Witch Monastery

Sephera could hardly believe her eyes.

What was she seeing?

Hattie and Ruth had joined forces to raid Ekta—and then that human, the one she'd always thought harmless and delightfully tempting, had used some eerie white light to make Ekta fall into a coma?

If it were just the former, she could've chalked it up to Ekta acting rashly after hearing her sowing discord, charging into a confrontation with two far stronger witches and getting thoroughly beaten for it.

But the human's involvement made her brain overheat. A thousand thoughts flooded her mind at once, leaving her utterly unable to think!

"You two… and this person—" Her voice trembled as she reflexively took a step back. "What in the world are you doing?!"

Her accusation rang out. Across from her, Charles—holding Ekta's unconscious form—faced Sephera directly, his heart pounding so hard it felt like his brain might short-circuit.

Why did she have to return now?!

No, I can't speak. Hattie needs to handle this…

Hattie, get over here now!

He mentally screamed her name, though he didn't actually need to.

Behind him, Hattie had already heard Sephera's demand. She rushed out from the bath chamber, hurrying toward Sephera with an awkward smile. "It's not what you think, Sephera! Let me explain—this was just an experiment. Ekta's perfectly fine—"

"Stay back!" Sephera snarled, retreating another half-step. "Don't move!"

Hattie froze, her face etched with anxiety. Charles's mind raced, scrambling for a plausible excuse.

But how? Over the past week, he'd tried drafting contingency plans for exactly this scenario—being caught red-handed by Sephera. Yet after countless revisions, he'd realized with despair that unless Sephera's brain spontaneously malfunctioned, there was no way to talk his way out of this.

Now, he had no choice but to try the desperate last resort…

Gritting his teeth, he pulled out his spellbook, channeled magic into it, and cast Cure Wounds on Ekta, hoping to rouse her as quickly as possible.

Behind him, Ruth had already concocted a cover story. "Please believe us, Sephera. Ekta's unharmed. You can ask her yourself—she'll wake up any moment now…"

The moment she finished speaking, Ekta stirred within the white glow of the healing spell, her eyes fluttering open in confusion.

When she saw Charles's face, her expression brightened instantly. Like the other witches, she parted her lips to call him Master—

Charles clamped a hand over her mouth, shooting her a sharp look that screamed Emergency. Play along. Only then did he release her, letting her speak.

Understanding flashed in Ekta's eyes. She clung to his arm, weakly pulling herself upright, then turned to Sephera with crimson eyes full of sincerity. "Sister, I'm fine. There might've been a small misunderstanding—even about what you told me earlier regarding Hattie and Ruth."

"But I promise, none of what you feared has happened…"

She was trying to salvage the situation. Yet at this very moment, every detail burned into Sephera's vision: Ekta's intimate grip on Charles's arm, the way he'd just silenced her, the way all three witches now subtly positioned themselves around him as if he were their center.

Her vertical pupils flickered with unreadable light. Then, burying every suspicion, she suddenly smiled—sweet, effortless. "Oh? Is that so? Then I must've misunderstood…"

She took a graceful step back, turning as if to leave. "I just remembered—there's a small matter I forgot to handle earlier. You all carry on. I'll be back soon…"

Charles's eyes narrowed. His heart plummeted.

She's seen through us.

Of course. There was no way any excuse would've worked here.

She'd recognized his lie. Now, she was surely heading out to contact Theresa—to purge the monastery clean!

If that happened, he was finished.

So—

"Now!"

A silent snarl tore through his mind. Releasing Ekta, he lunged forward, charging straight at Sephera!

Behind him, Hattie and Ruth wasted no more time, abandoning all hesitation. Hattie raised her hand, her incantation near-instantaneous:

"Evard's Black Tentacles!"

In an instant, inky black mist erupted at Sephera's feet. Thick, writhing tendrils coiled around her ankles, locking her in place.

Meanwhile, Ruth extended a steel blade from her palm, then leaped lightly, accelerating to her top speed—straight toward Sephera's neck!

Just as expected!

Sephera cursed under her breath. Hattie and Ruth had truly betrayed them!

Damn you all! You wretched traitors will pay for this!

Though her mind burned with fury, her hands moved swiftly. She raised them, weaving an intricate gesture as she recited an arcane incantation:

"Cloudkill!"

In an instant, thick, ink-green toxic mist gushed from her hands, filling half the monastery in the blink of an eye—obscuring the vision of Charles and the three witches!

Cloudkill—a 5th-level spell—conjured a deadly fog so potent that a single breath would slay an ordinary person instantly.

This was high-tier magic even Hattie hadn't mastered, yet Sephera wielded it effortlessly.

And why not? Her spellcasting prowess surpassed even Hattie's. The only reason her rank within the monastery remained low was her reliance on venoms—substances to which most witches held near-immunity.

Charles, however, as a human with no innate resistance to toxins, might have been helpless against her other poisons—but this spell?

He had the perfect counter.

His hand shot up, and an obscure incantation rumbled from his throat:

"Gust of Wind!"

Gust of Wind!

A 2nd-level spell granted by the system when he reached Level 2. Useless in most situations—but against fog?

The perfect counter.

Whoosh—

A gale erupted, scattering the ink-green mist in seconds. It thinned rapidly, dispersing through the monastery until, within moments, its toxicity dwindled to near-harmlessness.

Charles held his breath. Though he'd inhaled traces of the toxin while chanting, the 2nd-level False Life spell shielded him from harm.

"Cough! Cough!"

As the obscuring mist finally cleared, he doubled over, hacking violently—his throat burning.

Meanwhile, Ruth lunged through the thinning haze, her blade slashing where Sephera had stood—

Sshink!

A brilliant arc of steel flashed—then vanished. But all it severed were a few inky black tentacles summoned by Hattie.

The remaining toxic mist swirled away, revealing the truth: Sephera was gone.

Only a single, slender pale-pink vine lay coiled on the ground.

It was part of her body—one of many. In moments of peril, she could sever such a vine, unleashing terrifying energy to propel herself to impossible speeds and escape.

This was her emergency survival tactic.

And the very reason Charles had always hesitated to confront her without absolute certainty.

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