The Lamp That No Longer Shines: A LitRPG Action Comedy Chapter 8: Just Because I’m Rich Doesn’t Mean I Don’t Want t

[Ti]: 11:45 AM

[Location]: District 1 · East District · Abyss Magma Hotpot

The air solidified for three seconds.

Rhode was whistling, intently examining the ceiling fan. Lin was focused on studying the magical patterns on her fingernails as if they held the secrets of the universe.

Only Alucard, with those dead, grey dragon eyes, stared silently at Hathaway. The heavy White City Public Order & Punishnt Code in her hand looked ready to smash down at any mont.

Hathaway took a deep breath.

Her rationality told her: The woman in front of you might look like an overworked corporate slave who is one spreadsheet away from cardiac arrest, but her last na is Milan'thirskaya. The floor tiles in her house are probably worth more than my entire net worth. Sympathizing with her is practically an insult to capitalism.

However.

Looking at Alucard’s dragon horns, which were drooping slightly from chronic overwork, and seeing the exhaustion so thick it couldn't be dissolved even by high-grade potions, the soul of the "Earth Corporate Slave" inside Hathaway trembled.

The pain of not wanting to fill out reimbursent forms... the agony of approval workflows... I understand. I understand it too well.

"...I'll pay."

Hathaway’s voice was trembling.

Her hand reached into her pocket and touched the cold, hard object—the Black Gold Magic Crystal Card.

According to the fragnted mories, this month's "Family Trust Fund Dividend" had just arrived yesterday.

It was a massive sum. Enough to buy a small island in the mortal world. But in the White City? It was just enough for a young lady's monthly expenses on dresses, alchemy costics, and gacha gas.

And now, this fresh, warm allowance was about to be wiped out before she even spent a single coin on herself.

Not because she bought sothing nice, but because she fell from the sky and smashed a sidewalk.

The card felt like it weighed a thousand tons. Hathaway felt like she wasn't taking out a card, but surgically removing her own kidney without anesthesia.

Heartache. Physical, literal heartache.

Her soul—the soul of a forr corporate slave who calculated every cent of her paycheck—was screaming in agony:

This is 30,000 Gold Solars! Do you know what this ans? This isn't just pocket money! I could have bought a limited-edition, customized Broomstick with a high-performance mag-lev engine! I could have whaled a C6 character with R5 signature weapons in ten different gacha gas!

And I'm handing it over just to save a Dragon Witch from filling out paperwork?!

But she handed the card over anyway.

The movent was slow and jerky, like a robot lagging in slow motion.

"H... Here..." Hathaway gritted her teeth, squeezing the words out.

A faint light finally ignited in Alucard's dim eyes.

It wasn't gratitude. It was the sheer relief of "I don't have to write a 10,000-word incident report."

Her palm—covered in fine silver scales—gently pinched the other end of the card.

"Thank you," Alucard said concisely, preparing to pull the card away.

It didn't move.

Alucard looked up in confusion.

Hathaway was still maintaining the "handing over" posture. Her face wore the serene smile of a Compassionate Saint, but her fingers—those pale, slender fingers—were clamping onto the Black Card with enough force to crush rock.

Her knuckles were white. Her fingertips were actually embedding themselves into the Mithril plating of the card due to the sheer force.

"...Miss Hathaway?" Alucard tugged tentatively.

Still immovable. Hathaway's entire body even leaned forward with the pull of the card, like a fly stuck to flypaper.

"Huh? Oh... H... Here..."

Hathaway said "here" with her mouth, but her hand was applying force in the opposite direction.

It was a body instinct reinforced by 42,000 M-Units. Her subconscious was roaring: Let go? In your dreams! Unless you chop my fingers off!

Alucard sighed.

She put down her chopsticks and got a little serious. As a Dragon Witch (albeit a corporate slave one), her physical strength was catastrophe-class.

"Miss Hathaway," Alucard reminded her politely, her voice laced with helplessness. "Please let go. If you crush the card, the replacent process takes three working days. By then, you will have been running inside the 'Municipal Mana Turbine' for seventy-two hours."

She leaned in closer, whispering the true horror:

"And since the turbine drains mana to generate electricity, you won't be able to use body reinforcent. It will be seventy-two hours of raw, rciless cardio."

The word "Cardio" instantly pierced through Hathaway's miserly defenses. It triggered the primal trauma buried deep in her mories: The Pacer Test. That relentless beep... beep... getting faster and faster until your lungs tasted like copper and your legs turned to jelly.

Hathaway shuddered.

She looked at Alucard, a single tear of regret (for the lost money) sliding from the corner of her eye. Then, one by one, with agonizing difficulty, she pried her own fingers open.

Swish.

The card was finally in Alucard's hand.

Hathaway collapsed back into her chair, clutching her chest, feeling like her soul had been hollowed out.

Goodbye, my money. Goodbye, my happiness. But at least... goodbye, cardio.

"Swipe it." Alucard handed the card to the Octopus Witch waitress who had been waiting for ages. "Include the repair fees for the two craters, and..." she pointed to the unfinished pot of red oil, "this table's bill. Put it all on this card."

Beep.

The crisp sound of the transaction was followed by a cheerful, chanical voice from the card reader:

[Paynt Successful! Remaining Balance: 250 Gold Solars. Have a magical day!]

Hathaway froze.

Two hundred. And fifty.

"Haa..."

Alucard let out a long breath.

It was the first ti Hathaway had seen the Archon make such an expression.

It was the look of soone laying down a burden of a thousand pounds. Her dead-grey eyes actually cleared, regaining a sharp, lucid focus, and even the silver dragon tail behind her, which had been lifelessly dragging on the floor, gave a gentle, happy tap against the ground.

"No public account process, no 'Application for Financial Allocation regarding Sudden Damage to East District Streets', no need to look at the sour faces of those old hags in the Council..."

Alucard muttered to herself, the corners of her mouth actually curving into a very faint arc.

She stood up, placed the card back on the table, and slid it in front of Hathaway. Then, with great solemnity—as if bestowing a dal of honor—she patted Hathaway on the shoulder.

"Hathaway von Ludwig," Alucard said seriously. "Although you are a legally illiterate litterbug (jumping off buildings), you are a humanitarian hero. Next ti you want to jump, please notify in advance. I will mail the fine directly to you, cutting out the middleman."

With that, the Archon straightened her tie, grabbed the thick law book, and turned to leave.

Her back looked at least five centiters straighter than before. That was the power of Money (soone else's).

Hathaway weakly retrieved her card, looking at the pathetic "250" on the holographic display, her heart bleeding.

Just then.

"Wow! Generous!"

Rhode instantly revived. She took off her sunglasses and looked at Hathaway with a face full of emotion.

"Since soone is treating, we won't hold back! Boss! Ten more plates of Marbled Frost Dragon at! The most expensive tier! My little cousin is rich anyway!"

Lin also elegantly raised her hand. "I'll add to the order too. I heard the Polar Ice Marrow Pudding here is excellent. Pack twenty servings for ; I want to take them ho for my cat."

"..."

Hathaway looked at these two seniors who had instantly transford into gluttonous beasts, and her vision went dark.

Why did I sympathize with that dragon? I should have sympathized with my own wallet!

She raised her trembling hand in sheer, wallet-bleeding panic, shouting:

"Bring one too! No! Two servings! I need to eat my money's worth!!"

Wait.

Hathaway suddenly froze, her hand still in the air. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead.

Ten plates of Dragon at... Twenty servings of Pudding... plus two for ...

Can 250 Gold Solars cover this?

Oh no.

If I can't pay later... do I have to wash dishes here for the next ten years?!

Amidst the steam of bubbling inferno, Hathaway finally understood a fundantal truth:

In this world of Witches, kindness is an expensive luxury.

And being broke is the start of a tragedy.

[Ti]: 12:30 PM

[Location]: Abyss Magma Hotpot -> Street

"Total is 2,800 Gold Solars."

The Octopus Witch waitress smiled sweetly, holding out the crystal terminal. Her six tentacles were already cheerfully packing the twenty servings of takeaway pudding.

Hathaway stared at the terminal. Then she looked at the "250" on her card balance.

Cold sweat drenched her back.

Two thousand eight hundred. I can't even afford the tip.

"Um..." Hathaway's voice trembled. "Do you accept... washing dishes as paynt? I'm very good at scrubbing pots. I used to clean up bugs in code for a living, pots should be easier..."

"Step aside, rookie."

Rhode rolled her eyes, pushing the panic-stricken Hathaway away.

She didn't take out money. Instead, she grabbed the stylus and swiftly signed a flamboyant signature on the terminal's screen. The mont she lifted the pen, the signature ignited into golden flas and vanished into the crystal.

[Transaction Approved: Ludwig Main House - Monthly Settlent]

"Listen up, Hattie," Rhode patted Hathaway's shoulder earnestly, like a ntor teaching a disciple a secret art. "In the White City, taking out cash is sothing only tourists do. As a Ludwig, your face is your wallet. Just sign it to the family account. As long as you don't buy a warship, the accountants at the Main House won't even blink."

Beep.

"Signature Confird. Identity Verified. Thank you for your patronage, Lady Ludwig!"

Hathaway watched this operation, stunned.

So... I didn't spend money.

I just... increased my future debt?

She suddenly understood why the credit card bill in her mory was always astronomical. This spending habit is a bottomless pit!

[Five Minutes Later, Outside the Restaurant]

Three Witches walked out of the hotpot shop.

Hathaway was clutching her stomach, her face a mask of tragic determination mixed with the guilt of increasing her debt. She had eaten back as much as she could—literally stuffing herself to minimize the loss. Her mana stomach was currently processing enough energy to power a small village.

"Alright, lunch break is over."

Lin wiped the corner of her mouth elegantly, her mood visibly improved after securing twenty servings of ice pudding for her cat.

She looked at Hathaway, her gaze shifting from 'looking at a walking wallet' to sothing sharper—'looking at a raw gemstone.'

"We have an hour before afternoon classes start." Lin checked the ti on her wrist crystal. "Since you've treated us to such a lovely al (on credit), it's ti for the first lesson."

"Lesson?" Hathaway blinked, a bad premonition rising in her gut alongside the indigestion. "What lesson? Don't we just go back to the dorm and sleep?"

"Sleep?" Rhode laughed as if she had heard the funniest joke of the year. She threw an arm around Hathaway's shoulder. "My dear cousin, you have 42,000 M-Units of mana, but your control is as sloppy as a drunk goblin. Do you really think we're going to let you walk around like a ticking ti bomb?"

Lin pointed towards a massive, tallic structure looming in the distance—the 'Iron Rose' Comprehensive Arena.

"We're going to the VIP Training Room."

Lin's smile was terrifyingly beautiful.

"I want to see how long a rookie with S-Tier stats can last against when I only use Rank 1 cantrips."

Hathaway froze.

Fighting Lin? The 'G.O.A.T. of Dueling'?

Wait a minute.

I have 42,000 M-Units of mana. And more importantly... these eyes.

Ga balance 101: A sudden, drastic costic mutation in a character’s eyes is never just aesthetic. It is always the visual indicator of a newly unlocked, top-tier passive skill. High-fra-rate motion capture. The Sharingan. The Mystic Eyes.

Earlier, when Lin reached for the pudding, Hathaway swore she had seen the muscle trajectory twitching a microsecond before the actual movent.

Hathaway glanced at her reflection in a shop window. Those deep crimson eyes, filled with rotating geotric patterns, looked like a terrifying hardware upgrade.

I have zero combat software, Hathaway reasoned internally. But if my hardware is genuinely this broken—if these eyes are a built-in perception cheat—I can exploit it. I don't need to beat a World Champion in a fair fight. I just need to use my broken stats to land one lucky, glitchy hit.

"Fine!" Hathaway straightened her back, gripping her untested hardware advantage like a lifeline. "Let's go! But since you're a World Champion, I'm setting the handicap!"

She gritted her teeth, thinking of the 2,800 Solars added to her debt.

"If I manage to land even a single hit on you—just graze your clothes—I win! And you have to pay off that hotpot bill for !"

Rhode and Lin exchanged a look.

It was the kind of look predators give when they see a particularly plump, naive rabbit jumping into the stew pot voluntarily and asking, "Is the water warm enough?"

"Deal," Lin said softly, her blue-grey eyes crinkling in pleasant amusent. "Let's go fix your brain."