Chapter 7: The Curse That Comes from Knowledge Itself

Chapter 7: The Curse That Comes from Knowledge Itself

From today’s experiences, Jiang Cha could only conclude one thing: witches had weird personalities.

They worshiped efficiency—yet were wasteful to an extreme.
Like installing subspace rail commuter cars just to get around campus.

Yes—wasteful.

Aislen Witch Academy was large, sure. Based on the map, the campus spanned 450 square kilometers. But that was still no reason to need that kind of advanced transport. Jiang Cha thought about it for a long time before reaching a conclusion:

They did it just to save a few extra minutes of walking.

The energy that cost, the money to manufacture the vehicles—in her previous-world logic, those numbers were astronomical and completely unjustifiable.

And yet, witches lived their daily lives in stark contrast—leisurely and retro.

They clung to medieval European aristocratic habits. They read books, drank afternoon tea, and spent massive amounts of time on personal interests.

Take the Academic Office, for instance: a shabby wooden hut tucked into the most remote northwest corner of the campus forest. A long winding path stretched from the drop-off point all the way to the building.

From an urban planning perspective, this made no sense.
There were no other buildings nearby—so if this wasn’t a technical limitation, then the transport stop could have just been placed right in front of the office.

All that time saved by high-tech vehicles… wasted on this baffling sense of ritual.

Or, perhaps… a twisted aesthetic.

Jiang Cha didn’t get it.

But one thing was certain—she was living in this bizarre witch society now. And by the looks of it, she’d be stuck here for the next few years, maybe even decades.

There was no escaping it.

And certainly no changing it.

So she could only adapt.

After leaving the Academic Office, Jiang Cha walked out holding three books in her arms—completely dumbfounded.

Even though she’d mentally prepared for the witches’ eccentricity and ritualistic behaviors, she was still shocked.
Because the way textbooks were distributed here was… self-service.

You scan your passcard.
A strange, steam-punk machine covered in rivets chugged and rattled—then spat out three books.

They weren’t high-tech data tablets.
They weren’t magical grimoires written on enchanted parchment.
They were just… ordinary books.
Printed in serif fonts.
Still smelling faintly of fresh ink.

They weren’t even written with enchanted quill pens—just basic, mechanical printing. Nothing more.

Sure, compressing the entire bookmaking process into a single vending machine was an incredible feat of technology—far beyond the world Jiang Cha remembered.
But to use all that cutting-edge tech… just to print normal books?

“Witch society is truly… extravagantly absurd.”

And sure, the high-tech world using ink to print books wasn’t unheard of—but requiring students to come all the way out here to pick them up? In a campus that had postal delivery?

The books were:

• A Concise History of Witchcraft

• Elementary Magical Theory

• Introduction to Basic Magic

And along with the practical, non-textbook class “Witch Combat”, that was everything a first-year needed to learn.

Since studying magic put a strain on the mind, this limited course load was probably just right for beginners.

But for Jiang Cha—who was born with magic reserves far beyond the average witch—it was too easy.

“No wonder Senior Sis Sining said the first year would be relaxed.”

She still didn’t know her own magic stats, but based on her perception, she could estimate Qusi Nan’s mana level—it had to be in the tens of thousands.

Mental aptitude and magic capacity were directly linked, and one’s mental coefficient determined how fast a witch could learn.
So in this academy, a witch’s magical reserves = talent. Straightforward.

Of course, that didn’t mean low-mana witches were doomed.
The school manual mentioned that they could succeed through specialization—in potion-making, alchemy, and other disciplines—to rise in status.

And even if you slacked off, it didn’t matter. The witch society’s abundant resources meant high social welfare.

Although Jiang Cha still couldn’t understand where all those resources came from.

After picking up her books, Jiang Cha didn’t return to the dorm.
Instead, guided by the map, she took a commuter car to the Grand Archive.

As a transmigrated witch with barely any understanding of this society, her top priority was to learn the basics.

Sure, she was curious about magic—but her rational mind told her to start with “A Concise History of Witchcraft” first.

The Grand Archive was quiet.

Or rather, everything outside the teaching and dormitory zones felt deserted.

Aislen Witch Academy was the pinnacle of witch education.
But under their elite-focused philosophy, there were only around 20,000 to 30,000 witches here—including staff.
Most of the sixth- and seventh-year students were off-campus for internships.

So compared to the campus’s massive land area, it was practically deserted.

Even this enormous, well-stocked library had barely a few dozen students inside—each silently absorbed in their reading.

“Hello, welcome to the Grand Archive. I’m the librarian here. You can call me Mohr. Hmm… should I notify the discipline committee? Cutting class is against school rules, you know.”

The woman in the brown witch robes looked like she was wearing a custom outfit—or one she’d modified herself.
The robes fit just tightly enough to highlight her explosive curves, with loose areas adding contrast in all the right places. Subtle folds and shadows teased the eye.
A soft, smiling face. Brown eyes behind stylish glasses.
Long, radiant purple hair added a dangerous allure.

The perfect “big sister” type.

‘Oof—right in my strike zone!’
Jiang Cha cried out silently.

In the past, maybe she’d have been too flustered to even talk in front of such a woman.
After all, her “common sense” had a suspicious amount of information about big-sister types.

But sadly—thanks to her inherent magic, her brain didn’t so much as flutter.

“Hello, Miss Mohr. I’m a transfer student—just reported in today. Official classes start tomorrow.”

The girl gave a small bow and looked up at her with big eyes, playing the part of the well-behaved newbie.
“So I wanted to preview the material… Please don’t report me~”

“Oh my, such a cute little first-year. I’m so sorry—I misunderstood such a beautiful young lady.”
Mohr covered her mouth in mock surprise, her tone teasing, her expression clearly fake.

She wasn’t even trying to hide it.

‘So she was just messing with me…’

“To make it up to you, how about I recommend some books?”
“They’ll help you get used to the academy faster—since it’s very different from the outside world.”

“You must be struggling, right?”

“That would help me a lot!”
Jiang Cha patted her chest in exaggerated relief and smiled gratefully.
“Then I’ll be counting on you, Big Sis Mohr~”

She even slid in a cheeky title upgrade to close the distance.

“Calling me Big Sis? Now that’s a surprise.”
Mohr chuckled softly.
“Then let Big Sis recommend you a few books, alright?”

Mohr seemed to know the archive inside and out.
After a few seconds of thoughtful frowning, she handed Jiang Cha a reading list.

“These are basic supplemental books with the lowest knowledge-contamination levels. Perfect for someone like you.”

“Thank you so much!”

‘So the old stereotype that librarians are secretly powerful actually works in the witch world?’

Jiang Cha had only asked out of curiosity, expecting nothing.
She hadn’t thought Miss Mohr would be genuinely formidable.

To recommend books like that, you’d need to have read them yourself.
And judging by the endless sea of shelves in the Grand Archive…

Even if these were just low-level supplemental books, the “contamination” they carried would still overwhelm most normal witches.

But Jiang Cha didn’t dwell on Mohr.
Anyone managing a facility this important had to be a big shot—if not a hidden master, then a total weirdo.
There might be value in befriending her, but not urgently.
What Jiang Cha needed right now was knowledge—about the world she’d landed in.

With help from a guiding sprite (which could look like animals or just blobs of mana), she was directed to a designated seat—automatically chosen to ensure privacy, far from others.

And so, she quietly began to read.

‘My memory retention is way higher than expected.’

Twenty minutes later, Jiang Cha put down her first book.

With a witch’s enhanced eyesight, she could speed-read pages in a single glance.
With her magically-enhanced brain, she could memorize and archive them perfectly—building out her “memory tower” with solid understanding, laying the foundation of her worldview.

She finished that first book—tens of thousands of words—in just 21 minutes.

And the more familiar she became with the process, the faster she’d get.

It took her two and a half hours to finish all thirteen books Mohr had recommended.

That was her limit.

Because…

Witch knowledge was even harder to absorb than she imagined.
The contamination of information was no joke.

Normal miscellaneous books were fine—the mental strain was mild, just a bit exhausting physically.

But when she opened the official witch textbooks, filled with ultra-dense information, she finally understood what “knowledge contamination” really meant.

Every time she absorbed a new concept, a gentle black fog seemed to gnaw away at her consciousness.

She couldn’t resist it.
She couldn’t block it.
She could only stop reading before her mind reached its limit.

Rather than “contamination,” it was more like…

A Curse.

A Curse That Came from the Knowledge Itself.