Chapter 321: A Wizardry Study Accelerator

That was the rudimentary form of the Umbral Weaving Spell Matrix.

But just as the structure was about to stabilize—

A silent ripple swept through the air!

The newly formed lines and glyphs shattered like a sand painting struck by a sudden gale.

“Ngh…”

Pandora’s body gave a slight tremor.

The backlash from the collapsing mental model jabbed at her consciousness like a swarm of tiny needles, inducing a brief wave of vertigo.

But within moments, that chaotic surge was swiftly suppressed by the formidable control granted by the Quicksilver Blood Meditation.

The stinging sensation flared and faded in a heartbeat.

And from this “failed” attempt, she immediately grasped the true meaning behind the passage she had just read—the one describing the initial convergence nodes for shadow energy.

She also instantly recognized a critical misunderstanding in her earlier interpretation.

It was as if a previously blurry concept had snapped into sharp clarity through the feedback of failure.

The content of that short section was rapidly assimilated, thanks to her reading paired with this almost cheat-like method of “casting experimentation.”

Indeed, this world was not the real world.

In the real world, with her current mental strength, there was absolutely no way she could construct a Spell Matrix externally, nor could she so easily suppress the mental rampage that followed a matrix collapse.

That would inevitably lead to severe backlash.

But here, the boundaries of certain things were blurred. The rules of reality became less distinct, the lines between matter and spirit, imagination and existence, no longer absolute.

From one perspective, this meant the “Library of the Fallen Laplace’s Demon” was more chaotic, more uncontrollable—easy to lose oneself in.

One careless misstep, and you could be completely devoured by this frozen twilight, becoming yet another eternal silhouette in this crumbling library.

But from another perspective...

If used wisely, with a clear understanding of the rule differences and ample caution, this place could serve as nothing less than a Wizardry study accelerator.

………………

Time slipped by unnoticed as she delved deeper into her studies.

Pandora would occasionally brighten with sudden insight, then furrow her brow the next moment, fingers unconsciously tracing complex structures in the air.

She was immersed in the arcane yet captivating tome of Wizardry.

And Miss Anomaly sat obediently beside her—not in another chair, but curled up on the wide armrest of Pandora’s seat, equally absorbed in her own book, The Undying Baroness, with its sumptuous tale of intrigue and immortality.

She turned the pages with the softest of sounds, terrified that any extra noise might disturb the deeply focused Pandora beside her.

Every now and then, she would stumble upon an unfamiliar long word, or a cryptic metaphor from the court, and instinctively lift her head, her clear eyes turning toward Pandora.

But seeing that the other girl was still frowning slightly, fully submerged in the world of Wizardry, she would sensibly lower her head again and puzzle it out on her own.

After all, there was no rush.

Here, there was no Gunman, no pursuit, no bone-deep terror.

Only the quiet rustle of turning pages, and the serene flow of knowledge.

Deeply reassuring.

………………

The next morning.

Inside the base at the Orchard Outpost, second floor of the “Academic Building.”

In stark contrast to the building’s worn and shabby exterior, the interior of the second floor was spotless and brightly lit.

Before a massive cylindrical transparent cultivation tank, an indicator light shifted from red to green, emitting a soft chime.

Accompanied by the whir of intricate internal mechanisms, the liquid level inside the tank began to drop at a steady pace.

The fluid was rapidly siphoned away through pipes at the bottom, producing a gentle gurgling sound.

As the level fell, several soft conduits connected to the humanoid form within the tank automatically detached from their ports and retracted into the tank’s walls.

When the last drop of cultivation fluid was drained, the transparent panel on one side of the tank slid open noiselessly, revealing the damp, pallid body inside.

It was the figure of a young boy, with smooth lines and well-proportioned muscles.

But his eyes were tightly shut, showing no signs of life.

An engineer clad in a white research uniform and protective goggles stepped forward. He was a Live Iron Golem engineer.

His movements were practiced and steady. Reaching out, he lifted the newly formed body from the tank and placed it into an adjoining device that resembled a shower stall.

The stall door closed. From within came the faint hiss of water spraying and the low hum of warm air drying.

Minutes later, the door opened once more.

The body that had been dripping wet moments ago was now completely dry. The skin even held a faint, healthy luster.

The boy opened his eyes.

At first, those eyes were vacant, utterly unfocused.

But soon, his pupils contracted slightly. His gaze began to focus, landing on the golem engineer before him, and a glimmer of intelligence surfaced in his expression.

The engineer said nothing. He simply handed over a neatly folded set of clothes.

It was an attire befitting the dress code of Ashford Heights Modern High School, complete with the school emblem pinned over the left chest.

The boy took the clothes. His initial movements were slightly clumsy, but they rapidly grew smooth and natural. He pulled on the shirt, the trousers, adjusted the collar.

When he finished dressing and stood still, aside from his somewhat pallid complexion and an expression just a touch too composed, he looked exactly like an ordinary high school boy. Almost entirely flawless.

And the identity he had been created to replace—the one he was meant to blend into—belonged to a high school boy who had tragically perished in the recent “Gunman-Type Anomaly” incident.

After a complex series of physical and cognitive tests, the engineer pushed open the heavy soundproof door and strode out of the softly lit golem cultivation chamber.

He walked down the building’s modest corridor and entered the adjacent observation room.

One wall of the observation room was almost entirely composed of one-way observation glass.

From this side, every detail within the cultivation chamber was clearly visible: the newly calibrated boy dressed in proper attire, the glowing screens of the instruments beside him, even the faint wisps of vapor condensing in the air.

Several people were already waiting inside the observation room.

On a bench against the wall sat a red-haired woman.

She had a slender, graceful figure, and at her waist hung an exquisite hookah flask, its surface intricately wound with fine silver wire.

It was Poppy.

She was leaning back against the seat in a relaxed posture, one hand resting on the armrest, her fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic beat against the wood.

The golem engineer came to a halt before her and began his report in a flat, emotionless voice:

“Lady Poppy, the first Live Iron Golem has been cultivated and is ready. All functional calibrations have passed. The logic and behavior modules are operating normally. The small-scale cultivation facility is now fully operational.”