Chương 2: That Time I Devoured a Dragon as Breakfast

[Time]: 9: 30 AM [Location]: Ludwig Manor · The Cloud Suite -> Front Garden Hathaway didn't spend too much time on her outfit, though the guest wardrobe presented a challenge. The maids had unpacked her luggage, which her mother, Margaret, had packed. This meant the closet was filled with enough sequins, gold thread, and lion crests to blind a dragon.

"Seriously, Mom?" Hathaway groaned.

"I'm just going for breakfast, not a coronation." The complaint slipped out, accompanied by a specific emotional tag that popped up in her mind regarding her mother: [Overbearing / Tacky Taste / Means Well but Annoying].

Relying on this convenient muscle memory, she dug to the very back of the wardrobe, ignoring the flashy "battle gear," and finally picked out the most "plain" ensemble she could find: A sharp, black and gold color-blocked trench coat (the buttons were still gold lion heads, but at least they were small), paired with a white silk shirt and shorts that allowed for easy movement. And for shoes... She ignored the rows of twelve-centimeter crystal heels her mother had insisted she bring.

Instead, she fished out a pair of black boots from the bottom corner of her trunk. These boots didn't even have a brand name. They were just "Quarterly Standard Issue" (commonly known as safety work boots) from the Ludwig Family Alchemy Workshop. However, the material was the softest belly leather of an adult Void Dragon. In Earth's fantasy legends, a Void Dragon was an apocalypse-level monster. A single scale would start wars over. In the Witch's industrial catalog: Material-79. Safety boot leather.

"Spatial-anchoring properties mean you won't slip even on a black hole's event horizon." Perfect for lab work. There were no flashy enchantment effects. This top-tier divinity material, enough to drive mortals insane, had been processed by the Witches' highest alchemy techniques into a dull, matte black finish, trampled underfoot like common synthetic leather. This is the arrogance of Witch Civilization, Hathaway thought as she laced them up, her skin prickling.

Skinning a mythical creature just so their ankles can be slightly more comfortable. And the scariest part? This body thinks it's normal. Walking out of the bedroom and down the long corridor lined with portraits of past matriarchs (whose red eyes glowed like motion-sensor lights), Hathaway followed the scent of food to the dining hall. Click. The dining hall door didn't open. It was rammed open.

A young girl stood in the open doorway wearing a classic black and white maid outfit and a katyusha headdress, carrying a heavy magi-tech broom that was almost as tall as a person on her back. She balanced a massive silver platter on one hand. She stared deadpan at Hathaway and said flatly:"Knock, knock. Good morning, Milady. Breakfast is served." Her name was Betty. The "Character Info" popped up in Hathaway's mind: [Character Info: Betty] The Ludwig family's Head Maid, a High Witch.

Current Occupation: Cosplaying as a maid in a wealthy household to save money for limited edition alchemy figurines. Hathaway watched her completely irreverent movements, the corner of her mouth twitching.

"... Good morning, Betty. Next time, maybe knock before you kick the door open." The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"Understood, Milady. No problem, Milady." Betty answered with lightning speed, her tone so sincere you couldn't pick a fault in it, but Hathaway would bet good money she'd do it again next time. After all, in this house, except for that "Demon King Incarnate" Rhode, no one cared about these details. As long as the salary was good, Betty would probably be willing to launch fireworks to hype up the atmosphere while serving dishes.

"But I suggest you focus your attention on the table." Betty slammed the platter onto the table with a heavy metal CLANG.

"Based on your Wake-Up Grumpiness Index and last night's moon phase, the Head Chef deduced you are in a 'Gluttony Phase' today. So, we prepared Set B." Hathaway looked down. Holy cow. This wasn't breakfast; this was feeding time for a T-Rex. A basin of ice-chilled deep-sea blue shrimp as thick as her arm, a mountain of buttered bread, and a massive slab of red ribs sizzling with oil, radiating terrifying heat and aroma.

"This is..." Hathaway pointed at the piece of meat larger than her face.

"Charcoal-Grilled Level 3 Prime Dragon Ribs." Betty expressionlessly pulled out a jar of pepper and sprinkled it wildly like she was dusting crops with pesticide.

"Airlifted last night from the farm in District 9. Although it's just mass-produced Level 3 (Edible Grade) stock and not the high-tier breeds used for mounts, the meat is tender and rich in residual mana." Hathaway looked at the meat on the plate, then looked down at the Void Dragon leather boots on her feet. Okay, the logic loop is closed. Since she was stepping on a Void Dragon capable of destroying worlds, having Prime Dragon ribs for breakfast seemed pretty reasonable, right?

"Lady Rhode ate two whole dragons for breakfast," Betty added.

"If you can't finish it, the Wellington family will hear about it and mock the Ludwigs for being 'too poor to afford dragon meat'." Hathaway didn't waste any more words. Because compared to the awe of "I'm eating a dragon," every cell in her body was screaming a more primal desire: Hunger. She elegantly sliced off a piece of dragon meat that flowed with red fire-element fluorescence. However, the moment the silver fork pierced the meat, something bizarre happened.

The top-tier rib, originally plump and rich in mana, extinguished the moment it touched Hathaway. Like a neon sign with the power cord yanked out. Not just the glow. The meat shriveled at a visible rate, as if its essence was vacuumed out by some domineering suction force, leaving only a piece of gray-white residue. Even the ice cubes in the high-concentration mana orange juice next to it melted into a puddle of lukewarm water, their mana forcibly stripped away. No destruction, no sound.

But the "energy" on the table simply vanished into thin air. Betty's hand, still sprinkling pepper, froze in mid-air. Her eyes, usually filled with the dead-fish stare of a corporate wage slave, widened for a fraction of a second, revealing a look of scrutiny reserved for an absolute anomaly. Hathaway tensed, the silver fork pausing in her hand. I just accidentally displayed an Arch-Witch trait. I don't even know how to explain this— Betty took a slow, deep breath.

The maid blinked once, and through sheer, terrifying corporate willpower, manually rebooted her expression back to a flawless, dead-eyed wage slave. Hathaway could practically read the mechanical process on the maid's face: recognizing a miracle, calculating the unpaid overtime required to report it, and aggressively choosing ignorance.

"... Milady," Betty finally spoke, her tone completely devoid of the awe or terror appropriate for a sudden Arch-Witch awakening, heavily saturated instead with professional criticism.

"Although you didn't stain the tablecloth, this kind of 'predatory feeding' is really tacky."

"What?" Hathaway shoved the meat into her mouth and chewed. It tasted like sawdust. No flavor at all, just a pure stream of heat rushing into her stomach.

"You weren't 'eating' the food just now," Betty pointed disdainfully at the plate of ingredients that had completely lost their luster.

"You sucked them dry directly. Like an uncultured Abyss Slime. The elegance of the Ludwig family lies in tasting, not being a water pump." Betty sighed, snapped her fingers, and a teleportation circle replaced the ruined food.

"It seems your body is so starved it has begun to automatically plunder free-floating mana from the environment. This is indeed a 'bad habit' only found in Arch-Witches, also known as a Domain Prototype." She glanced at the clock on the wall.

"I suggest you fill that bottomless pit quickly. Lady Rhode has been waiting at the gate for ten minutes. She just released a 'Solar Flare' out of boredom, which not only blinded three Dark Elf gardeners, but also caused them to 'accidentally' prune the Madam's prize-winning [Midnight Epiphyllums] into firewood in their panic." Turning back to Hathaway, she remarked as casually as offering up biscuits or cookies with tea, "The Butler is currently calculating the damages.

If you don't go out soon, she might start burning the main mansion next." Ten minutes later, Hathaway finally filled her stomach (and incidentally sucked dry three plates of dragon meat). She wiped her mouth, feeling the terrifying heat settling in her stomach. The hunger was gone, replaced by a buzzing energy.

"Understood," Hathaway said, standing up.

"I'm going." She walked toward the main gate. Outside, the Golden Lion was waiting. And if the rumors were true, she was hungrier than any dragon.