Witch Monastery

It was still early dawn, and Anno's home lay not in the South Harbor District but in the distant Blackstaff District. One could only imagine how early she must have risen to arrive at the monastery at this hour.

As he approached, Anno's beautiful face brightened with an angelic smile. "Not at all, Priest. You flatter me—I've only waited a short while before your arrival."

Her large eyes blinked, long golden lashes catching the sunlight. Her blue eyes shimmered with a gentle, liquid warmth as they lingered on his face—but the moment their gazes met, she suddenly looked down, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink, as if unable to hold his stare. "Priest... I came today to bring you a spellbook."

Ever since that night, Anno had often visited under the pretense of "investigating the Xanathar Guild's past crimes" to question him.

At first, she had been formal—summoning him and the other nuns to a temporary room provided by the District Office, with scribes meticulously recording every word.

But gradually, the "investigations" became little more than an excuse. She no longer called the other nuns, and her questions drifted from gang warfare to the simple rhythms of life in South Harbor. Eventually, even the interrogation room was abandoned, and the two of them would stroll the monastery grounds, speaking of idle things.

Charles, being a seasoned adventurer, knew far more amusing tales than Anno could have imagined—like how "Wanderers are the perfect class—so proclaims the Wanderers' Guild!"—jokes that never failed to make her stifle laughter behind her hand.

He delighted in their conversations. After many such meetings, and considering her noble standing and connections at Blackstaff Tower, he had asked her help in finding spellbooks containing higher-circle magic.

Anno understood perfectly. With the Goddess of Life vanished, her church could no longer ordain new priests. If the faithful wished to defend themselves, they had no choice but to take up the sword or study the arcane.

"Oh? You remembered, Lady Anno? My deepest thanks." Charles's eyes lit up as Anno drew a lambskin-bound spellbook from her satchel. "Time was short, so this is all I've found for now. Tell me, Priest—will it be of use?"

Charles took the book, flipping through its pages—then his heart nearly stopped.

By the gods! It contained 5th-level spells!

Though the true divide lay between the fifth and sixth circles, the third circle marked its own threshold. This book contained spells beyond that first great barrier—making it worth a fortune!

This... this was...

Though not a magical artifact itself, the knowledge within was easily worth 1,000 gold—no, even 2,000 gold would be a fair price!

Thank the heavens he could still afford it.

"Extremely useful!" He nodded earnestly at Anno. "My thanks, Anno. How much for the book?"

When he addressed her so familiarly, Anno's gaze grew evasive. "No cost. It's...well, my father acquired this from a mage friend when he wished me to study spells. It's been sitting unused for years."

Mages didn't need to painstakingly memorize every spell like Charles did to perform magic.

They simply paid gold and spent time transcribing spells into their personal spellbooks, then could cast directly from the pages.

This explained why battlefield mages always appeared with spectacles, a staff in one hand and their spellbook in the other.

Consequently, high-quality spellbooks became crucial for mages. Upon reaching higher levels with sufficient funds, they'd commission superior books and transfer their spells, leaving old tomes—still filled with valuable knowledge—to be sold cheaply.

"I've no use for such things," Anno murmured, her blush now reaching the tips of her ears. "If it helps you, Priest...consider it a gift. As...as thanks for saving us that night..."

Charles couldn't help recalling how differently Anno had carried herself a month ago—battered yet poised. Now she fluttered like a startled dove, her eyes repeatedly darting to his face yet fleeing whenever their gazes met.

He'd grown fond of their private conversations, listening to her soft-spoken work troubles and shared joys, watching her anticipate his reactions with shy delight.

"My gratitude, Lady Anno." Securing the spellbook in his pouch, he gestured inward. "Have you visited our monastery? Might I offer a tour?"

Anno's eyes brightened—she'd been searching for an excuse to stay. "Truly? Wouldn't my presence as an outsider disturb your monastery?"

"But first and foremost, you are a paladin, are you not?" Charles smiled. The Church of the Goddess of Life was not so strict with its rules. "Ah, though if you have official duties to attend to, I mustn't keep you."

He played at reluctance, and just as expected, Anno held her breath, her cheeks flushing.

"No, I... happen to have no pressing matters. In fact, I was just wondering how to spend the rest of the morning."

"Then... I shall trouble the Priest to guide me. I've always been curious... what another church's monastery might look like..."

As she spoke, she stepped forward, falling into stride beside Charles as they passed through the gates and into the monastery, walking along the gravel path of the garden.

The monastery was not large, and its gardens were filled only with common plants—far less impressive than Anno's own private courtyard. Yet at this moment, her mind was not on the scenery at all.

Her full attention was fixed on the figure beside her.

She longed to draw closer, to breathe in his presence—warm and radiant as the sun itself. Yet the teachings of her upbringing compelled her to remain composed, expressing her feelings only in the most indirect ways.

"Over there is our monastery's indoor training grounds," Charles said, casually closing the distance between them until their shoulders and arms nearly touched. "It's well-equipped. Come, I'll show you."

"Ah—! Yes..."

The sudden closeness sent a flutter of panic through Anno. She stammered her agreement, her pulse quickening—yet she did not pull away.

Instead, she allowed herself to be guided, nearly pressed against him, as they walked toward the training grounds together.

Meanwhile, the mosquitoes lingering by the ears of the gathered witches suddenly buzzed in unison, Andny's voice ringing out:

"Sisters! The Master has taken Anno alone—into the training grounds!"

Inside the Training Grounds

"I never would've guessed… From the outside, this room looks utterly ordinary, but inside—gods, it's astonishing!"

Anno's eyes widened as she took in the meticulously arranged metal training equipment, weighted sandbags, blunted weapons, and archery targets lining the walls.

"My own training grounds aren't nearly this well-equipped."

It was no exaggeration. Her private training area had been tailored exclusively for her, designed to hone every essential skill of a paladin.

But the monastery's training grounds—especially now upgraded to Tier 2—catered to all classes, boasting a far more diverse array of equipment.

"What choice do we have? Our numbers are few. To survive, we must be versatile."

Charles chuckled softly, inwardly smug.

"Your approval means our investments weren't wasted. That alone makes it worthwhile."

"'Worthwhile'? This is beyond worthwhile!"

Anno stepped forward, tapping a fingertip against a sword hilt. The crisp ping made her voice quiver with excitement.

"By the Light, this quality… Dwarven make? Or Sein steel?"

In this world, magic existed—but no self-respecting mage would debase themselves with blacksmithing. Thus, ironworking here mirrored the crude methods of antiquity.

Only two factions mass-produced high-quality steel: the dwarves (who'd enslaved a fire elemental lord) and the Empire of Sein (which had genuinely mastered the craft).

Others relied on the "bloomery process," smelting ore into spongy iron, then hammering it endlessly to produce barely functional weapons.

Naturally, this method was slow, exorbitant, and wholly dependent on ore purity—some impurities simply couldn't be beaten out.

High-grade longswords? Rarer than phoenix feathers. Even Anno had only received one after becoming a paladin—a treasure she cherished beyond reason.

Yet here, such steel lay scattered like firewood!

Watching Anno's awe, Charles froze, realizing:

The System's products far surpass this era's crude standards.

Hiss… The System's superiority might dwarf even my wildest estimates.

Wait—does that mean my Blacksmith Shop produces… this same transcendent-grade steel?

The thought sent a thrill through him. With an awkward cough, he deflected:

"Ah, a… friend in the Empire of Sein procured these. Cost me a small fortune."

Unlike the secretive dwarves, the war-torn Empire of Sein leaked resources like a sieve. Corrupt officials smuggled out steel en masse via Liberl Port—how else would Anno own a blade this fine?

Blaming Sein was plausible, untraceable… perfect.

Anno's sapphire eyes gleamed as she studied the wall of longswords and greatswords.

"Priest, are you skilled in sword-and-shield combat?"

Charles nodded. "I know a thing or two."

"Then shall we have a friendly spar?" Her fingers twitched with barely contained excitement at the sight of such fine weapons. "Blunted blades, pure technique—no magic, first touch wins. What do you say?"

Charles weighed the offer for a second, then smiled. "Agreed. First touch it is."

A practice duel would be beneficial—especially in this Tier 2 Training Grounds, where its construction amplified training effects exponentially.

Though the coven had melee specialists like Ruth, her expertise lay in lethal strikes rather than disciplined swordplay. Sophia was all theory, no practice. Until now, Charles had only been able to train alone, with no opportunity to test his skills against a live opponent.

This chance was priceless. Especially against an opponent like Anno—a noble paladin trained since childhood, her technique far surpassing his. With the Training Grounds' enhancement, he might even glean a trick or two from her movements.

They each retrieved a round shield and longsword from the wall. Anno marveled once more at the exceptional craftsmanship before shifting into a combat stance, her expression sharpening.

Charles mirrored her readiness.

"Priest," Anno said, "you first."

He nodded and advanced without ceremony, his shield guarding his torso as his longsword thrust toward her left shoulder.

Anno raised her shield to block—but Charles' blade flicked outward in a fluid arc, bypassing her defense to aim at her throat.

She leaned back just in time, barely avoiding the strike. Charles pressed his advantage, forcing her into a series of unbalanced retreats until—

Clang!

Her shield lashed out, deflecting his sword with a sharp metallic ring. Seizing the opening, Anno swung downward—but he stepped back, resetting the engagement.

First round: Charles, by a narrow margin.

Rather than frustration, Anno's eyes burned brighter. She'd never expected such strength from his slender frame—her attempt to parry had nearly failed!

Unaware of the Hexblade warlock's unique prowess, she attributed it to sheer skill. Her blood sang with the thrill of a worthy opponent, her mind narrowing to a single goal: victory.

"My turn!" She lunged low, her movements fluid as a golden panther. A feint drew his shield up—then she pivoted, driving her shield into his blade with explosive force.

CLANG!

The impact sent Charles' arm wide, wrenching him off-balance. Before he could recover, her boot slammed into his chest—

THUD!

—and he flew backward, hitting the ground hard with a pained "Oof!"

The sound snapped Anno from her battle trance.

What have I done?!

She'd come to bond with him, not beat him senseless!

"Priest!" Horror drenched her as she sheathed her sword and rushed to his side. Holy light flared from her palm. "Lay on Hands—"

Charles caught her wrist, gently pushing it away. "Unnecessary. I'm not made of glass."

He smiled up at her, unharmed—thanks to the Mage Armor beneath his robes.

Anno froze. Then she realized: He's holding my hand.

A scarlet flush consumed her face. "I-I'm sorry, Priest! I got carried away—"

Her pulse roared, palms sweating. The more she floundered for words, the blanker her mind became—until raw impulse took over. Her fingers interlaced with his, locking tight...

Charles blinked up at her. Anno ducked her head, too mortified to meet his gaze—

CREAK.

The Training Grounds' door swung open.

Two tall silhouettes stepped inside.

Hattie and Sephera.

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