to wonder if she was overthinking things.

"Then why are your legs weak?"

"I've been standing for too long."

Why is your face red?

"It's hot in the kitchen."

Why are you changing your clothes?

"The cream from the cream puff splattered onto my skirt."

Emily opened her mouth, only to find she couldn't find a reason to refute it. Every point was reasonable, every explanation flawless. But something just felt off. Her shadow talent not only allowed her to move in the shadows, but also to sense the lingering emotions within the shadows of others.

"Dora".

"Um."

"You're not being honest."

Dora pressed herself against the wall, pushed up her glasses, and glanced to the side, avoiding eye contact with Emily.

"I don't."

"You did," Emily pressed on. "My shadow tells me you weren't just happy that day. You were very happy. Extremely happy. You even rolled your eyes."

Dora took a deep breath, as if she had made a major decision, and looked at Emily seriously.

"You really want to know?"

"Um."

"Don't tell anyone after you ask."

"I won't tell."

Dora took a deep breath and said with relief.

"He's amazing, he did a great job with the Vinnie cream puffs."

Emily said.

"Does Dora think I'm...?"

Before she could even utter the word "stupid," Dora interrupted her.

"Actually, I... I am that cream puff."

Emily understood instantly.

"What does that feel like?" she asked softly.

Dora glanced at her. She had asked herself this question countless times, every single day since that afternoon, and each time the answer was different. The first time it was "high," the second time "super high," the third time "super super high," but she gave up on the fourth time because no matter what words she used, it never felt right.

"Why don't you try it and you'll see?" Dora said.

Emily paused for a moment.

"I?"

"You don't want to?"

Emily's ears began to turn red.

Yes, of course I want to.

She thought about it from the moment she skillfully used her abilities.

"I..." Emily opened her mouth, then closed it again.

Dora looked at her and suddenly smiled. It wasn't the kind of smile that says "I understand you," but rather the kind that says "You've finally figured it out," with a hint of the superiority of someone who's been there.

"Stop pretending," Dora said.

"I wasn't pretending."

"You spent the whole afternoon in your room that day too."

"That's...that's because I'm sleepy."

"Do I need to change my clothes and sheets if I'm sleepy?"

She thought no one knew, that by stuffing the clothes and sheets at the bottom of the laundry basket, no one would notice, and that washing them the next morning would make it seem like nothing had happened. But Dora knew, Dora knew everything.

"How...how did you know?"

"I was the one who collected the laundry basket that day."

To be precise, Dora also washed the bed sheet that day.

"I didn't mean to," Emily finally managed to say.

Dora nodded.

"I know, you just can't control it."

Emily didn't refute. She truly couldn't control herself. Ever since that day at church, she hadn't been able to control herself. During the day, she was alright; she could endure it, suppress it, and pretend nothing had happened.

When night falls and all is quiet, lying in bed alone, all the things that have been weighing on you all day will come flooding back.

She tried many methods.

Counting sheep.

Chanting scriptures.

meditation.

Use shadows to wrap yourself in a cocoon.

What's meant to happen will happen, and what's meant to be thought will still be thought. She even tried hanging upside down from the ceiling, hoping that changing her posture would change her mood. But her mood didn't change; instead, she discovered that the flexibility of the Shadow element was much better than she had imagined, and she could even coordinate with her shadow.

Dora's gaze moved down from Emily's face, paused for a moment at a certain spot, and then moved back.

She said with a smile.

"With your figure, don't even think about anything else."

Emily's face flushed red instantly. As if a sore spot had been touched, she subconsciously puffed out her chest and raised her chin by half an inch.

"What's wrong with the small one?"

Her voice rose half an octave, carrying a stubbornness that stemmed from being offended and eager to defend her dignity.

"Don't you think it's good to be smaller?"

Dora looked at her for a couple of breaths.

"Okay, okay." She drew out the last syllable, "Smaller is better, smaller is wonderful, smaller saves fabric."

Emily blushed and pouted.

"Dora, you've changed."

"What has changed?"

You weren't like this before.

Dora leaned against the wall, tilted her head, and thought for a moment.

"What was it like before?"

"You never used to talk like this...like this..."

"What is this?"

Emily thought for a long time but couldn't come up with a suitable word. Dora used to be the most serious person in the cult, always talking about academics, research, and data analysis.

What now?

In just a few days, he's like a completely different person.

"You've been corrupted by Wayne."

Emily finally managed to utter a sentence.

Dora did not refute.

She was not only led astray, but completely corrupted.

But you can't admit it. If you do, it's like admitting that you're not strong-willed, that you can't resist temptation, and that all those years of studying were for nothing.

"I didn't," she said.

"You have."

"I don't."

"You have," Emily said, taking a half-step forward. "Even the tone of your voice has changed. You never used to talk to people like that."

"What tone?"

"It's that kind of... that kind of..." Emily's face flushed even more, "that 'I've been there' tone."

Once the door to desire is opened, it can never be closed again.

"Emily," Dora began.

"Um."

"You really don't want to give it a try?"

Emily's breath caught in her throat for a moment.

"Try...try what?"

"You know what I'm talking about..."