Viola sat in an ornate armchair with a cold, tallic sheen, gazing through the massive floor-to-ceiling window of her tower laboratory. Below, the camp operated with the precision of a steel machine.
Her posture was the epito of elegance, her long, silver hair cascading like a waterfall. Clad in a simple yet noble white robe, she resembled a flawless sculpture of ice and snow.
Her gaze rested on a colleague in the center of the laboratory, dressed in the robes of a second-grade wizard. His face contorted with intense psychological struggle, beads of sweat dotting his forehead, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.
His eyes kept darting to the glass bottle on the table before him, filled with a blood-red potion that emitted an alluring fragrance.
Viola did not rush him. Her expression was almost indifferent, as if she were rely an observer watching an inconsequential silent play.
Yet, upon closer inspection, one could detect the faint threads of amusent in the depths of her eyes, nearly spilling over.
Like a deep, icy pool reflecting the final struggles of its prey.
This tornt was the mont Viola savored most.
The wizard’s inner world was undoubtedly weathering a fierce storm—a clash between reason and instinct, the desire for power warring against the fear of excruciating pain, tearing at his soul.
This silent torture cut deeper than any physical tornt.
After what seed an eternity, the wizard’s body trembled slightly, as if he had made a monuntal decision. Gritting his teeth, he resolved to purchase the potion from Viola.
Without a word, without even glancing at her again, he carefully stowed the bottle and hurriedly left her office, his departure as frantic as a sinner fleeing judgnt.
Viola watched his near-pathetic figure, tinged with relief yet steeped in profound pain, and let out a long, soft sigh of satisfaction.
That sound carried an almost primal fulfillnt, as if she had tasted the sweetest fruit in the world.
…Her personality flaws were indeed significant.
Viola had realized this since childhood.
From her earliest mories, the first vivid images in her mind were not the warmth of sunlight or her mother’s smile, as others might recall.
Instead, they were the grotesque forms of insects and frogs, writhing and dying in agony under her fingertips.
The fluctuations emitted by a life on the brink of collapse brought her an indescribable thrill and calm.
Later, when she entered the wizard academy and delved into profound knowledge, this twisted fascination did not fade. It grew, fueled by her expanding intellect.
No longer satisfied with random wild creatures, she turned her attention to the academy’s experintal subjects.
She beca obsessed with observing living test subjects altered by runes or corroded by potions, watching them struggle, scream, and ultimately perish as their souls scattered.
By the ti Viola realized what she had beco, she found that an ordinary apprentice, initially destined for the alchemy school, had unwittingly beco a dual “genius” in the schools of biology and pain, thanks to her unique understanding of “suffering” and deep analysis of “life.”
ntors from both schools extended olive branches, promising the best resources and the most arcane knowledge.
Under normal circumstances, soone with Viola’s abnormal fascination with pain might easily veer toward extremism and corruption, falling into evil or the abyss.
But Viola was different.
Perhaps due to her psychological quirks, while she relished the sight of other beings’ suffering, she was also far more rational and clear-headed than other wizards.
She knew precisely how to balance her twisted interests with harsh reality, dancing on the edge of law and morality.
When she grew bored with the crude pain of non-human creatures like magical beasts and test subjects, she began to crave sothing more refined—the pain of wizards.
The mont this thought arose, Viola didn’t let it control her. Instead, she grew instantly vigilant.
She knew that acting directly on her peers, even if it brought ecstasy, would exact a heavy price, perhaps even her premature demise. That was not rational.
Thus, after careful thought and ticulous planning, Viola resolutely rejected the offers from the biology and pain schools, turning instead to the seemingly dull field of potioncraft.
With imnse willpower, she started from scratch, finding a new way to satisfy her interests.
Her extensive knowledge from biology and pain allowed her to precisely grasp how living beings reacted to suffering and how potions interacted with the soul.
Leveraging this expertise, she quickly achieved remarkable success in potioncraft—her proud creation, the renowned “Pain Potion Series” that made her na echo through the workshop.
This series covered everything: enhancing ntal strength, boosting physique, accelerating injury recovery, and temporarily unlocking life’s potential—nearly every functional potion a wizard could need.
Their defining trait was that, to achieve effects superior to potions of the sa grade, users had to endure extre, almost subli pain during consumption.
Viola’s mastery of potion formulas was precise to the smallest detail.
The effects of her pain potions were slightly superior to market equivalents—just enough to make countless wizards, chasing the ultimate edge, flock to them despite the risks.
The cost was the unparalleled agony endured during use.
Yet, aside from the pain, the series had no permanent side effects.
They didn’t damage the foundation, left no hidden injuries, and posed no obstacles to future advancent.
For wizards, known for their rationality and treating their bodies as precious vessels, potions with no lasting side effects and superior results were theoretically the ideal purchase.
But wizards were still living beings, with primal, instinctive aversions to pain.
They could rationally weigh costs and benefits, but when the pain struck, that physiological rejection wasn’t sothing willpower alone could fully overco.
The most ingenious—and to Viola, the most delightful—aspect was the series’ critical, unavoidable feature.
If a wizard used other spells or secret arts to perfectly block the pain, the potion would lose all effect, becoming nothing more than ordinary liquid.
This was Viola’s true purpose.
Not only did the sight of wizards writhing in agony from her potions bring her imnse joy, but their ntal tornt—the conflict between reason and instinct, the agonizing indecision, the weighing of choices, and the final painful decision—filled her with unparalleled delight.
To Viola, the psychological suffering of wizards was far more gratifying than re physical pain.
“Perfect…” She exhaled softly, her breathing calming, the amusent in her eyes gradually receding.
All emotions returned to their essence. She was no longer the potion master with twisted interests but the ever-elegant, composed wizard of the Noran Workshop.
“Beep! Beep! Beep!”
A sharp, rhythmic alert from the magical network terminal on her wrist interrupted her thoughts.
The lingering intoxication from watching the wizard’s struggle vanished, and Viola’s expression sobered.
Her eyes regained their clarity, her lips curling into a perfectly asured smile, as if she had just stepped away from serious academic research.
Connecting the call, a young but slightly balding face appeared on the screen—her ntor, Clark.
“How have you been, Viola?” Clark’s tone carried a hint of weary warmth.
“Everything is fine, ntor. No need to worry,” Viola replied, her voice soft and flawless.
Her smile deepened imperceptibly. “I’ve also been taking good care of my junior brother, Jie Ming, helping him grow amidst the harsh planar wars. You can rest assured.”
Clark’s lips twitched, a trace of helplessness in his eyes.
“It’s exactly because you’re looking after him that I’m worried!” His tone carried resignation, clearly aware of Viola’s “peculiarities.”
But he was powerless against this disciple.
With a soft sigh, as if accepting fate, he said, “Fine. Just don’t go too far. Let him grow normally. That boy has real potential.”
“ntor, what are you saying?” Viola’s face bore an innocent smile. “Of course I’ll look after my junior brother properly. His potential is imnse, perhaps even greater than mine was.”
This wasn’t entirely a lie.
She was genuinely satisfied with Jie Ming’s remarkable adaptability, extraordinary resilience, near-coldblooded decisiveness, and the indescribable “pain” hidden beneath his facade.
“Though, my junior brother seems troubled by sothing lately, running around nonstop. A pity—I was hoping to assign him more research tasks to test his limits. But this kind of pain from his troubles is quite nice too…”
Though she didn’t know the source of Jie Ming’s pain, its fluctuations thrilled and delighted her.
This inner turmoil was precisely the “high-quality” pain she sought.
Clark silently mourned for Jie Ming, far away.
He knew Viola’s “satisfaction” likely ant Jie Ming was enduring trials far beyond the ordinary.
“I hope that boy won’t develop psychological scars…”
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