Though these witches gathered to cover for each other while preying on humans, they still maintained appearances. At the very least, this monastery had a scriptorium—a place meant for nuns to study scriptures and train.
So, Hattie nodded. "There is one, but... I’ve never been there. No one goes there, really. I doubt it’s even been cleaned..."
She hesitated, embarrassed. "Does the Master wish to visit? Please allow me to clean it first before guiding you—"
Charles brightened at once. "No need. Take me there directly."
Hattie didn’t refuse. After helping him dress, they stepped out, crossed a corridor, and soon arrived at the monastery’s lone small scriptorium.
The door clearly hadn’t been opened in ages. As soon as it creaked ajar, dust cascaded from the frame. Charles reflexively covered his nose and stepped back, waiting for the cloud to settle before peering inside.
On the sunlit side of the room stood two spacious desks, each with a pen holder holding a few quills and an inkwell—all buried under thick dust. Clearly, no one had used this place in years.
The opposite side held two massive bookshelves packed with religious tomes and hymns dedicated to the Goddess of Life. Yet most books were pristine, never once opened.
Looking at this dirty scriptorium, Hattie’s expression suddenly became more ashamed and she couldn’t help but lower her head, but Charles’ expression became more satisfied.
The witches were too busy playing with their captured humans or hunting new prey to come here. Perfect for his secret growth!
"Let’s go in," he said, stepping forward despite the grime. Hattie followed, suppressing disgust—as a deep-sea witch, she loathed dust and adored clean, damp spaces.
But she wouldn’t suffer long. Charles opened his system, selected [Scriptorium Construction], and merged it with the room—
Purifying white light flared, instantly scouring away the filth. Within seconds, the room was spotless.
Now, he could feel it—this room was an extension of himself. A mere thought would send any book flying to his hand, opening to the exact page he desired.
He approached a desk. A fresh notebook leapt from the shelf to his right. The quill on the desk dipped itself in ink, then floated into his grip, ready for notes.
Such seamless automation lifted his spirits, washing away fatigue and irritation.
Hattie watched him with adoration, then suddenly stepped back. "If the Master plans to study here, shall I take my leave?"
"Yes." Charles nodded, eager to begin. "Go ahead. I’ll learn alone."
Hattie bowed, gently shutting the now-silent, dust-free door behind her, and hurried off.
She planned to trade the translucent gem and alexandrite for coin, then spend it all on spellbooks for her Master.
As her footsteps faded, Charles sat in the sunlit scriptorium, spellbook in hand. His mind was razor-sharp, every convoluted description, every intricate formula, every abstract magical model unfolding with effortless clarity.
Oh... So that’s it. That’s what the author meant—
Marvelous. He was beginning to understand everything!
With his strong mathematical foundation, Charles didn’t need to study like an ordinary College of Quandrix student. All he lacked was mana—and the ability to weave math into spells.
And at his core, he was a warlock. His magic power flowed from Hattie, leaving him no shortage of energy. Now, with the scriptorium’s aid, mastering true spellcasting was only a matter of time.
The sun passed its zenith, tilting westward. Time slipped by unnoticed—even mealtime came and went. Yet Charles, lost in the world of magic, remained oblivious. He devoured the Knowledge of magic voraciously, like parched earth soaking up a sudden downpour.
Finally, after two hours, he constructed his first self-taught spell within his mind.
With the incantation on his lips, Charles held the spellbook in his left hand and gently touched his body with his right. Instantly, a protective magical force field enveloped him, shielding his form.
Everything had fallen into place. Feeling the stable, resilient barrier around him, Charles could hardly suppress the urge to burst into laughter.
Though the moment he formed the magical pact with Hattie, he had automatically learned the 1st-level spells Create Water and Destroy Water due to their shared connection. Yet back then, he hadn’t felt nearly as exhilarated as he did now.
The reason was simple—those spells had been gifted by Hattie, not earned through his own diligent study, leaving him with no sense of accomplishment. Moreover, those spells were merely utilitarian magic, offering him no protection whatsoever.
Learning Create Water and Destroy Water had done nothing to enhance his combat prowess. Thus, he still felt no real security, and naturally, his excitement had been muted.
But now, with Mage Armor mastered, one thing was certain—ordinary cold weapons could hardly harm him!
The protective strength of Mage Armor was comparable to a well-crafted suit of chainmail. Once cast, ordinary slashes, blunt strikes, and the like would no longer pose a threat.
Yet it was far lighter and more transparent, perfectly covering every inch of his body—even his eyes—leaving no gaps or weaknesses exposed!
From this day forward, the weapons of ordinary folk would scarcely touch him.
Ah, from today onward, I too am truly one of the elite, one in a hundred.
He reveled in the thought, but his joy was short-lived. His stomach betrayed him with an unruly growl—Gurrrgle—
Hunger struck abruptly, and only then did he realize how late it had gotten—he hadn’t even eaten lunch.
Ah, perhaps this was what Tao Yuanming meant by "When comprehension dawns, joy makes one forget to eat."
Who would’ve thought I’d ever experience such a thing...
With a self-deprecating chuckle, he turned toward the door and called softly, "Hattie?"
But there was no response.
Frowning slightly, he remembered—Oh right, Hattie went out. She still hasn’t returned.
Should he wait for her?
For safety’s sake, he truly didn’t want to leave the scriptorium without the witch accompanying him. Yet the moment he sat back down, hunger pangs surged through him relentlessly, pounding at his temples, making it impossible to stay still.
Hiss... No good. The toll of learning magic was too heavy—he couldn’t endure this.
At this moment, he almost missed his previous life—the days of overtime and erratic schedules that left him with poor digestion, never feeling hungry on time.
Turns out, having too strong a digestive capacity isn’t always a good thing...
Charles mused wryly, but there was no helping it. This was the price of efficiency.
Over the past few hours, his entire body had been operating at peak performance—his stomach writhing and digesting, his heart pumping blood, transporting vast amounts of oxygen and nutrients straight to his brain, enabling him to learn his first spell so quickly.
Now, the bill had come due. Hunger gnawed at him fiercely, leaving him lightheaded and frantic.
Finally, unable to bear it any longer, he gazed out the window at the monastery’s serene surroundings—and a bold idea took shape in his mind.
The witches seemed absent. It was just a short distance—sneaking to the kitchen to cook a meal couldn’t be that risky, right?
Besides, the kitchen would be empty. Once there, he’d be safe. The chances of running into a witch were slim...
The lingering thrill of mastering Mage Armor had left him brimming with confidence. After triple-checking that the coast was clear, he took a deep breath, steeled himself, pushed open the door, slipped out, closed it behind him—and felt his heart hammering wildly.
Without another thought, he turned on his heel, tiptoed as quietly as possible, and sprinted toward the kitchen—
The monastery wasn’t large, and the scriptorium wasn’t far from the kitchen. His frantic dash took less than half a minute—naturally, no one noticed him.
He exhaled slowly, his heart settling back into place as he wiped the nervous sweat from his brow. Then, he pushed open the kitchen door—
A petite figure draped in a nun’s robe stood in the kitchen, curiously examining her surroundings.
At the sound of the creaking door, she turned—her striking purple-red eyes locking onto his with icy precision.
It was none other than the Blade Witch who harbored a murderous intent toward him—Ruth!