Viola sat in the luxurious armchair with a cold metallic texture, overlooking the entire camp through the large floor-to-ceiling window of the tower laboratory, which operated like a steel machine.
Her posture was supremely elegant, her long hair cascading like a silver waterfall, wearing a simple yet regal white robe that made her appear like a flawless snow sculpture.
At this moment, her gaze was fixed on a colleague in the center of the laboratory, clad in a second-level wizard's robe.
The wizard's face was contorted by intense psychological struggle, sweat beaded on his forehead, and his hands clenched into fists with white knuckles.
His eyes kept darting to the glass bottle on the table before him, its contents blood red yet exuding an enticing fragrance.
Viola did not hurry him, her expression was even somewhat indifferent, as if she were merely a spectator enjoying an insignificant mime performance.
