Chương 46: Tentacles, Taxes, and Thirst

[Time]: Day 32 of Enrollment (Eve of Midsummer), 07: 50 AM [Location]: Yggdrasil Academy · Lecture Hall 7 On the Eve of Midsummer, the air in White City was thick with sweltering, restless mana fluctuations. On the suspended corridor leading to Lecture Hall 7, sunlight pierced the lush branches of Yggdrasil, casting blinding, dappled spots that seemed to vibrate with the heat. The corridor was packed. Every rushing upperclassman wore that unique mix of arrogance and exhaustion born from chronic sleep deprivation.

Here, dark circles weren't signs of fatigue; they were Academic Medals of Honor. Hathaway adjusted her crimson velvet military coat, feeling the suffocating pressure of the "Rat Race." She watched a senior Witch float past. The senior wasn't holding her book; it floated in front of her face, pages turning automatically while her mouth muttered a rapid-fire incantation and her hands blindly braided her hair. Optimization, Hathaway noted. Every second counts.

For the past month, Hathaway had lived like a hermit in Dorm 302, surviving on takeout and Victoria's sadistic tutoring. She had only glimpsed this intense atmosphere from a distance. But standing here now, she realized she had only seen the tip of the iceberg. This was the true face of Yggdrasil. Today was the selection day for the S-Class Summer Research Group. It was her first step out of the "novice protection period" and onto the Battlefield.

"Can you smell it, Ludwig?" Walking beside her, Victoria tilted her head. Today, she wore a pair of pristine white lace gloves. Her expression carried a pilgrim-like solemnity, mixed with a razor-sharp determination to win. She took a deep breath, as if the air wasn't thick with anxious sweat, but an intoxicating perfume.

"This is the scent of Truth. And... the scent of Absolute Intellectual Monopoly. The most fascinating aroma in this world." She turned slightly, her unfocused azure eyes seeming to pierce the physical world to lock onto Hathaway's mana signature. She meticulously adjusted her lace glove, her voice cool and unyielding.

"Professor Nino demands perfection for this spot." Victoria slowly clenched her gloved hand in the empty air, as if crushing the very concept of competition.

"And I... am perfection itself." Hathaway didn't speak immediately. She just tightened her grip on the Aether-Membrane Scalpel in her pocket. The cold metal grounded her. 6, 600 Solars in the bank. Heidi Lucent's sister waiting inside. And Victoria Wellington beside her, finally treating her as a threat instead of a charity case. She didn't need a speech. The hunger in her gut was explanation enough. Hathaway's red pupils deepened, glowing with a dangerous, quiet light.

"Perfection is a high bar, Wellington," Hathaway finally replied, her voice steady with the thrill of the challenge. She pulled her hand out of her pocket, her crimson coat swaying as she strode toward the heavy iron doors.

"But don't worry. If you stumble..." Hathaway glanced back, a savage, confident grin breaking her usual calm.

"... I'll be right there to step over you." Victoria paused. Then, a faint, exhilarating smile touched her pale lips.

"Good." The two Witches, now Rivals, pushed open the doors together. Boom. The noise of the lecture hall hit them like a physical wave. A massive semi-circular amphitheater capable of seating 3, 000 people unfurled before them. Hathaway had braced herself for a suffocating, tomb-like silence—a place where neurotic scholars sat rigid as corpses. Instead, she was hit by a wall of vibrant, chaotic, and fragrant heat. Hathaway paused, her hand still on the brass handle, her eyes widening. This wasn't a classroom.

This was an arsenal disguised as a fashion show. The seats were packed. Because Yggdrasil enforced no dress code—uniformity being an insult to a Witch's ego—the hall looked like a chaotic runway of the multiverse's most dangerous fashion. Gothic Victorian lace sat next to bio-mechanical streetwear; floating silk robes brushed against heavy enchanted armor. At first glance, it was a gathering of stunning beauties.

But upon closer inspection, every "extra" feature—the horns, the tails, the ears—was a lethal evolutionary advantage. To her left, a clique of Cat Witches sat in a disciplined circle. Their plush ears swiveled like phased-array radars, analyzing the mana frequency of every entrant. One was maintaining her tail—not with a brush, but with a serrated alchemy file. Shing. Shing. Sparks flew. The fur didn't break; it emitted the clear ring of high-carbon steel. It wasn't grooming; it was weapon maintenance.

Further down, a Fox Witch sat elegantly reading a grimoire. Behind her floated Three Tails, forming a perfect, triangular "Silent Field" barrier to block out the noise. Occasionally, a tail would flick, turning a page with telekinetic precision. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. Elegant. Controlled. Efficient.

As much as Hathaway's inner "Closet Simp" wanted to stare at the fluffy ears and lethal tails all day, her gamer brain demanded she scan the room for actual productivity hacks. Forcing her gaze past the eye candy, she naturally gravitated towards her own kind—Human Witches—to see how they compensated. What she saw in the third row made her eyes narrow in pure, academic appreciation. A blonde Human Witch was sitting calmly, appearing normal at first glance.

But Hathaway noticed she was writing two different papers simultaneously. Her left hand sketched a rune matrix; her right calculated a mana equation. And her hair? The blonde strands had fused and thickened, transforming into four translucent, agile Tentacles. Two held open reference books. One poured a flask of coffee into her mouth. One adjusted her glasses. [Spell: Polymorph - Cranial Tentacles (Modified)] A Tier 3 Transmutation spell. Hathaway stared, mesmerized. That is genius.

I have a Quad-Core Processing Mind, but I am limited by my hardware. I can think about four things at once, but I can only execute two! Suddenly, a memory struck her like a bolt of lightning. Wait. Tentacles. Fluid Dynamics. Bionic Muscle Structure. Spatial Folding. Hathaway gasped, covering her mouth as immense guilt washed over her. She remembered the "gift" Lin had shoved into her hands back at the Tulip Club.

The "Special" pink manuscript: Tentacle Summoning: Not Just for Fighting—On the Aesthetics of Physical Entanglement and Asphyxiation. She had taken one look at the dense topological arrays and notes on "Nerve Ending Stimulation Feedback Rates," assumed it was Lovecraftian smut, and locked it under her bed with three pillows. Holy mana, Hathaway's eyes widened in profound realization. Did I completely misunderstand Lin?! The complex spatial geometry... the high-frequency vibration...

Was that for writing at hyper-speed without hand cramps?! Were the "Nerve Endings" just for precise tactile feedback when holding a pen?! Hathaway felt like crying. Lin wasn't giving me smut! She was giving me the ultimate A-student productivity tool! The "Asphyxiation" part must have been a metaphor for drowning in homework! She really wanted me to pass the A3 Exam!

"Note to self," Hathaway muttered excitedly, her eyes sparkling.

"Dig that manuscript out from under the bed tonight. Apologize to Lin in my heart. Master the I/O Bottleneck!"

"I would strongly advise against whatever you are planning, Ludwig," Victoria's voice came from beside her, dripping with aristocratic judgment.

"Why?" Hathaway asked with the fervor of a newly enlightened scholar.

"Victoria, you don't understand! It solves the hardware bottleneck! Look at the throughput! I actually have a manual for this back at the dorm! I thought it was... you know, degenerate. But it's actually a top-tier academic tool!" Victoria adjusted her white lace gloves, giving Hathaway a sideways glance—the kind one gives to a child who unknowingly picked up something highly unsanitary from the street.

"Ludwig. Look closely at the texture of her... extra appendages. Look at the viscosity." Victoria's voice dropped to a discreet, icy whisper. Hathaway blinked and looked closer. Victoria leaned in.

"Do you truly believe a spell that generates highly sensitive, self-lubricating bionic muscles was originally invented for holding a fountain pen?" Hathaway froze. The grand "Light of Academic Efficiency" instantly shattered. The lewd knowledge from her past life, combined with the horrifyingly specific memory of Lin's notes— 108 unconventional uses —flooded back into her brain like a tsunami. Self-lubricating. Nerve Ending Stimulation Feedback Rates. Oh. OH. She looked at the blonde witch again.

It wasn't an inspiring display of academic multitasking anymore. That witch was literally using a hardcore adult-entertainment spell to do her calculus homework in public.

"Unless you want your academy nickname to be 'The Hentai Scholar' by noon," Victoria added dryly, stepping past her to find a seat, "I suggest you stick to Mage Hand." Hathaway's face burned brighter than a flare. Lin, you ARE a pervert! You all are! She frantically scribbled over her mental notes. Right. The pillows stay. It never happened. I saw nothing. Having thoroughly abandoned her quest for 'efficiency hacks' to save her social dignity, Hathaway's gaze drifted further down the aisle.

If the Tentacle Witch made her question her sanity, the next entity simply made her weep for her bank account. Sitting near the aisle was a Witch radiating an aura of oppressive wealth. She had skin like polished grey marble, and eyes faceted like stained glass. But the most striking feature was her hair—Liquid Gold mixed with Heavy Black Chains, cascading down her back with a metallic clinking sound.

Floating around her shoulders were three miniature Obsidian Turrets, rotating slowly like autonomous defense drones. [Race: Purgatory Fortress Witch] Origin: A sentient stronghold born from the Purgatory of Greed. She was currently leaning over to her neighbor, chattering like a machine gun.

"... and then I found a pocket dimension full of Dragon Bones in sector 7, so I just absorbed the whole thing! Expanded my basement by 400 square meters! Oh, and the gold coins... don't get me started on the gold coins..." She didn't stop to breathe. As a fortress with a soul, she possessed the racial trait [Echoing Walls]. She heard everything, and she loved to repeat it. Victoria sighed, rubbing her temples.

"And there is the Fortress Witch. Born with a semi-plane castle, and she uses that divine gift to be a walking tabloid. She is loud. She is cluttered. She is structurally unsound." Hathaway, however, wasn't listening to the critique. She was staring at the Lore. Fortress Witches are born with a bounded Semi-Plane. Her body is just an avatar. Her 'True Form' is a massive, luxurious castle crawling through Purgatory. She is literally born with a fully furnished, treasure-filled mansion.

Hathaway felt a tear of genuine, past-life pain welling up. Sure, the Ludwig family was rich. They had a manor. But a manor doesn't move. A manor doesn't grow. A manor requires maintenance and taxes. This Witch? She was a Walking Real Estate Empire. I was a wage slave in my past life, terrified of my mortgage. And here she is, born as the whole damn house. Life is unfair.

Hathaway let out a heavy sigh, dragging her gaze away from the walking real estate monopoly, and finally took a step back to look at the lecture hall as a whole. Taking in the panoramic view of the amphitheater, the true ecosystem of Yggdrasil Academy laid itself bare before her. They were relaxed. They were evolved. They were dangerous. They didn't look like soldiers marching to war. They looked like Apex Predators casually comparing their claws before a hunt.

They chatted and laughed, but the air was thick with the static of high-density mana. Every twitch of an ear, every flick of a tail, was a display of effortless biological superiority. Looking at this sea of lethal beauty, Hathaway's inner "Closet Simp" completely relapsed. She wept with joy, utterly ignoring the fact that the Fox Witch's tail could probably decapitate her with a single swing. It's... paradise. However, amidst this vibrant gathering of elites, Hathaway's radar picked up an anomaly.

In the very front row, right in the center, there was a "Vacuum." While the rest of the hall was overcrowded—students practically sitting on each other's laps—there was a single, conspicuously empty seat. It sat there like an isolated island, surrounded by an invisible "Keep Out" barrier. The air around it seemed distorted, heavy with a pressure that kept even the arrogant Cat Witches and Fox Witches at bay. Everyone ignored it. Or rather, everyone was actively pretending it didn't exist.

It was the collective instinct of a herd avoiding a cliff edge. Any survival instinct would scream: That seat is empty for a reason. Do not approach. But Hathaway didn't see a trap. She squinted, her eyes locking onto the two figures sitting on either side of that empty chair. Her heart skipped a beat. Her throat went dry.

"Holy mana," she whispered, her voice trembling not with fear, but with sheer, unadulterated thirst.

"The visuals in that specific row are SSS-tier."