Witch Monastery

A tremendous force suddenly erupted from Ruth's arm. Charles, powerless to resist, was nearly thrown to the ground!

Though his hand still gripped her arm, and the purification continued, his face twisted in shock. He couldn't believe what he was seeing!

What the hell?!

Both in lore and in-game, Ruth was described as "weak as an infant." How could she still possess such terrifying strength?!

Wait—

As he watched her body swell grotesquely, a horrifying thought struck him: Was this bastard choosing to go out of control… just to take him down with her?!

Damn it, this wasn't in the game's script!

Since when was Ruth this ruthless in reality?!

Before his suspicion could be confirmed, the witch let out a sudden, guttural roar: "Raaagh—!"

Then, beside her, a rusted blade abruptly darkened with swirling black mist. Surging with chaotic energy, it shot uncontrollably toward the ceiling!

BOOM—!

The energy detonated above, instantly blasting through the dilapidated roof. Chunks of debris rained down, crashing toward his head!

"Shit!"

Charles snarled and rolled aside, barely avoiding the collapse. But in doing so, he lost his grip on Ruth—and the purification ceased instantly.

The witch was now fully out of control.

"AAAAHH—!"

Her agonized scream pierced the air as her body blackened and swelled. Within seconds, she bloated into a grotesque, two-meter-tall oval mass of darkness.

Dozens of bloody faces emerged across its surface, their muffled wails echoing faintly. Anyone who saw this would be haunted by nightmares for weeks—if not driven to madness.

This… was the Blade Witch's true form.

Charles staggered up from the dust, breath catching at the sight.

Damn it all—how did things go so wrong?!

No choice now. Run.

He wasted no time, yanking out his Silverquill Primer and consuming its stored charge to cast Longstrider on himself.

The spell boosted his walking speed by over 30% for an hour. Even an untrained civilian could outpace a world champion with this.

Buff applied, Charles didn't hesitate. He bolted.

Behind him, Ruth's transformation completed. The bloody faces chorused as one:

"Human…"

Then, black mist coiled around her lower half—and she gave chase.

...

Beyond South Harbor, the Deep-Sea Floor

Hattie's body slowly sank to the ocean floor, gradually reverting to its true form: a massive tentacled monstrosity, its ink-green limbs writhing around a central maw—a lamprey-like vortex of spiraling, hook-lined teeth.

After all, when the Night of the Witches arrived, she would lose control and revert to this form anyway. Better to embrace it now and remain in command of herself.

Scattered around her lay bait, its alluring scent drifting through the water to lure nearby fish.

She needed to feed.

If she failed to find prey during the frenzy of the Night of the Witches, the madness would turn inward, driving her to self-mutilation. These fish would serve as sacrifices, sparing her from her own claws.

Time slipped by.

Then, as the twin moons crested the eastern horizon, the familiar surge of boundless magic flooded into her body.

It was here.

She braced herself, ready to relinquish control and let the corrupting power take hold. Experience had taught her that resistance was futile—surrender meant less suffering.

But this time, she was wrong.

As the otherworldly energy filled her, the expected loss of control never came. Instead, her soul seemed to open a channel, allowing the excess power—the very force that should have driven her to madness—to pour out, leaving her body in a state of perfect equilibrium: saturated with magic, slightly swollen, yet free of pain.

And as a witch, a being woven from magic itself, this stable state granted her something unprecedented—a slow but unmistakable growth in power.

The realization stunned her.

What was happening?

Not only had the Night of the Witches not driven her into a frenzied, out-of-control state…

Instead, she felt better—stronger?!

This…

Was this why she hadn't sensed the Night's approach?

But why? This defied all logic. She was a witch, one of the most chaos-vulnerable magical creatures in the Multiverse…

Baffled, she steadied herself, focusing her perception on the fleeing magic, tracing its path. Where was it going?

One thing was certain—the energy was streaming upward, then veering north…

That direction led to the slums of South Harbor District…

Wait. Could it be…?!

Master?!

Suddenly, the only possible explanation struck her. A violent tremble wracked her body, overwhelming her with exhilaration.

Yes! Six months ago, she'd been normal—no anomalies. The only change since then? Master had purified her mind, mended her flaws, and bound her soul with a Pact!

Ah, it had to be! Her glorious Master hadn't just filled the void in her heart—he'd solved the Night of the Witches, her greatest torment!

Emotion choked her. She ached to return to Charles immediately. But without Teleport, all she could do was lash her countless tentacles, propelling her massive form toward the surface.

Master was taming Ruth tonight. And he'd mentioned the slums—exactly where the magic was flowing!

Her joy crested—then faltered. A faint, foreign emotion prickled at her mind. Terror. Discordance.

Confusion spiked.

Why was she feeling this?

No—this wasn't hers. It was…

Master's.

Master was in danger!

The realization ignited panic. She unleashed the raging magic within her, expelling it recklessly behind her like a roaring jet engine. Instantly, her massive form accelerated, cutting through the water toward the port.

A single mercy remained—the surging magic's current served as her compass. No chance of losing her way.

She raced onward, following the trail straight to Charles.