Witch Monastery

Seeing this scene, Charles couldn't suppress his astonishment.

What's happening? Who could possibly come to my aid at such a time?

Wait… could it be…?

Just as this speculation surfaced in his mind, a cheerful female voice suddenly echoed in his thoughts: "Master, are you alright?!"

He jerked his head up—and there, hovering in the air, was a massive, grotesque tentacled monstrosity, radiating an aura of darkness and ill omen, gazing down upon the battlefield.

Its horrifying visage was enough to haunt anyone's nightmares. Yet, at this moment, Charles felt no terror—only overwhelming warmth, his eyes nearly brimming with tears.

Because floating above him was none other than Hattie's true form!

The witch he trusted most, the one closest to him, had come to save him!

Thank goodness…

His tension eased—but ahead, Regolas, his life force being drained, abruptly chanted an incantation:

"Thunderwave!"

BOOM—!

A surge of energy erupted, the deafening blast shaking the entire South Harbor District and leaving Charles' ears ringing.

Naturally, this was the Thunderwave spell. And with it, the countless tentacles Hattie had summoned were severed, freeing Regolas from their grasp.

The explosion also tore through Regolas' clothing. A violent shockwave ripped his trench coat apart, revealing dark blue skin beneath—and a pair of bat-like wings sprouting from his back!

Whoosh—

Meanwhile, a sudden gale swept through. Then, a crimson-skinned cambion, wielding a spear, materialized mid-air, locking eyes with Hattie in a tense standoff.

Yet, even outnumbered two to one, Hattie showed no fear.

"Come at me if you dare!"

Charles, meanwhile, steadied his breathing. Knowing the danger wasn't over, he straightened his posture, his expression grave, and clasped his hands behind his back.

"I gave you two chances," he said coldly to the two cambions. "There won't be a third."

"Regolas, do you truly wish to see this through?"

Despite his bold words, his palms were slick with sweat.

Damn it all—why are there two of them?!

His mind raced. The fact that this guy could cast Hold Monster meant he was at least a ninth-level spellcaster. In a real fight, Hattie might not hold the advantage.

And with two opponents… The pressure coiled tighter in his chest. But there was no choice—he had to keep bluffing, to scare them off!

Fortunately, by this point, Regolas' suspicions had whittled down to one final question: Why does this man lack any self-protection?

Hattie's sudden appearance shattered even that last doubt.

Regolas hastily retreated a step, then bowed deeply, his head lowered in submission.

"This lowly Regolas has offended you, my lord!" he pleaded. "I beg your forgiveness—let tonight's events be as if they never occurred!"

At last—!

At last—!

They bought it!

Charles' heart finally settled, relief nearly bringing tears to his eyes.

But he couldn't let his guard down yet. With a dismissive wave, he muttered, "Begone."

Without hesitation, Regolas grabbed his still-stunned colleague and chanted:

"Dimension Door!"

Dimension Door—a fourth-level spell allowing instant teleportation up to five hundred meters away. A supremely useful escape tool.

As the glow of the spell faded, both cambions vanished.

Charles finally exhaled, his legs buckling as he nearly collapsed.

Above, Hattie's form descended rapidly, her body transforming mid-fall. In moments, she had shifted back into her youthful, radiant nun appearance, clad in a thick black habit.

Without a care for the filth on the ground, Hattie immediately knelt and helped him up, her voice thick with guilt.

"Master, are you alright? Forgive me... I came too late..."

Charles shook his head, reassuring her. "I'm fine. Thank the gods you're here, Hattie. But... how did you regain your senses?"

Hattie frowned slightly, equally puzzled. "I don't know. The excess chaotic magic infused into me just... vanished. I never lost control—only felt my magic reserves brimming, my condition perfectly stable."

"And when I sensed you were in danger, I rushed over immediately, without even taking the time to assume human form."

Hearing this, Charles blinked in surprise. Then, recalling how Ruth had shifted from frenzy to rationality—even retreating strategically—it suddenly clicked.

Ah. So the purification process also resolved the deepest agony in the witches' hearts.

Perfect.

His relief was cut short as Hattie's voice turned remorseful again. "I'm so sorry, Master. I didn't even realize my flaw had been mended... and still arrived so slowly, so late—"

Charles reached out, gently stroking her hair. "It's not your fault. The slums are crawling with gangs—clashes here are inevitable. I anticipated this much."

"Honestly, even with all these thugs brawling, everything was still under control. I could've handled it."

This was true. He'd already devised a plan to sustain combat while purifying Ruth—proven viable in practice.

Had Regolas not appeared, another hour of maneuvering would've been enough to fully purify Ruth.

Glaring at where Regolas had vanished, he gritted his teeth. "The only thing I didn't foresee... was an envoy of the Nine Hells showing up, targeting Ruth."

Those two were overwhelmingly powerful. Either alone could crush him utterly. That wildcard had derailed everything—without Hattie's timely arrival, he dreaded to imagine the outcome...

Shaking off the thought, he turned decisively. "Enough. Let's go purify Ruth now."

Behind them, with the cambions gone, the Hold Monster spell had dissipated. Ruth's hulking form had vanished, but Charles knew this weakened witch couldn't have gone far.

And with Hattie's aid? No chance she escapes.

Confident, he nodded. Hattie embraced him, softly chanting the Fly incantation. They rose steadily, scanning the terrain below for any trace of Ruth.

Yet—nothing.

Charles's brow furrowed. After a beat, he deduced: "She must've shrunk herself, hiding in one of these buildings."

"Which means she's close. Hattie, we'll split up and search!"