Lilithia settled into a busy routine: sword practice at six, cooking breakfast at eight, forging from nine until noon, another meal, then forging again from one to six in the evening. After dinner, she studied magic until bedtime.

This cycle lasted a month.

Then came the inevitable.

Her mother’s remarriage.

Two months after her father’s death, her mother had chosen a new path. It wasn’t unreasonable—not from Lilithia’s perspective, at least.

Still, hearing the decision drew a quiet sigh from her.

She wouldn’t follow her mother as a "child" into a new family. She wanted no part of those tangled relationships. She’d mastered all her father’s forging techniques—and in some ways, surpassed him.

She could support herself.

Her mother wasn’t heartless. Tears streaming, she hugged Lilithia tight. "I stored all the gold Lord Mephas sent in the magic vault. You can withdraw it at the town bank." She pressed a black-and-white card into Lilithia’s hand.

One thousand gold coins.

With copper coins roughly equal to one yuan, and a 1:10 exchange rate... a thousand gold meant about 100,000 yuan.

A hefty sum for a child—but hardly lavish. For village folk, it was fortune. For magic studies? Barely a start.

Lilithia accepted it. She needed this money.

Whether for her own plans or the magic academy, every coin mattered.

"Lilithia, you’re extraordinary. So clever, so brave... But I’m just ordinary. Forgive me. I can’t walk this path with you."

Ordinary didn’t mean foolish. As Lilithia’s mother, she saw her child’s brilliance—and feared it. She was, after all, only human.

"Will you move to another village?"

"Yes."

Lilithia stood straight. "Go ahead. If you need anything later, find me. I’ll give you a discount."

"?! You’ll charge your own mother?!"

"Hmph! Of course! I’m a ruthless merchant! Don’t underestimate Lilithia! Even my future kids will pay for what they want!"

She declared it proudly, shamelessly.

Finally, her tearful mother laughed. Lilithia saw her off.

She closed the door and sank against it, crouching low.

Alone at last.

Three years since crossing into this world—and only now did she feel like a proper protagonist. How pathetic.

Had she arrived three years too early? Would it hurt less without those ordinary days? Lilithia hung a "Closed Today" sign on her door.

At her handmade desk, she opened her notes.

With the last person gone, it was time to test the magic she’d secretly learned from Fiore. If her understanding was correct...

"Scarlet as the base, life as the vein..."

"Blood Transmutation!"

A gash split her arm. Blood surged, coalescing midair into a tiny sword before the wound sealed itself.

Lilithia paled. Nausea from blood loss and drained mana hit hard, but she forced the blood-sword down, stabbing the floor.

It left only a shallow dent.

"Damn it!"

She collapsed onto her bed, waiting until strength returned. Then she grabbed a forged iron sword and thrust it into the same spot.

Kneeling, she compared the two marks.

The iron sword’s dent was deeper.

"Worthless trash!" she muttered. "Fiore gave me *this*? It can’t be right. This is worse than swinging an iron sword! Only useful where weapons are banned—but the cost? Way higher than a simple swing."

She’d hoped for real offensive magic—not childish sparks or water droplets. This *was* offensive, but the self-harm outweighed the damage dealt.

Could it even take down two or three clueless thugs?

Could it be improved?

The old urge to brute-force a solution flickered in her mind.

That night, Lilithia lay in bed, face ghostly pale. One truth hit her: she needed blood-replenishing potions. Tomorrow, she’d close shop and buy supplies in town. Healing potions existed, right? Was this garbage magic meant to be used *with* them?

Exhausted from blood loss, she fell asleep fast.

The next day was agony.

Dizzy, she dragged herself up, washed, even dabbed on makeup to look healthy.

Alone, she headed to town. The danger had faded; safety wasn’t guaranteed, but it was enough.

Then despair struck.

Healing potions existed—but cost three gold coins each. The cheapest grade.

Sure, rapid healing was miraculous. Back on "Earth," selling one for 300 yuan would be pure profit. Here? Outrageous. Any commoner could cast a minor healing spell. Three gold for a potion? Robbery. Her thousand coins would buy barely three hundred vials. If one potion fully restored her, she’d get only two or three uses of Blood Transmutation per bottle. A thousand casts max—and what about other expenses?

Not enough.

Freshly wealthy, Lilithia faced poverty. Her forge earned two or three gold on good days; bad days brought nothing. No repairs or orders meant waiting.

Time to expand her business?

Merchants charged three gold per potion—their cost couldn’t exceed one. If she brewed them herself... she could fund her magic research.

She bought thirty vials—tiny test tubes nestled in a sponge-lined box that cost an extra gold coin.

*Damn these merchants!*

If she ever found the formula, she’d industrialize it. Mass-produce. Slash the price to one silver per bottle.

Fuming, she returned to her forge. She began experimenting, trying to etch magic into weapons as she’d read in books.

Beneath the grumbling, Lilithia had already accepted Blood Transmutation. Now she needed to tweak it: turn it into a spell that stole *others’* blood.

Then imprint it on a weapon. A terrifying gear with lifesteal.

She didn’t know if such gear existed here—but who was tankier than a lifesteal warrior? Unless your armor made attacks useless, nothing outlasted someone who healed while fighting. Enemies would drop first, or the warrior would fight until exhaustion—or instant death.

On any battlefield, that was the ultimate stability.

Lilithia had plans. She needed money for the magic academy. But town gossip revealed half a year’s tuition cost 600 gold. No meals or lodging included. Lab equipment rentals cost extra.

*Damn it. Even "foreign-joint-venture" schools back on Earth didn’t charge 60k yuan a semester without housing!*

Nobles, huh?

Still, she wouldn’t enroll unprepared. She needed funds—and her own magical insights. Walking in clueless would make learning hell.

Another sigh escaped her.

*Ugh. I should’ve clung to Fiore’s leg. Pounced on him one night!* Guys like him crumbled under direct attacks. Cross that line, and he’d have no choice but to take responsibility.

*Damn male pride!*

Without it, she’d have latched on already.

A flicker of regret stirred in the girl’s heart.