Witch Monastery

Upon reaching third level, a warlock must choose one of three Pact Boons - each representing a distinct path of development:

Pact of the Blade is to pick up a weapon, mainly physical output, supplemented by magic;

Pact of the Chain is to Summon powerful familiar, cooperate with familiar, and cast different abilities.

Pact of the Tome unlocks the path of augmented spellcasting. With it, Charles would no longer need to spend endless hours memorizing spells. Instead, he could transcribe them into his spellbook and cast them freely—though still expending spell slots.

Moreover, the mind has its limits. Even the most exceptional talents cannot retain countless spells indefinitely. Eventually, they must deliberately forget some to make room for new ones.

A Pact Tome's ability to expand the total number of spells a spellcaster can master is, therefore, self-evident.

There is, technically, a fourth option: Pact of the Talisman. But this path revolves around protecting allies—so Charles dismissed it outright.

With my cheat, why would I play the damn support?

This is a choice the warlock must make at third level. He must select one of these paths to unlock greater Eldritch Invocations and further strengthen his power at higher levels.

Hattie's small hands wandered back to his lower body, her deft fingers gently toying with his thick cock as she murmured, "I think both the Pact of the Chain and the Pact of the Tome are viable? If you choose the former, Master could bind us as familiars, deepening our synergy. If you choose the latter, Master could focus on spellcasting while we hold the frontlines."

Charles gave a slight nod—he'd already been leaning that way. For a Pact of the Chain warlock, the greatest agony was the lack of a worthy familiar. But he had a coven of powerful witches; that problem was solved from the start.

As for the Pact of the Tome—most warlocks suffered from painfully limited spell slots. Even if they learned countless spells, they could barely cast a fraction in battle.

But Charles's reserves were vast, refilling completely within an hour. Choosing the Pact of the Tome would let him unleash power far beyond an ordinary warlock's limits.

That was his reasoning. Meanwhile, Ruth pondered briefly before speaking. "I'd recommend the Pact of the Blade—for two reasons."

"First, I am good at using blades in combat. If the Master chooses Pact of the Blade, I can share all my experience with the Master."

Charles acknowledged the point. It was true—he could draft a new pact, binding Ruth as his suzerain just like Hattie, allowing her to share her strength with him. Such an arrangement was entirely possible, just as both witches now served him together.

Normally, multiple suzerains were unheard of. After all, the suzerain was the master, the warlock merely the servant—one master commanded many underlings, never the reverse.

But since both witches were willing, they could freely defy convention.

"Second, while those two pacts would boost Master's power immediately… what of the long term?" Ruth continued. "What if we encounter an Antimagic Field?"

Charles paused, then nodded slowly. "A fair point."

Antimagic Field—an 8th-level spell, the bane of all magic, the most loathed incantation among spellcasters.

Without it, every grand spellcaster could rain down cataclysms unchallenged. But with it, even the most arrogant archmages are reduced to warriors, forced to roll up their sleeves and brawl like common brutes.

True, 8th-level spells require a 15th-level spellcaster, and few ever master Antimagic Field. But it exists.

The realization made Charles want to slap himself.

Damn it, you're a player! You've barely transmigrated a month, seen a handful of spells in action, and already forgot how pure spellcasters get crippled late-game?!

Silently cursing his oversight, he turned to Hattie. "At this rate of channeling magic power to me—without compromising your own combat strength—how far could you sustain me?"

Hearing this, Hattie's face twisted with guilt. "Under these conditions… Forgive me, Master. My magic power is limited. I could only support you as a 5th-level spellcaster, capable of casting third-tier spells."

As expected.

Charles sighed inwardly. In the game's lore, a warlock's suzerain was always a world-shaping entity, effortlessly propelling them to 20th level and 9th-level spells.

But Hattie? She was just a witch who hadn't even mastered 5th-level spells. Strong by Liberl Port's standards, yet insignificant on the global stage.

"Then the Pact of the Tome isn't as rewarding as it seems," he concluded. "For balanced growth, we'll take the Pact of the Blade!"

With that, he tapped the "Level" option on his system interface.

Buzz——

The hazy white light shimmered to life, new Knowledge and power flooding his mind. Hattie perceived her own power being drawn away, then obediently submerged herself in the water. Her small mouth parted, engulfing his already erect thickness in one smooth motion, power their connection as energy flowed between them.

"Ah…"

Charles' eyelids fluttered shut, savoring the wet heat of Hattie's delicate tongue as it swirled around the swollen head of his cock. Each flick sent jolts of pleasure up his spine, her lips tightening rhythmically as she hollowed her cheeks. Beneath the water's surface, her fingers traced the throbbing veins along his shaft, coaxing precum to bead at his tip. His mind burned with four graphics: the Pact of the Blade, the Chain, the Tome, and the Talisman.

Without hesitation, he seized the Pact of the Blade. Through their mental tether, he summoned Ruth's consciousness.

In the physical world, Ruth—her thighs pillowing his head—let out a shuddering gasp. A flush spread from her neck to her breasts, her nipples pebbling beneath her robes. Yet she yielded, bending low to capture his lips. Her tongue delved deep, tangling with his as her hips ground against his face, the damp heat of her arousal seeping through the fabric.

Amidst this ecstasy, enlightenment dawned upon him, and his level rose to three.

Lost in the dual sensations—Hattie's relentless suction below, Ruth's molten kisses above—Charles felt his climax surge. With a guttural groan, he emptied himself down Hattie's throat, her throat working to swallow every pulse as her fingers milked the last drops from his twitching length.

Pact of the Blade: At any time, you can magically summon a pact weapon. This weapon is psychically attuned to you, responding as naturally as your own fingertips. Should you remain separated from it by more than one meter for over a minute, the pact dissolves and the weapon vanishes. You may also dismiss it with but a thought.

Alternatively, you may spend one hour binding a magical weapon you possess into your pact weapon. Doing so allows you to merge the weapon with your physical form. The pact may be dissolved at will—if dismissed while internalized, the weapon will eject from your body.

You may only maintain one pact weapon at a time.

These are the complete parameters of the Pact of the Blade.

Charles raised his hand, and instantly, accompanied by shimmering starlight, an ordinary longsword materialized in his grasp. With but a thought, the blade fragmented into motes of light before reforming into a warhammer.

He nodded slightly before dismissing the weapon. The Pact of the Blade functioned nearly identically to its game counterpart. However, at this early stage, the pact weapon offered minimal immediate combat enhancement. To maximize its potential, he would need to master more Eldritch Invocations and acquire mightier arms.

The true power spike from reaching third level lay elsewhere—in Spell Slots!

Remaining Spell Slots: 14/14

Previously capped at six slots at second level, this single advancement had nearly doubled his magical reserves!

Moreover, a mere hour of meditation would restore them completely!

This—this was the real combat upgrade!

Beyond this, reaching third level granted him the ability to cast 2nd-level spells and automatically bestowed mastery of one such spell: Gust of Wind.

This spell could, well... blow people back, disperse toxic fumes, or extinguish flames...

So while not entirely useless, its utility remained... limited.

Charles couldn't suppress a quiet sigh before consoling himself: Well, more spells can be learned later. A standard warlock only gets six Spell Slots at this level—I'm already ahead.

Having self-soothed, he gazed at his abundant Spell Slots, ambition flaring.

"Hattie, Ruth," he declared, "monitor the other witches' movements. The moment Theresa departs, we begin our campaign to purify the Flame Witch and Insects Witch!"

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