Witch Training Manual: My Water Magic Is Wrong

An hour and a half had passed.

The two first cleaned the consultation room.

The weather was so hot that it made people sweat profusely.

The two of them took a shower.

At this moment, Ella and Wayne are busy making potions, which Wayne promised to make for the Witch Cult.

The potion room was in a corner of the backyard. It wasn't big, but the shelves were filled with bottles and jars. The air was filled with a mixed herbal scent—some sweet, some bitter, and some indescribable. The combination wasn't unpleasant; instead, it brought a strange sense of peace.

Ella helped Wayne while giggling to herself every now and then. Her smile hadn't faded since they left the examination room.

After she finished cutting one bunch of herbs, she picked up another.

As I was cutting, I smiled again.

Wayne turned his head to look at her.

"What are you laughing at?"

Ella's ears were red at the tips.

"no."

"No?"

"I'm just... happy."

Wayne didn't ask any more questions, turned his gaze back, and continued to prepare the potion in his hand. Actually, the whole process wasn't difficult; it was just a matter of putting the herbs in and then adding water magic to brew it.

But the panel popped up.

[Ayla's Potions Room Status]

[Status: Satisfied. The main reason is that she has gained your approval, whether in potion-making or... She believes that staying in the same room, you doing your thing and she doing hers, this kind of mundane daily life is what she wants most.]

[Note: The only slight regret is that we couldn't shower together just now. She felt sticky after cleaning the examination room, and she really wanted to shower with you. But Vera was still busy in the kitchen and could come over at any moment. She didn't dare. Not because she was afraid Vera would see, but because she was afraid she wouldn't be able to control herself. She was afraid that while showering, she would remember the goddess's teachings.]

[Note 2: What she likes most is still you holding her. That feeling of being suspended in mid-air makes her feel very light, so light that she could be blown away by the wind. But when you hold her, she can't walk. You make her feel that this world still has gravity.]

Before they knew it, nearly a hundred bottles of potion had been made.

The clear liquid shimmered in the bottles, which were neatly stacked on a wooden rack.

Ella sealed the last bottle, put down the iron spoon used for sealing with wax, and glanced at Wayne.

"Master, why do we need to make so many potions?"

Wayne put a bottle on the shelf.

"These are for the Witch Cult. They'll be leaving in a few days, and this batch of potions will last them for a while."

Ella paused for a moment.

"Then...should my sister and I leave with them?"

Wayne glanced at her.

Do you want to?

Ella did not hesitate; her tone was firm.

"No, absolutely not!"

She added another sentence.

"No matter what happens, my sister and I will never leave our master."

Wayne looked at her face.

Her face was still red, and it hadn't faded since she left the examination room. But beneath that redness was a deep shyness.

Wayne reached out and ruffled her hair.

"it is good."

Ella's lips curved into a smile.

The repetitive process of making potions was always tedious, and Wayne's thoughts gradually drifted away.

Ella is about the same height as Emily, and when they stand together, it's easy to mistake one for the other from behind.

But Wayne never admits his mistakes.

Because the two people gave him opposite feelings.

Like a little devil crawling out of the abyss, she appears soft and gentle, stutters, and is always the first to bow her head to others. But when it comes to serious matters, she never hesitates, never overthinks, and never gives anyone a chance to speak. She knows what she wants and how to get it. Those seemingly passive moments are actually all part of her plan. You think you're in control, but you're just following the script she's written.

Another was like a little angel descended from heaven, gentle on the surface, speaking softly, and never overstepping boundaries. But her gentleness was not weakness, her soft voice not cowardice. She was simply waiting. Waiting for the right time, the right reason, the right way. She wasn't possessing, she was giving. It wasn't "I want you," it was "I give you." She saved up everything she could give, everything she wanted to give, until she could no longer hold on, and then carefully handed it over a little.

In short, in Wayne's heart.

Emily is what I want, Ella is what I give.

Time quickly passed and evening arrived.

Marco took Aya back to the church.

Wayne put down the scripture he was holding.

"You're back?"

"My lord," Marco's voice was filled with barely concealed excitement, "this child is learning too fast."

Wayne glanced at Aya.

"How so?"

Marco immediately started gesturing.

"Today I taught her a set of the most basic introductory sword techniques, twelve in total. Guess how many she learned?"

Wayne didn't guess.

Marco himself said so.

"I've mastered all twelve forms. And I didn't just learn them haphazardly; I practiced each one perfectly. Power generation, footwork, breathing—I didn't miss a single detail."

Marco's voice rose half an octave.

"My lord, let me tell you, I've practiced swordsmanship for over twenty years and have taught at least eight or ten students. I've never seen anyone as talented as this. I've been teaching that kid, Kaven, for two months, and he's still stuck on the first three moves. Aya, on the other hand, went through all twelve moves in just one day, and memorized them all."

Wayne smiled.

"fine."

Marco's tone began to become serious.

"My lord, rest assured. With this child by my side, I guarantee she will advance to the next level within six months."

Wayne's gaze fell on Aya's face.

"Aya, not bad. Keep up the good work tomorrow."

Aya raised her head and nodded vigorously.

"Yes, Your Excellency."

Just then, Emma jumped out from the other end of the corridor. She ran up to Wayne, tilted her head back, her eyes sparkling, her face screaming, "Ask me, ask me!"

"Master! Uncle! What about me? Why aren't you asking me? I practiced swordsmanship today too! I tried my best!"

Marco's lips twitched.

"Um... Miss Emma, ​​you've also learned quite well."

Emma rushed to Wayne.

"Master, did you hear that?! The old man said I'm learning quite well too!"

Wayne looked at her and reached out to pat her head.

"Yes, I heard you. Keep up the good work."

Emma nodded vigorously.

"I will, Master!"

The panel popped up at this point.

[Aya's Sword Training Today - Details]

[Training Content: Twelve basic sword stances. Training Duration: Approximately four hours. Completion Status: All completed. The power exertion, footwork, and breathing of each stance all met Marco's passing standard. Some moves even exceeded expectations, such as the third stance, "Lifting Sword," and the seventh stance, "Crushing Sword."]

[Note: She held back during today's training. Not intentionally, but subconsciously. When she realized her learning speed far surpassed Emma's, she instinctively slowed down her own progress. Not because she was afraid Emma would be jealous, but because she was afraid Emma would be upset. Emma was the first person to be kind to her since she came to the church, and she didn't want Emma to feel inadequate.]

[Note 2: She not only memorized every movement Marco taught her, but also mentally analyzed the power generation, footwork rhythm, and breathing frequency of each move, making minor adjustments based on her height, arm length, and weight. This wasn't taught to her by Marco; she figured it out herself. This is the instinct of a kendo genius.]