I made up magic and taught a world-destroying witch?

In those forty-eight hours, Grace experienced what it meant to fall from heaven to hell.

That day in the experimental tower, a white light did indeed appear at her fingertips.

Although it was fleeting, it was the first time in her life that the magical elements truly responded to her.

The problem is, ever since that day when I left the experimental tower, that light has never appeared again, like an excessively stingy miracle.

She drew the curtains, turned off the magic lamp, dismissed the maids, and refused dinner.

They didn't even open the routine greetings sent by ravens from the palace, just tossed them aside.

The room was so quiet that only the ticking of the clock could be heard.

She sat at her desk, closing her eyes again and again, constructing spell slots and embedding light spell models repeatedly.

But there was still no light.

Grace opened her eyes and suddenly found the darkness in front of her to be incredibly blinding.

Could it be that the white light that day wasn't magic at all, but a hallucination caused by her desperate desire to succeed?

Could it be that Mr. [Name]'s definition of failure wasn't that his standards were too high, but rather that he saw through it at a glance that it wasn't success at all?

Could it be that she is actually still that useless princess who has no magical perception, no talent for spellcasting, and is only fit to sit behind the long table in the palace and sort out documents for others?

The moment this thought arose, the spell slots in her mind instantly collapsed.

After a long while, she slowly lowered her head to look at her fingers.

Long and slender, exceptionally white, and perfectly manicured.

These are such perfect hands for holding a quill pen.

It was suitable for writing beautiful and neat lines of text on those court meeting records.

It's suitable for going through official documents, signing orders, and organizing files neatly.

She's suited to be a quiet, dignified, and always-perfect decorative princess.

But it just doesn't look like a pair of hands that can cast magic.

Grace suddenly raised her hand and pinched her thigh, the pain making her gasp for breath, which brought her back to her senses.

The master clearly warned that the biggest taboo in new magic is pursuing external radiance at low ring levels.

She suddenly realized that she had been making the same mistake for the past two days.

He tells himself he shouldn't practice to death just to prove he's not a loser, but what does he actually do?

Every time I close my eyes, I'm afraid that I'll turn back into that pathetic creature who can't sense the magic.

She feared that all her hopes would ultimately turn out to be nothing more than a misconception, a pity bestowed upon her by her husband.

Forcing herself to clear her mind of all these chaotic thoughts, Grace closed her eyes again.

Mia was also struggling in dire straits.

  

Every time I tried to embed the light magic model, it either failed or turned into red and gold sparks, and I almost burned my eyebrows.

She was so angry she wanted to bang her head against the wall.

She's clearly practicing a light spell, so why does it keep turning into fire?

Mia scratched her hair in frustration.

Several times she wanted to rush to the laboratory tower and knock on the door to ask her husband what was wrong with her.

But as soon as her hand touched the doorknob, she pulled it back.

The gentleman said not to rush to confirm with him.

The gentleman also said that failure is also part of the observation process.

She can't be so pathetic as to bother Mr. [the man] just because of a little spark.

That would make me look like a complete failure.

So Mia could only lock herself in her dormitory and repeatedly reforge the metal like a mad blacksmith.

On the other side, in the college's practical training area.

Unlike the secluded and quiet experimental tower, the training area is still incredibly noisy even at night.

Professor Maurice Brewster's office is on the top floor of this building.

When the teaching assistant knocked and came in, Brewster was sitting comfortably in the large leather chair behind his desk, slowly rubbing his archmage badge with a soft cloth in his hand.

"Speak."

Brewster didn't even look up, and gave the orders in a pretentious tone.

The teaching assistant hesitated for a moment while holding a stack of notes, but still said:

"Professor, as you instructed, I have been keeping an eye on Professor Grantham's situation these past few days."

Brewster then lazily lifted his eyelids and asked:

"Is it interesting?"

The teaching assistant carefully considered his words.

"It's... kind of weird."

Brewster chuckled.

"That's strange, that's an interesting word choice. Go on."

The teaching assistant opened his notebook and said cautiously:

"Professor Grantham has not requested any additional spellcasting consumables in the past few days."

Brewster's carefully groomed mustache twitched slightly.

"any?"

"He only had the administration office send him a new batch of whiteboards and charcoal pencils."

The teaching assistant nodded repeatedly and said,

"There's nothing like crystal powder, fire salt, high-level magic ink, or guiding stones."

The records from the administrative office, once thoroughly investigated, only showed his basic monthly quota based on the number of people he received.

Brewster's mustache twitched again.

The basic supplies provided to each professor by the college administration are barely adequate.

That thing is like the free black bread in the corner of a student cafeteria.

It's not that it won't kill you, but any normal professor preparing for a public demonstration lesson wouldn't live on just that little bit of junk.

Moreover, Joseph Grantham claims to have created a completely revolutionary new magic system!

This is like a chef announcing that he is going to invent the number one dish on the mainland, but the spice jars in the kitchen have never even been opened.

The office was quiet for a moment, then Brewster suddenly burst out laughing.

"Whiteboard and charcoal pencils."

He repeated it slowly, as if he were savoring some earth-shattering joke, drawing out the words in a drawn-out tone.

"Truly worthy of being called a great magician of the theoretical school."

The teaching assistant didn't dare to respond, and could only lower his head to continue flipping through the notes as he spoke:

"Then I checked the reservation records for the teaching venues: the assessment tower, the training area, the magic manipulation training room, and the spell experiment field. There were no reservation records for Professor Grantham in the past few days."

He never took his students to any training grounds.

Brewster finally put down the gleaming badge in his hand.

"What about his experimental tower?"

"The logs from the monitoring tower show that Professor Grantham's experimental tower has shown almost no noticeable magical fluctuations in the past few days."

"almost?"

"There were several extremely low-intensity fluctuations."

The teaching assistant's expression became a little strange as he said this.

"But the intensity was too low and the duration too short, so the testers couldn't determine the specific situation. It could be a Twilight Vine reaction or a slight disturbance caused by a minor spell."

Brewster could no longer suppress the sneer on his face.

"Excellent. In other words, our project leader, who is in charge of the great cause of the revival of new magic, is not applying for supplies, not entering the training ground, not conducting practical training, and there are no decent magical fluctuations in the experimental tower at this critical moment when the demonstration class is about to begin."

The teaching assistant gave a dry laugh.

"According to the records, that is indeed the case."

"Where are those two good-for-nothing students? What are they doing?"