Chapter 1076 – Mo Lan’s Headmistress Daily Life 8

Chapter 1075 – Mo Lan’s Headmistress Daily Life 8

The Teaching Headmistress, clad in deep purple robes, had appeared at the lectern at some point unnoticed.

She wore a faint smile, her gaze sweeping over the new students below—each with their own distinct expressions. She made no comment on anyone’s attire, simply raising her hand to signal for quiet:

“Alright, everyone, let’s begin class.”

“Yesterday, a few young witches asked: why is the entire first week nothing but introductory alchemy classes?”

The Headmistress’s gaze drifted slowly across the earnest little faces below.

“That is because formally beginning your study of magic—whether theory or practice—requires two things you cannot do without.”

She raised her right hand, and above her palm materialized two shimmering projections: a thick, weighty tome and a slender wooden staff.

“The first is the book of inheritance that accompanies every witch throughout her life—the Grimoire. The second is the essential tool for casting spells—the Wand.”

The projections dissolved, and she continued:

“This week’s introductory alchemy classes have one single objective: to learn how to craft your own Grimoire and Wand. But before any of that can begin, we must first master the most fundamental and most important technique for channeling mana—Magic Infusion.”

The young witches below straightened up in their seats in unison.

“In the Learning Space, you needn’t worry about mana consumption. You can practice to your heart’s content until you’ve achieved complete mastery.”

At first, the young witches didn’t understand what that meant.

They simply followed the Headmistress’s instructions, picking up the sheets of resonance paper prepared on their desks and slowly channeling mana into them, attempting to infuse the paper’s surface into a uniform green.

First attempt—failure. The mana dissipated.

Second attempt—uneven coloring.

Third attempt—the color barely took hold, only to fade almost immediately.

Four times, five times, ten times…

Each time their mana was exhausted, it took only an instant before it surged back to full, as though it had never been spent at all.

Once everyone had mastered the infusion of resonance paper, the Headmistress taught them to apply the same technique to their own eyes, activating Witch Sight.

After mastering the technique for activating Witch Sight, the class came to an end, and all the young witches simultaneously exited the Learning Space.

Sylvia opened her eyes to find herself lying on her dormitory bed, the window still glowing with the faint light of early morning.

She glanced at the time on her {Study Card}—seven o’clock sharp.

It had felt like ages and ages inside the Learning Space, yet in reality only half an hour had passed.

Her body felt just as comfortable as when she’d first woken up, as if those hours of practice had been nothing more than a vivid dream.

She rolled over and sat up, rolled her shoulders, and couldn’t help but marvel: “The Learning Space is truly magical…”

The second introductory alchemy class was at ten in the morning.

This time, the classroom wasn’t the Learning Space—it was a real classroom inside the Academy Castle.

Sylvia gathered Tessa, Evelyn, and Dorella, and the four of them jogged along the stone-paved path toward Academy Mountain.

This class was about actually performing Magic Infusion research and activating Witch Sight in reality.

It wasn’t until they began truly expending their own mana that the young witches understood just how luxurious the “unlimited mana” of the morning class had been.

“My mana’s completely drained…”

Sylvia slumped back in her chair, rubbing her slightly aching eyes, clutching a half-eaten breadfruit in her hand.

Sourness exploded across her tongue and her jaw went weak again, but what was even more unbearable was how painfully slow mana recovery was compared to the Learning Space—like watching a snail crawl.

She glanced at Tessa beside her. Tessa was shoving breadfruit into her mouth in huge bites, grimacing with every mouthful—an expression that was equal parts agony and sheer stubbornness.

Evelyn had already given up the struggle and was slumped over her desk with her eyes closed, resting.

Dorella remained relatively composed, nibbling at her breadfruit in tiny bites, pausing now and then to let out a long, weary sigh.

“I finally understand now…” Sylvia said in a hollow voice.

“Understand what?”

“The Learning Space truly is a magnificent invention.”

The other three nodded simultaneously, their movements perfectly synchronized.

Meanwhile, the same exclamations of wonder were echoing through classrooms of every other year.

The second-year witches had spent the previous academic year cultivating their own Broomstick Grass. Their curriculum for this term centered on crafting broomsticks and learning to fly.

Their first class had likewise been held in the Learning Space.

On the virtual training grounds, the condition of each Broomstick Grass plant had been precisely simulated.

With unlimited virtual materials at their disposal, the young witches could dive in without hesitation.

Clumsy technique? Trimmed the roots too short? Split the main stalk? Stripped the branches down too thin? None of it mattered—they could simply start over from scratch.

After practicing in the Learning Space, when it came time to work on the actual Broomstick Grass they had grown themselves, every single one of them handled it with the deftness of someone who had practiced thousands of times over.

Cleaning the roots, trimming the main stalk, preserving the right branches—every step was precise and clean. They even managed to save more material than expected, setting it aside for future broomstick repairs.

Once the broomsticks were completed, proper flight lessons also took place in the Learning Space.

In previous years, the young witches’ first flights had always been held on the cushion grass fields in the center of the farmlands—wide open spaces with clear sightlines, and thick cushion grass below to break any falls. Perfectly safe.

But this year’s second-years faced all manner of complex terrains and weather conditions.

Mountains, forests, gale-force winds, torrential rain, dense fog, lightning—everything imaginable.

The Learning Space was absolutely safe. You couldn’t die from a fall.

And so, a cohort of second-year witches crashed and tumbled their way through the Learning Space—battered, bruised, and dizzy—only to pick themselves up and fly again, crash and practice, crash and practice. After just a few days, their flying skills had improved by leaps and bounds.

By the end of the first week, the second-years’ flying proficiency was nearly on par with the third-years.

When word reached the third-years, they couldn’t sit still any longer.

They no longer had flight classes on their schedule, but that didn’t stop them from using their free study periods to enter the Learning Space and throw themselves headlong into the flight training room.

The third-years’ new course for the academic year—《Continental Travel Guidance》—had also become far more engaging thanks to the Learning Space.

After the Headmistress finished teaching the theoretical material, she would take them into the Learning Space to experience firsthand the customs and cultures of various regions across the Continent of Valen.

It was all virtual, of course, but the immersive sense of wonder still had the young witches—most of whom had never traveled far from home—thoroughly enthralled.

As for the fourth and fifth-years, they had already begun the first round of survival games for the new academic year.

Both the fourth-years and fifth-years were participating in the “Witch Hunt” series of survival games, differing only in difficulty.

This series drew its material from the darkest period in witch history—from the Divine Descent Era to the early Magic Era.

It was an age when witches were hunted, besieged, and exterminated as heretics.

In 《History of Witches》class, the teachers had given extensive lectures on this history.

To pass their exams, the young witches had memorized plenty of dates, key events, and casualty figures.

But those had been nothing more than words on a page.

It wasn’t until they actually entered the game—bound to a cold stake, hearing the crowd’s frenzy roaring around them, “Burn her!” “Burn the witch!”—feeling the searing pain of flames licking at their ankles, feeling the desperation of being cornered, hunted, with nowhere left to run—that they truly understood for the first time what lay behind those exam points they had memorized so thoroughly: blood and tears.

When the game ended, some had reddened eyes. Some sat in silence for a long, long time without speaking. Some clenched their fists until their knuckles turned white.

No one complained that the game was too cruel.

Because they knew that cruelty was what their forebears had truly lived through.