Canghai City Suburbs, at the old site of a private elementary school where no one ever comes,
Inside one of the abandoned classrooms here lay the base of Aurora and Crystal.
“Cough, cough.”
Jiang Lingwei brushed away the dust. According to the map, it was correct—there was indeed a school here.
And, as expected, the blackboard was still here.
Since the Great Dark Calamity, the city’s grip over its outskirts had shrunk drastically, and Canghai City was no exception.
In the suburban parts outside the city center, almost no one lived there anymore.
Actually, it was more than just uninhabited; up until now, no one even dared to live in these places.
For anyone to return here, they could only wait for the city to develop further, and for the light to keep winning against the darkness.
“Sigh.”
Recalling the dark red bloodstains seen in the first classroom, Aurora’s eyes dimmed a little.
Having seen many bloody scenes in the past, she could easily imagine what had happened here before.
Those monsters and magi were all extremely cruel beings.
You couldn’t even call them “utterly inhuman,” because they completely magnified the ugliest sides of humanity; many despicable, dark trash took pleasure in tormenting humans.
Especially those magi—Jiang Lingwei felt that calling them “human” at all was an insult to the word itself.
The only difference from disaster-plagued Songji City was that here, there wasn’t an old man fairy to vaguely predict in advance where the dark would invade.
Nor were there any magical girls who could arrive here in time, or even ahead of time, to minimize or eliminate casualties.
For those who once lived here, it was likely nearly impossible for any to have survived.
Though it wasn’t her fault, she couldn’t help but mourn the lives that had been lost.
(Maybe…)
(No, forget it.)
No matter what, the past was already set in stone. Against this backdrop, modern society had managed to struggle forward, developing a flourishing scene of peace.
Humanity had shown an extraordinary resilience.
They had proven that even after such disasters, people could still regain hope for life.
That was enough.
“All clean.”
Jiang Lingwei strode to the center of the podium, spoke into the air, and raised her staff high. The heart-shaped gem at its tip flashed, and within a few seconds, all the dust and debris in the classroom vanished.
“Wow.”
Jiang Yao watched as the classroom became clean again, unable to resist reaching out to touch the desk beside her. She felt not a speck of dust left and said in delight,
“Isn’t this just like magic in Harry Pott—?”
“The name is indeed taken from that.”
Jiang Lingwei nodded. “But it’s a bit different from the one in Harry Potter.”
She walked a few steps further, waved her staff again, “Light orb.”
“Wumm.”
A spherical light orb brightened, growing to the size of a soccer ball before detaching from the staff and floating slowly up to the ceiling.
Then, it settled there, taking the place of the electric lamp.
After finishing all this, she pointed to the corner of the classroom, “Yao… cough, Crystal, look over there.”
Obediently, Jiang Yao turned to look, and sure enough, in the direction Jiang Lingwei pointed, in the corner where the walls met, a mass of black stuff was gathering, looking just like those worm balls used to feed fish at flower-and-bird markets.
“See, this magic is fundamentally different from the kind in Harry Potter. The principle is, you pick a fixed spot, then forcibly compress all the dust and debris in the classroom and attract it to that one place.”
“This is actually a spell I invented myself.”
As she spoke, a trace of nostalgia flashed across Jiang Lingwei’s face:
“This spell was originally an auxiliary spell called [Pinpoint Strike], so a teammate’s ranged attack could hit an enemy’s weak spot more accurately and deal more damage.”
“Later I thought, what if the target became [trash bin] and the amplified object was [trash]? That’s how [All Clean] came about.”
As she explained, she noticed the look on Jiang Yao’s face—like a liberal arts student hearing a science student talk about programming, “I don’t get it, but I’m shocked”—so she cut herself off.
“Uh, I’m talking too much.”
Jiang Lingwei, standing at the podium, said, “I should probably get to the main point.”
“Alright, Teacher Aurora.”
When she looked up again, she found Jiang Yao had already found a seat, sitting up straight and attentive, a picture of loyal! earnest! readiness.
Her back was straight, eyes full of determination.
She had even conjured a crystal slate with magic, ready to take notes on it with a crystal carving knife.
If Magical Girl [Opal] were here and saw her like this, she’d probably start wondering if she’d been possessed.
Jiang Yao had never listened this seriously in class before!
“You don’t have to be that formal.”
Jiang Lingwei was a bit embarrassed. She hesitated a second, then continued,
“First, what I want to tell you is, after this, you might not see me for quite a long time.”
“Huh?!”
“Crash.”
The girl couldn’t hold back. She threw down the crystal slate, not caring that it shattered on the ground, and stood up straight away: “How can that be! Aurora, what happened?!”
“There’s no other way.”
Jiang Lingwei explained,
“There’s something I must do. It’s really important to me.
“And, it might even be important to the whole world.”
“Well, if it matters to the whole world, can’t someone else go?”
Jiang Yao’s heart was uneasy, and she blurted out a question she already knew was impossible.
“No way.”
Standing at the podium, Jiang Lingwei shook her head.
Let someone else go?
This was something only she could do.
She wasn’t even planning to ask the Bureau for help just yet.
Aside from it fitting her and her partners’ usual “underground hero” style, there was another reason—after seeing Sha Chong’s situation, Jiang Lingwei didn’t really trust the Bureau.
The other magical girls she’d met or heard about had always seemed bright and carefree, and after hearing a lot, she’d been somewhat approving of the Bureau.
But seeing Sha Chong’s current state and Wen Yachuan’s attitude toward her made Jiang Lingwei hesitate.
Especially after meeting Sha Chong here in Canghai City.
Even as an outsider, Jiang Lingwei could tell that Sha Chong’s situation was dire.
As a magical girl, she had nearly lost all will to fight.
Though she’d had a short burst of spirit around noon, displaying some courage, she wilted again soon after.
Jiang Lingwei didn’t believe that Sha Chong’s previous behavior was all just endurance. Even though she hadn’t witnessed it firsthand, from the way Sha Chong had been beaten half to death, it was clear things had been very bad.
If she was truly a counter-attacker, she wouldn’t be decked out in Wild West style, both her magical outfit and gear.
She’d be more like an iron turtle—getting tougher the more she was hit.
Or at the very least, she should be like an iron-fisted hero, getting beat up until she shone gold, then finishing the enemy with a punch.
But as it was, if not for Jiang Yao’s emergency treatment, Sha Chong might have died right there.
The fact that she managed to summon her courage to face the Megalodon King showed there was still light and a desire to protect others in her heart.
But her actions contradicted her own wishes.
This clearly indicated a serious psychological problem.
Moreover, Sha Chong’s problem wasn’t just that she couldn’t fight—she was having trouble functioning in daily life, openly crying out in pain in public.
Even for an ordinary person, such mental distress was in urgent need of treatment.
If the “heart” goes wrong, even the strongest magical girl will fall.
Later, after contacting Wen Yachuan remotely, it turned out the Bureau had no records whatsoever about Sha Chong’s mental health.
Sha Chong wasn’t a rookie magical girl, so for her to end up like this, it clearly wasn’t something that happened overnight.
Whether the Bureau really didn’t know, or knew and just didn’t care—
Jiang Lingwei found the organization impossible to fully trust.
The first meant they were incompetent; the second was worse—perhaps their goals weren’t so noble, or there was some kind of internal rot.
So, for what’s coming, the only ones who could support her would basically be Jiang Cheng and Wen Yachuan.
If it came down to combat power, most of the time she’d be on her own.
Jiang Cheng couldn’t leave often—if he did, what would happen to Jiang Yao?
Jiang Lingwei had thought about all this a lot, and finally decided that, at the very least, she needed to teach Jiang Yao some of what she knew about magic before leaving, so she could go with peace of mind.
Just in case some ridiculous disaster, like a lost Megalodon King wandering into Mudong City, happened again.
So, after answering Jiang Yao’s question, Jiang Lingwei picked up a piece of chalk that had lain untouched for ten years, and scrawled a few large words on the blackboard:
“Magical Girl Basic Principles.”
My leaving is inevitable. I’m sorry, Crystal.
(Sorry, Yaoyao.)
Suppressing her guilt, Jiang Lingwei said solemnly,
“But before I go, I have to teach you a few things.”
She reached out and pushed up her nonexistent glasses. As her thoughts shifted, her magical attire automatically changed to a teacher’s outfit.
“And that brings us to this—Aurora’s Magic Mini-Class!”