Chương 65: I Am Your Liquidity

[Time]: 11: 05 AM [Location]: Hollow Mountain · Level 22 · The Apothecary & Material Ring Hathaway pushed her way through the dense, humid crowds of the Apothecary Ring, her steps heavy with ruthless determination. The lingering sweetness of the Frost-Mint Citrus was gone, replaced entirely by the cold, calculating mindset of a game designer on a violently strict deadline. She had allowed herself to be charmed by a National Treasure, but she could not afford a second defeat.

[Current Balance]: 2, 600 Solars"The next target is [Logic-Construct Fluid]," Hathaway muttered, her eyes scanning the twisting, neon-lit alleys like a hawk hunting for prey.

"I failed to haggle with the Panda. This time, I'm getting a discount. A big one." She navigated through the chaotic labyrinth until she found a stall built like a small fortress of brass and mahogany. The sign read: [Six-Armed Trade & Logistics]. The shopkeeper was sitting on a high stool, sorting six different ledgers simultaneously. She was a Rakshasa Witch. She didn't look like the blue-skinned monsters of folklore. She was petite, barely 1.

6 meters tall, with luminous, porcelain skin and a slightly larger head that gave her a deceptively cute, chibi appearance. But behind her back, four spectral arms floated in the air, moving with terrifying precision. Combined with her physical arms, she had six hands. Rakshasa Witches, Hathaway's brain retrieved the data instantly. The "Whale Players" of the Witch world. Four brain facets. Six independent limbs. They can't cast six spells at once, but they can activate Six Magic Items in a single turn.

They are walking Gatling guns. Currently, the Rakshasa Witch was in her [Bodhisattva Form]. Her expression was serene and professional, her eyes closed in a faux-meditative state while her hands worked furiously.

"Welcome," she spoke, her voice soft and melodious like a temple bell.

"How may this humble one serve you today?"

"I need Logic-Construct Fluid," Hathaway said, placing her hands on the counter.

"High purity. Industrial grade."

"A discerning choice," the Rakshasa Witch smiled benevolently. One of her spectral arms floated back, grabbed a flask of silvery-blue liquid, and placed it on the counter.

"Direct from the Cognitive Realm. Pure enough to run a Tier-4 Golem. The market fluctuates, but for a student of the Academy... 2, 200 Solars." Hathaway's eyes narrowed. 2, 200. The offer was actually the exact fair market average. A normal person would counter with 2, 000, and they would settle at 2, 100. But Hathaway only had 2, 600 Solars total. If she paid 2, 100 here, she would only have 500 left to buy Liquid Mithril AND Lightning Ray Stimulant. That was mathematically impossible. She didn't want a fair deal.

She needed a Steal. She needed to crush the price into the ground.

"2, 200?" Hathaway scoffed, leaning in aggressively.

"Look at the sedimentation. Look at the viscosity. This batch is old. It's been sitting here for months." She held up a finger.

"1, 400 Solars. Cash. Right now." The air in the shop froze. 1, 400. That wasn't a discount. That was an insult. That was below the cost of planar shipping. The "temple bell" silence shattered. The Rakshasa Witch opened her eyes. They weren't serene anymore. They were burning with red, vertical pupils. Her porcelain skin darkened, shadows pooling around her face like war paint. The four spectral arms behind her flared open like the wings of a peacock, each hand forming a different threatening mudra.

One held a vajra, another a bell, another a spectral sword, and the fourth gripped a glowing abacus so hard the beads were practically cracking. [Switch: Evil Spirit Form]"1, 400?!" The Rakshasa's voice dropped an octave, becoming a growl that vibrated the jars on the shelf.

"You dare? You little brat! You come into MY shop and spit in my face?!" She leaned forward, her "cute" face contorting into a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. She looked ready to tear the counter—and Hathaway—in half.

"Do you know the import tax on Cognitive Fluid?! Do you know how many brain-worms I had to kill to get this?! 1, 400?! Get out! I'll turn you into a rug!" The spiritual pressure was immense. It was the aura of an apex predator about to kill. Most students would have apologized, wet themselves, and run away. But Hathaway? Hathaway stared at the screaming, multi-armed monster. And a warm, fuzzy feeling washed over her. Ah... This tone. This unreasonable volume. This threat of violence over a number. It wasn't fear.

It was Nostalgia. It reminded her of the Publisher slamming his fist on the table at 2 AM. It reminded her of the Investor screaming that the milestone was missed. It reminded her of the Client from Hell. This... this I can handle. The Panda Witch's kindness was an alien weapon she couldn't parry. But this? This is just a Tuesday Status Meeting. Hathaway didn't flinch. She didn't blink. She adjusted her collar, and a professional, dead-eyed "Corporate Smile" appeared on her face. She was no longer a Student.

She was a Game Designer.

"Madam, please lower your voice," Hathaway said, her tone utterly immune to the rage.

"Let's talk about the Academic Calendar." If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. The Rakshasa froze, her spectral sword hovering inches from Hathaway's nose.

"What?"

"You are charging a premium for Logic-Construct Fluid," Hathaway said smoothly.

"But tell me, which course uses this reagent?""'Introduction to Golemancy 101'." Hathaway tapped the counter, delivering the fatal blow.

"The final exam for the first-half intensive module of Golemancy 101 was Yesterday." The Rakshasa Witch blinked.

"The semester is crossing the halfway mark," Hathaway continued relentlessly.

"The freshmen have already passed the prerequisite and moved on to 102. The next 101 intake isn't for another Three Months."

"For the next 90 days, this fluid isn't stock. It's a paperweight." Hathaway gestured to the empty aisle behind her.

"Look around. I am the only one buying. I am not a lowballer. I am your Liquidity."

"If you kick me out, you hold this flask for three months while it degrades. Or you sell it to me for 1, 400 Solars right now. That covers your cost and clears your shelf for the 'Summer Potion' stock."

"Do you want to be right? Or do you want cash flow?" The Rakshasa Witch stared at her. Her six arms twitched. The red glow in her eyes flickered. She desperately wanted to bite this insolent student. But... the logic was flawless. Demand had officially cratered. The Rakshasa let out a long, frustrated hiss. The spectral arms lowered. The "Evil Spirit" face faded, replaced by the grumpy, tired look of a small business owner.

"Even as dead stock, 1, 400 is robbery," the Rakshasa grumbled, crossing both her physical and spectral arms defensively.

"My wholesale cost is higher than that. 1, 900. And I'm doing you a favor."

"1, 500," Hathaway countered smoothly, not giving an inch.

"I'm doing you a favor by clearing shelf space for your 'Summer Potion' inventory."

"1, 750!" The Rakshasa glared, her fangs bared.

"I had to physically fight a Cognitive Brain-Worm to harvest this!"

"1, 600," Hathaway replied, her corporate smile unyielding.

"The brain-worm is dead, but your stall rent is due. Do you want to be right, or do you want cash flow?" The Rakshasa's eyes twitched. She looked at Hathaway, realizing this student possessed a heart colder than a Casendiaran banker.

"Tch," she spat.

"1, 650! Not a single copper less! Take it before I change my mind and eat you!"

"1, 650 it is. Pleasure doing business," Hathaway smiled. She walked away with her prize. Victory. Knowing the market cycle is better than knowing the spell. [Current Balance]: 950 Solars [Time]: 12: 15 PM [Location]: The Mineral District Hathaway moved to the next target. [Liquid Mithril]. She found the stall. The shopkeeper was a Human Witch, but she stood out like a mountain in a field of flowers. She was a tower of a woman, standing over 1. 8 meters tall.

She sat on a large crate of raw ore, legs crossed, reading a weapon-maintenance magazine. Her posture was loose, but it was the looseness of a tiger lounging in the sun—completely confident that nothing in this vicinity could threaten her. She was dressed in a Decommissioned Field Uniform of the Void Expansion Corps. The heavy leather trench coat wasn't battered or torn; it was maintained with the terrifying, meticulous perfection only a true veteran could achieve.

Every buckle gleamed, though the dark fabric carried the faint, indelible scent of ozone and crushed stars. Under the brim of her military cap, her eyes were calm, indifferent, and utterly devoid of trauma. Her skin was flawlessly smooth—a testament to Witchkind's absolute regenerative immortality. Violence couldn't mark her; it could only bore her. She had a pipe clenched between her teeth, puffing rhythmic clouds of grey smoke. She radiated the aura of "Iron and Blood."

She didn't carry the tense, vigilant stare of a soldier fighting to survive. She carried the relaxed, almost sleepy indifference of an executioner who had finally clocked out after a very long shift. Hathaway approached, instinctively straightening her back.

"I need three drops of Liquid Mithril," Hathaway said. The Veteran Witch didn't look up immediately. She took a slow drag from her pipe, exhaled a smoke ring, and lazily shifted her gaze to Hathaway.

"Student?" her voice was deep, raspy, grinding like gravel.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Mithril is in the iron flask. Help yourself. Scale is on the left." The Veteran gestured vaguely with her pipe, not bothering to get up.

"Don't spill it. It's annoying to clean." Hathaway blinked.

"You... aren't going to measure it for me?" The Veteran smirked, a faint, confident curve of her lips.

"I spent forty years in the Void." Her deep, raspy voice was entirely conversational, yet it carried the weight of a collapsing star.

"I can hear the weight of a drop of Mithril hitting the pan from fifty meters away. If you take four drops and pay for three... I'll know." She tapped the long, heavy magical rifle leaning against her crate.

"And I don't miss." Hathaway swallowed hard.

"Understood." She moved with surgical care. Drop. Drop. Drop. She placed the exact payment—450 Solars—on the counter.

"Done," Hathaway said. The Veteran nodded, eyes already back on her magazine.

"Good. Take a candy from the jar on your way out. It helps with the nerves." Hathaway looked. Next to the terrifying rifle was a jar of strawberry hard candies. She took one.

"Thank you, Ma'am." Hathaway walked away, unwrapping the candy.

"That," she whispered, popping the sweet into her mouth, "was the coolest Witch I have ever seen." [Current Balance]: 500 Solars Finally, she stopped at a stall crackling with the smell of ozone to buy the [Lightning Ray Stimulant]. The contrast was jarring. The seller was a young Witch, likely a senior working a part-time job. She had messy, static-frizzy hair and welding goggles on her forehead. She was chewing gum loudly and reading a comic book.

"Freshly milked from the Storm Clouds of District 5," the girl grinned, popping a bubble.

"450 Solars." Hathaway tried to haggle her down to 400. The girl laughed and pointed to a sign: [Fixed Price. No Refunds. Don't touch the wires.] Hathaway paid the 450 with a shrug.

"Fair enough." She stepped out of the crowded market lanes and found a quiet spot near the railing overlooking the central void. She took a deep breath of the air, which smelled of rust, magic, and pipe smoke, and opened her ledger for the final tally. [Expense Report] [Analytic Vision · Overclocked] (Book): 6, 500 Solars. [Mirror-Spider Eyes] (Premium): 500 Solars. [Logic-Construct Fluid]: 1, 650 Solars. [Liquid Mithril]: 450 Solars. [Lightning Ray Stimulant]: 450 Solars. Total Expenditure: 9, 550 Solars.

Starting Balance: 9, 600 Solars. [Current Balance]: 50 Solars. Hathaway closed her eyes for a moment, letting the feeling of absolute triumph wash over her.

"I have the software," she whispered, her fingers tracing the edge of the blue velvet booklet in her bag.

"I have the hardware components. And I still have enough to eat like a human being until tomorrow's shift ends." She checked her pocket watch. There were still about thirty minutes before her meeting with Victoria. If she hurried through the crowded ramps now, she would arrive at the central lift exactly as Victoria's three-hour timer expired. It was a perfect schedule. No wasted effort, no idle loitering. A normal person might have used the remaining time to browse a few more stalls.

But Hathaway's brain was already miles away, currently red-lining with pure, unadulterated anticipation. This is it. Since she had woken up in this body, she had been surviving on 'legacy software'—using the original Hathaway's spells and reflexes like an amateur pilot trying to fly a jet on autopilot. But tonight? Tonight she would begin the process of compiling her own magic. She would be the one writing the logic, re-engineering Amora's genius into her own visual cortex.

It wouldn't be finished in a single night. A Tier 3 Rare spell was a complex labyrinth of arcane geometry and bio-chemical mutation; mastering it would take days of grueling mental simulations. But tonight was the Start. The Day One of her own personal tech-tree.

"Window shopping is for people who aren't about to install a Admin-Mode HUD," Hathaway muttered, clutching her spatial bag tightly against her chest. She turned away from the tempting neon lights of the card shops and the fragrant steam of the food stalls, heading straight for the upper ramps.

"I'm going home to compile," she decided, her pace quickening into a determined, rhythmic march.

"And if Victoria is even one minute late, I'm going to spend that time staring at my new materials like a dragon counting its first hoard of gold."