Hate Me, Witch!-Chapter 154: Hathaway: I’m Literally Losing It!

The pitch-black cracks intersected and unfolded within the illusory sea of stars.

For anyone not naturally attuned to spatial laws, each of those rifts could easily maim a Legendary-tier powerhouse.

But that radiant golden figure moved through the lightning-charged darkness with ease.

Countless bolts of devouring thunder exploded around her, but not a single spark could touch her.

At last, the Golden Elf arrived before the massive palace gate.

Creak.

The bronze door slowly opened.

Click… click…

Hathaway’s crystal heels echoed as she stepped into the expansive palace hall.

But the hall wasn’t the cold, empty tomb she’d imagined.

Quite the opposite—light suffused the chamber, and vibrant life bloomed within.

Hathaway looked up to see a luminous star glowing from the palace’s vaulted ceiling, casting a soft, gentle brilliance.

She raised a hand—warm light spilled from the star above, falling onto her palm like sunlight.

Compared to the real sun she remembered, this one was far smaller…

But the composition of that light, its warmth and structure, was unmistakably the same.

"He… created a new sun in his own world?"

The Golden Elf studied the "morning star" above.

She sensed the magical engine and alchemical matrices behind it—a self-contained furnace replicating daylight itself.

A subtle smile appeared on her frosty face.

"Looks like those ten years weren’t completely wasted."

She turned the corner—

And her eyes widened at the sight before her.

Rolling green fields under dazzling sunlight, majestic snow-capped mountains in the distance.

The sound of flowing water, a shimmering lake beyond a meadow, forests even farther out.

Nestled by the lake was a simple yet elegant lakeside manor.

The scent of blooming flowers drifted on the breeze.

Hathaway turned her head to see a field of snow-white blossoms, swaying gently beside the lake.

With all the knowledge she'd absorbed from the Grand Library of the Black Tower, Hathaway instantly recognized the flower:

Frostwhisper blooms — a rare species that only grew near the icy lands of northern Ceylan.

Beside the field stood a small wooden sign, etched in pale golden letters:

"The Frostwhisper Field of Ailora and Xia Ya."

The Golden Elf stared at the plaque for a long while… then let out a soft laugh.

She walked along a narrow, inconspicuous path that wound through the peaceful meadow, until she reached the villa by the lake.

Pushing open the door, she entered the spacious living room.

The fireplace wasn’t lit, but neatly stacked firewood filled the air with a faint, comforting scent.

"Teacher, you arrived even earlier than I expected."

A warm, clear voice echoed through the room.

Across the long table, a black-haired, dark-eyed youth stood up to greet his mentor.

Hathaway lowered her golden gaze and studied the boy—her only student.

His hair had grown a little, the lines of his face had softened slightly.

But aside from that, Xia Ya looked almost exactly as she remembered him—still the same handsome youth.

Yet within her spiritual perception, something had changed.

Gone was the reckless confidence of a 16 or 17-year-old bursting with ambition and raw talent.

Especially his eyes—those dark, inky eyes no longer radiated sharpness, but instead held a profound depth.

Like the still, silent night sky.

Xia Ya walked over to a cabinet and retrieved a tea set made of ceramic.

"Which tea would you like, Teacher? Ailora and I planted, harvested, dried, and cured all of them ourselves."

Hathaway glanced at the selection—these were teas that didn’t exist anywhere in the Western Continent.

Even with her vast experience, she couldn’t judge their quality.

So she simply nodded.

"Anything is fine."

"Teacher, you know 'anything' is actually the hardest choice to work with, right?"

Xia Ya sighed in mock exasperation and chose a tin of red tea.

With the precision of a seasoned tea master, he used the “Phoenix Three Nods” technique to brew two cups.

Hathaway raised the steaming cup and took a sip.

"I thought you'd be spending these years like some ascetic, meditating in darkness."

She looked out the window—at the verdant hills, the crystal lake, the near-heavenly tranquility.

"But this… this is less ‘training in solitude’ and more like a vacation resort."

"Well," Xia Ya replied, sipping his own tea with a soft smile,

"if I were here alone, I probably would have ended up just like you said—bored, depressed, wasting away in this palace outside of history."

He paused.

"But… I had Ailora with me."

"This place wasn’t always like this. At first, it was just a cold metal palace."

"But she used the Storm Anchor of the Holy Lance, her authority as ‘Anchor of the World,’ to cut pieces of drifting worlds from the surrounding void and fuse them into the leftover Imaginary Belt."

"Together, over the course of ten years, we expanded that tiny space into the little world you see now."

He gently placed his teacup on the table and gazed around the room, eyes full of warmth.

"This villa is modeled after our old home in the Black Lily District. Ailora’s nostalgic like that. She even replicated the furniture and room layouts down to the smallest detail."

Hathaway had already noticed.

The entire villa radiated the essence of daily life—

Matching sets of cups and utensils.

Photos of a black-haired boy and a blonde-haired girl.

And on the sofa, fluffy plush bears tagged: "Xia Ya and Ailora’s Teddy Bears."

"So… where’s your little girlfriend?"

Her gaze, as she asked the question, was locked firmly on Xia Ya.

"She’s in seclusion," Xia Ya pointed upward.

"She’s at the final step of awakening the Holy Lance. Once it’s complete, her lance will reach the same divine rank as the Holy Sword—a true Spear of Storms, anchor of the world at its edge."

Hathaway instantly understood the deeper implication.

A fully awakened Holy Sword had allowed Isadella to cross the divide from Legend to Throne.

Naturally, a Holy Lance of equal standing could do the same.

To wield a fully liberated Divine Weapon required not just a bond—but power.

Anyone who could master a fully awakened Holy Lance would be standing at the very pinnacle of the Legendary path, only a breath away from the Throne.

"Never thought I'd see the day where my judgment was that far off the mark..."

Hathaway couldn’t help but think back to the moment she and Xia Ya first met.

That timid little girl who used to clutch Xia Ya’s sleeve and follow closely behind him...

Hathaway’s knowledge and perspective far surpassed that of the six-ring mage from the White Tower who once took notice of Ailora at the train station.

In Hathaway’s eyes, if Xia Ya’s talent was like a raw, unpolished gem—one that would inevitably shine with brilliance even without her guidance—

Then Ailora’s aptitude could only be described as unremarkable.

Maybe, if she spent several decades, even a full century of effort, she might possibly step into the realm of Legendary.

And sure, possessing the potential to reach Legendary was already extremely rare from a mortal’s perspective—enough to make any major power invest heavily to nurture it.

But for someone like Hathaway, who had witnessed the rise and fall of countless Legends in her long life, most didn’t even deserve to have their names remembered.

Yet Ailora… she was the first to break Hathaway’s expectations.

With such average talent, she accomplished feats that even pureblood dragons and high elves—the so-called "golden races"—could scarcely dream of.

This wasn’t something you could casually chalk up to “luck” just because she happened to contract with the Holy Lance.

That same Holy Lance had appeared several times in history, but no one had ever reached this level.

Or perhaps it was better to say—

To be recognized by the Holy Lance, to earn its complete unsealing…

That in itself was a miracle and a monumental feat.

"The reason that little girl exceeded my expectations..."

The thought had barely formed in Hathaway’s mind when she gave a small, knowing smile and shook her head.

The answer was far too simple—so obvious she didn’t even need to think about it.

From the moment she first laid eyes on Ailora beneath the Black Tower, Hathaway had seen it clearly:

This blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl’s entire world held only one person.

Her life—her very existence—was for him.

"Even if it’s just walking in your footsteps… that alone is enough to achieve miracles no one else ever could."

"So then… what about you?"

From the day she took Xia Ya as her final disciple and began his systematic training in arcane arts and beast mastery,

To the moment he singlehandedly defeated the weakened Crimson Moon in Aeskania—less than ten years had passed.

And now… another ten years.

Hathaway’s gaze turned deep, resting on Xia Ya’s face for a long time.

"I was actually worried you’d waste these ten years and fall behind in your studies…"

"But now it seems this teacher of yours was just worrying over nothing."

She set her empty teacup down on the table and gave a faint smile.

"I think you're qualified to take the last seat among the Eight Page Mages of the Black Tower."

Her delicate, pale finger flicked lightly.

Thousands of data streams coalesced into a spectral river, swirling around her fingertip.

"Teacher, that’s a bit hurtful."

Xia Ya also smiled.

"As far as I know, the qualifications for joining the Eight Pages are nothing more than reaching the Legendary tier. And I was already Title-ranked before entering the Imaginary Belt ten years ago."

"Are you saying I’ve only just now touched the threshold of Legendary after all that time?"

"Of course not."

Hathaway gently shook her head.

"I’m not talking about the current Eight Pages of the Fourth Era."

"I meant the original Eight Pages, from when the Black Tower was first founded."

She toyed with the swirling data stream for a moment, then tossed it over to him.

"Here. This is intel compiled by that organization under Augustina. I verified it with the Flame of the Goddess of Magic—should be pretty accurate."

Xia Ya casually waved a hand and accepted the info stream his “teacher-chan” tossed his way.

He activated it with a pulse of spiritual power, quickly digesting the contents.

It was a summary of recent events on the Western Continent over the past three months.

And unsurprisingly, the Shadow Council’s intel was top-notch—on par with, or even surpassing, the Imperial military’s intelligence division. It even filled in gaps the Empire missed.

Things like Isadella’s public declaration of her future king-consort in parliament.

Or the sudden movements of major cults in the Lost Realms.

Even top-level meetings between cult leaders, along with unsettling fragments of intel leaking from the Abyss itself.

And everything—all of it—

Pointed toward a single moment:

The changing of the throne in the Freysta Empire.

The old king’s abdication, the coronation of a new monarch.

"So? Want me to relay a message to those two little girlfriends of yours in the White Tower and the Empire?"

"My physical form can’t appear in the material world, but a star-realm projection would be easy."

The Golden Elf gave him a faint, teasing glance as she spoke.

"No need. Ailora’s about to break through—I need to stay here with her."

Xia Ya shook his head, gathering the tea set and carrying it over to the sink.

"The final seal on the Holy Lance isn’t easy to undo, but if we convert it to real-world time, it’ll definitely finish before things explode in the Empire."

"And of course, I won’t just be sitting around waiting."

His voice was quiet, almost absent-minded.

Over these ten years—beyond his peaceful life with Ailora and their occasional breakthroughs—

Xia Ya had also taken complete control of the "Golden Dawn’s" affiliated world.

Now, he could truly be called the master of that realm shrouded in black mist.

And the next Golden Dawn gathering… was just around the corner.

Hathaway gave a small nod.

She stood and turned to leave. With every step, her golden form grew more transparent.

Just as she was about to completely fade from the embers of the Imaginary Belt and return to the Astral Realm, she suddenly paused.

She turned back ever so slightly.

Sweeping out her spiritual perception as “Eternal Page” of the Black Tower, she thoroughly scanned this Eden-like little world.

From the soil to the lake, the manor and even all the minor sub-realms fused into the palace—she checked them all.

It wasn’t until she confirmed that there were no discarded pacifiers, baby clothes, or any other suspicious daily items…

That Hathaway finally let out a breath of relief.

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But then—

In one of those minor sub-realms clearly used for storage of discarded items…

She saw it.

Rows upon rows—over a thousand empty "safety potions," neatly lined up.

Her footsteps faltered.

And the Golden Elf vanished from the remnants of the Imaginary Belt, returning—staggering—back to the Astral Realm.