Witch Monastery

Just as Charles had remembered, it was only after he had left the slums and everything had settled that the investigators from Blackstaff Tower finally arrived, making their belated entrance into the South Harbor District's slums.

And the moment they stepped in, they were met with a sight that shook them to their core.

Nearly every street bore at least one corpse—heads severed from bodies, eyes wide with terror, scattered on either side of the roads. Blood painted the walls crimson, turning the scene into something straight out of the Abyss.

Near the port, where the worst of the conflict had taken place, lay close to a hundred bodies from all factions—innocent laborers, dockworkers, unmistakable gang members, and even the rare sight of Amazon warriors…

A grotesque harvest of heads littered the docks. The stench of blood still hung thick in the air, so overpowering it drowned out the port's usual reek of salt and fish. More than one Blackstaff investigator doubled over, retching.

This was undoubtedly one of the bloodiest massacres in Liberl Port's history. The higher-ups would be furious. Every major faction would dispatch their own agents to uncover the truth.

That much was clear to every Blackstaff investigator present. Swallowing their revulsion, they forced themselves to stay, scrambling to gather whatever traces remained—clues, evidence pointing to the monsters and the true culprits behind this slaughter.

And then, to their shock, they realized this was no accident.

Peeling back the layers of meticulous camouflage, they uncovered something far more sinister: Devils had a hand in tonight's events.

Soon, critical intelligence was classified as top-secret and rushed to the current Master of Blackstaff, awaiting her wisdom to unravel the deeper truth…

As the twin moons dipped below the western horizon, a pale dawn light crept across the eastern sky. The turbulent magic that had raged through the night finally settled, marking the end of the blood-soaked Night of the Witches.

Charles stirred awake, blinking as sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting golden stripes across his large bed. To his left and right, the witches Hattie and Ruth clung to his arms, their breathing slow and peaceful in deep slumber.

Exhausted beyond measure after their return to the monastery last night, he had succumbed to sleep the moment Hattie's Create Water spell began washing the grime from his body—remembering nothing of what followed.

Now, gazing at this improbable scene, he could scarcely believe it. The horrors of the previous night already felt like some fading nightmare, their terrors dissolved by daylight.

Yet the weight against his arm—Ruth's serene face pressed close—was no illusion. He had truly done it.

The realization tugged a smile to the corners of his mouth.

Seeing both girls still deep in slumber, he carefully extricated his arms without disturbing them. With a mental command, he summoned the System interface, calling up his status panel.

It was time to tally the Purification Points gained from Ruth's purification.

The System didn't disappoint. In the bottom-right corner of the panel, the bold numerals "2230" glared back at him.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Wait, I distinctly remember it was exactly 2000 points last night. Where did these extra 230 come from?

Could there be another, unknown channel for acquiring Purification Points?

Pondering this, he tapped lightly on the words "Purification Points." Immediately, a detailed breakdown of all transactions appeared before his eyes:

Purified Ruth: +1450

Purified Hattie: +230

Charles's gaze fixed on the last entry, his eyes filled with confusion.

When did I purify Hattie again?

Unless... Could it be that the chaotic magic of the Night of the Witches had partially re-corrupted Hattie, and that secondary corruption was purified when we...

Holy shit. So not only does the Night of Witches grant unlimited mana regeneration for me and my witches, but it also provides bonus Purification Points?

Realizing this, his lips stretched into a wide grin as he peered through the curtains at the sky beyond.

Oh moons, if you could just move a little faster... How wonderful it would be if this came around every six months...

He was nearly beside himself with glee when suddenly, Ruth's eyelashes fluttered. Slowly, her eyes opened, their purple-red hues still clouded with confusion.

When her gaze focused on his face, she instinctively murmured:

"Master...?"

But then, as if remembering something, her pupils contracted. Her body slid sideways, tumbling to the floor, where she knelt deeply before Charles, pressing her forehead against the ground. "Forgive me, Master!"

"Last night… I dared to raise my hand against you, Master, and spewed such vile words—so arrogant, so ignorant, foolish as a worm!"

Her voice trembled with genuine remorse, even carrying a hint of tears. "I do not know how I can ever atone for my sins. I can only offer the rest of my life to you, in service and devotion…"

Charles rubbed his eyes, only now noticing that Ruth was still clad in her heavy nun's habit. She had slept in his bed fully dressed the entire night.

Seeing her now, wracked with agony and self-loathing, he couldn't help but recall the times she had terrified him—the searing pain in his eyes when she glared at him. A sigh escaped him. How fickle fate is.

Yet, he bore no hatred for her now. Watching her drown in guilt, he spoke softly, "Stand up. It's alright. This wasn't entirely your fault."

Ruth then raised her head, her eyes filled with tears. Her cold little face looked so pitiful that people couldn't help but want to love her, or bully her.

As luck would have it, after a full night's slumber, the dorm's magical construction had purged all fatigue from his body and mind. He felt invigorated, brimming with energy, his condition excellent.

So, looking at Ruth's exquisite features, the fire in his body was rising. Then he stretched out his fingers and gently pinched her delicate little nose: "Why did you sleep in your clothes? That can't be comfortable. Take off the habit."

The witch's cheeks flushed a tantalizing shade of crimson. "Master, I…"

She lowered her head, her shy demeanor unbearably cute. "I wished… to offer myself to you, Master… when Hattie wasn't present."

Charles suddenly understood. But before he could respond, Hattie's voice chimed in from behind. "Oh no, Ruth. That's far too sneaky of you."

Both turned to see that Hattie had awoken at some point. Naturally unclothed, her lithe figure was hidden beneath the sheets, save for her head peeking out—though she still clung to Charles' arm, nestled between her soft peaks. "Don't forget," she said, "for the longest time, I was the only one serving Master, all while keeping you lot from harming him."

"And now, after finally bringing you to your senses, you want to offer yourself to him without me watching? Unacceptable!"

She hugged Charles' arm tighter, pouting. "Master agrees, doesn't he? We can't let her get away with such audacity!"

Ruth paled, then bowed her head submissively. "Master may punish me as he sees fit. Ruth will accept it wholly, without reservation!"

Charles opened his mouth to decline, but a mischievous impulse took hold. "Hmm. Then… if you endure a little punishment obediently, I'll be very pleased."

Hattie glanced at his expression and swallowed whatever she'd been about to say.

After a month of sharing his bed—of deep nightly exchanges—she knew her Master's tastes well. That look meant he already had something fun in mind.

So she stayed quiet, content to watch the show.

Meanwhile, poor, naive Ruth—still innocent as a lily—gazed up with hopeful eyes. "Then, Master… what must I do?"

"It's actually very simple." Charles said softly, "Stand at the end of the bed and lift up your nun's habit. Oh, don't wear anything underneath."

Ruth's face was already red, but the next step was the most crucial part of Charles' punishment game: "Then use your fingers to make yourself sexually excited."