Witch Monastery

Chapter 401: Departure: Into the Underdark!

A few days later.

South Harbor District, in the slums—Shapiro was hidden alone in a cramped room, separated from Charles’s monastery by just a single wall.

He was waiting for the right chance to slip inside, to search around and try to confirm if his sister was still safe.

He was anxious. After days of asking around, he’d pieced together most of what happened that night: a group of mysterious figures had harassed the block where Malena lived, and as the nuns chased them off, a supremely powerful individual suddenly erupted into action, fought the strongest nun, Theresa, in the monastery, and then just disappeared.

Ever since, Malena and her daughter had vanished without a trace. Some said the pair were snatched by the mysterious figure that night. Others whispered they were locked away in the monastery for protection.

Shapiro hoped with all his heart for the latter, but knew, deep down, it was probably the former. He refused to admit it—he had to see for himself if his sister had been taken prisoner inside the monastery.

The moon slid west. It was well past midnight. Assuming everyone inside was asleep, Shapiro vaulted the tall monastery wall in a single bound, landing in the grass with the silence of a drifting breeze.

His movements were so light, even gentler than wind rustling through leaves. He was sure that, even among high-level rogues, few could outdo his skills.

After all, roaming the streets for years, he’d made countless midnight infiltrations and assassinations. His technique was flawless.

And even if, by bad luck, he was caught by a night-wandering nun, he could easily knock them unconscious before they noticed anything at all.

Buoyed by this confidence, he glided silently from room to room, searching for any sign of his sister Malena.

He didn’t realize that, from the very first moment he’d set foot inside the monastery, his supposedly perfect stealth had utterly failed.

Oblivious, he crept up to a building, about to climb in through the window, when suddenly—his hair stood on end!

A surge of murderous intent hit him. On pure instinct, he spun, fire flashing in his hand—a massive scythe swept in a deadly arc behind him.

CLANG—

A harsh metallic clang rang out. He glimpsed a petite shadow hurtle away, quickly retreating—she clearly just wanted to rattle him rather than engage in a real fight.

Shapiro noticed his opponent hadn’t carried a metal weapon, and yet when he’d struck, there was still a metallic crash. How did that make sense?

Was she some strange monk with iron-body skills?

He didn’t know, and it didn’t matter.

He’d been discovered.

His jaw clenched, frustration and anger surging after days of stress. He nearly dashed straight after the target, scythe ready to take her head.

He barely stopped himself, realizing it wasn’t the time to pick a fight with Charles and add another powerful foe. He turned instead, trying to escape while he could.

But as he moved, his leg suddenly gave out—his strength seemed to drain right out of him.

Poisoned!

When did it happen?! Damn it, when did they spot me—was this all an ambush from the start?!

Shock and rage warred in his mind; was this whole thing a setup for him? And then the ground itself seemed to betray him—two cold, clammy tentacles shot out, tangling around his ankles.

It was a trap! They’d been lying in wait for him!

Realizing this, he didn’t hesitate. Raising his great scythe, he chopped down, severing the tentacles before making a desperate dash for freedom—

But at that very moment, a beam of grayish energy slammed into the back of his head.

BZZZT—

Magic flooded his soul, severing instantly the link between his body and consciousness. He went numb, lost all balance, rolled and tumbled in the mud—helpless.

In the distance, Hattie raised a hand, and four thick tentacles burst from the ground, binding Shapiro’s wrists and ankles, making him entirely immobile.

Behind, Charles hurried forward—still in pajamas and slippers, a tiny palm-sized mini-beholder floating above his shoulder. It had just fired the eye ray that paralyzed Shapiro.

Sephera also appeared wearing only pajamas, her face still flushed with the lingering bloom of passion. Clearly, the two of them hadn’t actually been asleep but were enjoying carnal pleasures—unfortunately, Shapiro’s malicious infiltration triggered the warning alarm, forcing them to abruptly stop.

That was the real reason for Charles’s ugly mood. Approaching, he silently chanted a Light incantation. When he saw who it was sprawled in the mud, his expression soured even more. "Shapiro? Why the hell are you sneaking into my monastery in the dead of night? You here to steal from us? Or planning to assault my nuns?"

At that, his anger boiled over—he was ready to give Shapiro a good kick right there.

Now bound and captured, Shapiro’s humiliation burned. He struggled furiously, but trussed up as he was, he couldn’t get any leverage.

Hearing Charles’s accusation, he glared furiously. "I’m not as sick as you think!"

Charles snorted. "Then tell us—what exactly are you doing here?"

"Hmph!" Shapiro sneered, sullen as a rebellious teenager. "It’s none of your business. Who the hell do you think you are?!"

Charles just sneered right back and gave Sephera a signal. Her mouth turned vicious as a machine gun, spitting venom without mercy: "Not your business? You sneak into our monastery at night, probably planning some perv attack on nuns, and it’s none of our business? Shapiro, you scumbag—when you pull this crap on other girls, do you always act this sanctimonious? Don’t you think you’re just a little too shameless?"

"You know, if there were a bit more humility or basic respect in that filthy brain of yours, maybe you wouldn’t be doing something so colossally stupid as sneaking in here in the middle of the night!"

She was clearly pissed off—after all, tonight was her night to be with Charles. They’d just finished all the foreplay; everything was ready to go—right as Charles was about to, well, finish the act, the alarm sounded!

She was not happy. If she didn’t have to worry about the other nuns waking up, she’d have aimed her insults even lower, straight for Shapiro’s crotch.

Shapiro’s rage now turned inward, at himself rather than Charles. He’d truly been arrogant—facing his ancestor, he’d known to stay careful, unable to manipulate her in conversation, so he’d tried probing gently for information.

Tonight, though, he’d thrown caution to the wind, thinking he could just sneak in here, under the noses of those capable of going toe-to-toe with his ancestor, and spy on the inside.

It was, in fact, a colossally dumb move.

He bit his tongue, unable to come up with a single comeback.

Seeing him flushed, Charles sighed, finally venting all his pent-up frustration. "I’m working myself to death trying to save your sister. Instead of support, you’re sabotaging me at every turn, dragging me back!"

"I don’t have time for this cat-and-mouse crap. Hattie—lock him up in the dungeon. Don’t let him out, no matter what, until I say so!"

Hattie nodded, summoning even more tentacles to wrap up Shapiro, then dragged him toward the dungeon.

Charles let out a long breath, trying to calm his lingering rage. He couldn’t help but wish this guy would just wise up.

Beside him, Sephera snuggled his arm, her earlier scorn replaced by a sweet, coquettish tone. "Master, let’s forget about him... Shall we pick up where we left off?"

Charles pulled her close, pressing his forehead to hers. "Yes, let’s."

Without waiting to reach the bedroom, he kissed her deeply.

...

The next night.

As silence blanketed the world, a cloaked figure crept up to the monastery wall, tossed a package over it, and vanished into the darkness.

No one noticed—not even Charles himself. It wasn’t until morning, when the nuns woke, that one discovered the package, clearly marked as to be delivered to Charles.

They hurried to hand it over. In the scriptorium, Charles opened it and found, inside, a single huge but simple map.

It showed the main underground passages beneath Liberl Port—those carved out by the Chthonians—and the various surface and sub-surface markets along their routes.

One spot on the map was marked in red, with a note attached. The language was unfamiliar, but with the help of his rune guardian powers, Charles could make it out: "Come to this spot, by the Darklake, ask for Lotuen."

Clearly, this was Jarlaxle Banrae’s clue. At the marked location, finding this "Lotuen" would get him one step closer to the target of the magic array.

Gazing at this giant map, Charles couldn’t help but marvel. Even without the appended clue or contact, this map alone was a priceless gift for any adventurer hoping to hunt demons or launch raids underground.

With the Abyssal Lord dead, city bureaucracy had slowed back down to a crawl—just the usual tax exemptions and encouragement for adventurers, but no official mapping effort. For nearly half a year, no new reliable maps of the undercity existed, frustrating everyone.

Now that Jarlaxle was willing to hand his map over—clearly a gesture of sincerity—Charles certainly wouldn’t refuse. And, if the day came, he’d be willing to return the favor.

But for now, the only priority was his own mission.

"Get ready—we set off tomorrow," he told the gathered nuns. "Perfect chance to check out our new territory and see how it’s developing!"

...

Ridgecrest Plateau, Charles’s monastery branch, inside the scriptorium.

Nidalee closed her eyes, pinching her temples after finishing the latest round of paperwork.

Even with the scriptorium’s magical help, work, weighing options, and calculations all took a severe toll on her mind.

So much trouble—this was just a little town of a thousand people, and still the pile of daily work was exhausting!

She slowly began to understand what her father had faced, having managed a whole massive tribe.

Just then, the door opened and a delicate-looking satyr girl entered, hugging a stack of documents. "My lord Nidalee, the Stonefist tribe’s representatives are here. Your meeting starts in three minutes."

Great, another issue, another decision for me!

Nidalee closed her eyes and sighed, wishing someone would help shoulder some of the burden. "Got it... Sigh."

She stood, following her secretary to the meeting room. Over the past half-year, the camp had added new houses, both wood and stone, giving every resident and traveler a warm place to stay.

Thanks to druidic magic, none of these fast-built houses ever had quality troubles—a fact any developer from her past life would view with envy.

Nidalee’s office was set back from the main road, for peace and quiet.

But even here, she could hear the bustle of people outside. Seeing all the changes she’d made brought a sense of reward—her hard work really was paying off.

Relaxing a bit, she picked up her pace.

Entering the meeting room, she found the Stonefist rep—a middle-aged half-orc, beard neatly shaved but wrinkles on his face—already waiting.

He quickly stood, greeting her with proper landowner etiquette. After a little small talk, Nidalee got straight to business: "What brings the Stonefist tribe to me today?"

"It’s like this, Lady Nidalee." The orc hesitated, but tried his best to sound formal through his thick accent. "Your territory is expanding and thriving, but security is lacking. We have strong, tall, skilled men—great with weapons—who can help you."

Nidalee nodded. "It’s definitely a concern. How many? What quality?"

The half-orc brightened. "Two hundred—all sturdy men, skilled at weaponry—greatswords, greataxes, longbows, heavy crossbows!"

"As long as your territory provides steel weapons and armor, they’ll be unbeatable warriors!"

Nidalee frowned. "Mm..."

He hurried on. "Don’t worry, they’re strong! I can bring them for you to inspect."

"We don’t ask much—just somewhere to settle, and a bit of gold pocket money."

He grinned. Even with awkward language, his long-term thinking was clear—he saw the unbounded potential here. Better a long-term home for his warriors than squeezing them for a few more coins.

Nidalee, though, recalled Charles’s teaching: pay right to get people to really work, so she never considered underpaying. She’d actually pay a bit above market, while declining anything extra.

Of course, food and housing were standard demands; no problem there.

But two hundred strong men stationed permanently would have a big impact—Nidalee weighed it carefully.

She remembered the Chimeras, who had swapped their secret taming tech for one of Charles’s promises. She’d considered saving the security force job for them, should they ever come asking for shelter.

But now, half a year had passed, and with summer closing in, they hadn’t shown up, while local security was getting urgent. Should she just hire the two hundred?

It would solve the problem—but if the Chimeras did show, Charles wouldn’t break a promise to any tribe...

And those two tribes, she knew, had some friction. Both taking up residence here could get messy.

Headache!

It was a tough call—one she didn’t relish.

Right then, a magical pulse swept through the room. Nidalee’s eyes flickered—her Sending Stone, the one connected to Charles, had just activated.

Normally, they communicated on schedule. If he was reaching out now, it had to be urgent.

"My apologies," she said, rising, "I have an urgent matter to handle."

The half-orc nodded, understanding.

Nidalee slipped into a side compartment, poured magic into the stone, and Charles’s voice echoed in her mind. "Nidalee, we’re taking the mountain path into the Underdark. We’ll need to rest at your place in a few days—please get things ready."

The message ended there, but Nidalee’s eyes lit up and her mood soared.

She answered with a quick "Received," then straightened and strode back to the meeting room.

The half-orc greeted her with concern. "Lady Nidalee, you’re back. About what I said, can you accept?"

Nidalee smiled, suddenly confident. "No need to rush, sir. Let’s wait until Count Nigel Charles arrives in a few days, then we’ll discuss everything in detail."

With decision and responsibility now deferred to Charles, she felt instantly lighter—her energy and focus returning.

Across from her, the half-orc looked delighted. "Great! Then we’ll gladly wait a few days here."

Getting a direct audience with the ruling lord? Couldn’t ask for better!

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