In the past six months, Margaret had few opportunities to pass, but it was during this time that she learned more than thirty different types of innate magic, each taught to her through kara's hands-on teaching.
She was like a traveler on a long journey, with blood in her throat and pain in her heart, walking step by difficult step along the path of magic, chasing after the distant shadow of genius.
And this time, just before her hands and feet were bound by the red threads, Margaret managed to cut her opponent's cheek with a mist blade. The tip of the blade barely touched the skin, causing a bead of crimson blood to ooze from the wound, which was promptly wiped away.
"Not bad," kara said, unperturbed by the blood on her fingertip, cheerfully ruffling Margaret's hair. She seemed to be in an unusually good mood.
"Would you like to have some baked potatoes?" she asked.
