Charles gradually regained consciousness. The moment he woke, a splitting headache assaulted him, as if he were suffering from a hangover.
Strange... I didn't drink last night, and I went to bed early...
Groaning, he forced his eyes open and glanced around—only for his surroundings to jolt him fully awake. His expression froze in shock.
Where... am I?
Before him was a plain, almost monotonous little room. The white walls and ceiling bore no decorations—not even a lamp.
All the light came from the warm sunlight streaming through the glass window beside him. He lay on a large bed near the window, covered by a yellow woolen blanket that was soft and carried a faint, pleasant fragrance.
Charles' brow furrowed.
No, I should be in my dorm. How did I end up here?
Baffled, he lifted the blanket, intending to get up and investigate—only to freeze again. He was wearing light gray cotton pajamas, and his calves were slender and pale, unlike an adult's.
What the...?
His confusion mounting, he pulled the pajama top aside slightly—and his blood ran cold.
Not only was there no hair down there, but the size was also significantly smaller than before.
What's going on?!
This...
This isn't my body!
Did I... transmigrate?
A wave of panic surged through him. Charles scrambled out of bed. On the wooden floor below sat a pair of small black leather slippers, and beside them, a wooden nightstand with a mirror.
He slipped his feet into the shoes, then turned to face the mirror.
And blinked in surprise.
Huh...
Not bad at all.
Reflected in the glass was a boy of about fifteen or sixteen—snow-white hair, sapphire-blue eyes, and flawless skin. His delicate features looked as if they had been meticulously carved by the gods themselves. Though his face still carried a hint of youthful softness, it only enhanced his charm, the kind that could stir a woman's maternal instincts.
Or something far less innocent.
"This..."
He reached up and pinched his own cheek. The softness confirmed it: he had indeed transmigrated. Fortunately, while the new body was a bit slender, it was undeniably attractive.
This should be a good start... right?
He wasn't sure. Just then, the door creaked open behind him.
Charles whirled around—and his jaw dropped.
So... beautiful.
Entering the room was a young nun. Her face was angelic, perfection incarnate. Sapphire-blue eyes gleamed like precious gems, framed by long golden lashes that shimmered like sunlight. Her delicate nose and thin yet vividly red lips exuded an allure that could tempt even the most devout.
She stood around 170 cm tall, clad in a traditional, heavy black nun's habit with a silver cross hanging from her neck. Yet, even the modest attire couldn't conceal the voluptuous curves beneath—especially the pair of ample, gravity-defying breasts that immediately seized Charles' attention.
The contrast between her pious garb and that sinful body sent a jolt through him—and his body reacted instantly.
Damn it, is this body too easily excitable?!
Cursing inwardly, Charles bent slightly, thankful for the loose pajamas hiding his predicament.
The nun observed his reaction, her lips curling into an amused smile. "It seems you've recovered well."
She glided to the foot of the bed, her voice soft. "Come here."
Charles studied her face. For some reason, she looked familiar. But when he tried to recall, a sharp pain stabbed his brain, cutting off all thoughts.
Fine, I'll figure it out later.
He moved to obey—but his body recoiled on its own, as if muscle memory had been carved by fear.
What the hell? Is this seemingly gentle nun actually some kind of sadistic drill sergeant in disguise?
Yikes.
Better play along for now.
"Sorry, Sister... um, miss," he said, clutching his head with a pained expression. "I'm not fully recovered yet. My head still hurts, and... I can't remember much."
He put on his most earnest face. "May I ask who you are?"
The nun blinked, then sighed in sorrow. "I see... You've lost your memories."
"Of course. It's to be expected. The fact that you're alive at all is already a miracle..."
Her grief twisted Charles' heart. Whatever relationship you had with the original owner, I'll live on in his place now.
"My name is Hattie," the nun said, composing herself. "And yours is Nigel Charles."
She gazed at him intently. "Do those names ring any bells?"
Charles?
This body's original owner shared my surname?
What are the odds? Well, at least it saves me some trouble.
But the name "Hattie" sent another pang through his skull—familiar yet elusive.
Probably the original's memories. Whatever. This nun seems kind enough. I can trust her.
He relaxed, adopting a pitiful expression. "They sound familiar, but... I really can't remember."
"Sister, is there anything else… that could help me remember?"
Across from him, the nun's face flushed slightly at his words. She bit her lower lip, as if steeling herself for something. "It seems… I'll have to be the one to…"
"Sit on the bed. Don't move. Leave everything… to me."
Charles was stunned. Did she really believe him? Was it really this easy to fool her?
He didn't understand what the original owner of this body had gone through. For now, he could only obediently sit on the bed. Then, he watched as the nun slowly stepped closer, gently lowering her head until her forehead pressed against his, their noses touching.
"Relax your body," she whispered, her voice tinged with shyness. "Then, follow your will… and use your hands… to explore my secrets…"
Charles was shocked. Though her words were cryptic, he understood!
Was she saying… he could slip his hand beneath her nun's habit and… do whatever he pleased?
This…
His heart pounded wildly, yet his muscles trembled. A deeper fear surged, locking his body rigid, nearly paralyzing him!
No—if this were truly allowed, why was this body so terrified?
This had to be a trap. He absolutely couldn't take the bait!
Frozen in place, he didn't move a muscle. Seeing this, the nun paused for a few seconds, then let out a soft sigh. "It seems… it's still not working."
"Then I will take it a step further..."
Muttering to herself, her face flushed even deeper, a shy maiden's timidity in her expression. Slowly, one by one, she undid the buttons of his pajamas from top to bottom. Then, with her delicate, jade-white hands, she reached out—and caressed his chest!
"Hah—!"
The moment he felt that exquisite touch, Charles' eyes widened in shock. Though his body burned with near-unbearable tension, an inexplicable fear deep inside made him instinctively retreat across the bed. "S-Sister… this… isn't appropriate…"
Before he could finish, the nun suddenly pushed with unexpected force, catching him off guard. In an instant, he was pinned onto the mattress!
And then she climbed atop him, pressing against his bare chest, her face flushed crimson. Her small, cherry-like lips parted, exhaling a sweet, warm breath as she whispered into his ear:
"There's nothing inappropriate about it. I just… want to make you feel good…"
Charles was utterly stunned. "You—!"
Wasn't she a nun? Why would she do something like this?
Just what kind of relationship did the original owner of this body have with her?!
His mind was nearly blank, but then he heard the nun's soft voice again:
"Your soul is too fragile… I can't use spells on you. So this is the only way… with my hands…"
"I've… never done this before. I might be a little clumsy. If it hurts, please… tell me right away…"
As she spoke, her tender fingers trailed downward, skimming over his abdomen—then grasped the waistband of his sleep pants… and gently began to pull—
"No…!"
Charles instinctively wanted to shield something, but clearly, in the face of reason, the body is a far more honest thing. His already raging penis, pointing fiercely at the sky, suddenly sprang out, terrifying and grotesque from engorgement!
The nun blushed, extended her fingers, and gently flicked them twice. Instantly, the inner morals and shame made Charles feel ashamed of himself. Shame on me!—until, in despair, he could only cover his eyes like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand.
But avoidance was futile. Immediately after, the nun's small hand grasped the penis and began stroking up and down. A powerful current surged through his mind, stimulating his scalp to the point of numbness, as if countless tiny insects were crawling all over his body!
"It seems we have a good start," the nun whispered softly upon seeing his expression, then lowered her body to explore further. Charles parted his fingers slightly and looked down to see her crouching by the bed, gently opening her cherry-like mouth—
"Ah—!"
The next moment, he gasped sharply. The fear that had gripped his entire body was swept away, leaving only an intense, indescribable pleasure and euphoria!
She swallowed it—she actually swallowed it all!
At this moment, he was so overwhelmed he nearly felt like crying.
This sensation, this experience… he had never, ever felt anything like it before!
As this realization surfaced in his heart, all traces of fear vanished entirely. Even his headache dissipated, his thoughts flowing freely without obstruction.
His body relaxed completely, savoring the service of the nun's small mouth, feeling her delicate tongue circling the center before swallowing it as deeply into her throat as possible. With every technique she could muster, awkward yet earnest, she attended to his body—
The nun suddenly let it out slowly, raised her eyes, and gazed at him with nervousness, shyness, and expectation: "Do you feel good?"
"Good..." Charles responded subconsciously. The experience had been so intense, he felt he was just one step away from heaven.
"If you feel good, then that's wonderful." The nun smiled shyly, then slowly rose before kneeling on the bed again, looking down at his body. "Now... it's my turn to feel good."
The next moment, her saintly face suddenly split apart. Rows of hooked, razor-sharp teeth sprouted from within the crimson flesh, growing rapidly until, in the blink of an eye, her mouth transformed into a monstrous, lamprey-like maw!
At the same time, her nun's habit began to shift wildly, morphing in an instant into countless ink-green tentacles covered in grotesque suckers, writhing madly through the room!
Then, three ink-green tentacles plunged down, forcing their way into his ears and mouth.
Charles froze. Overwhelming terror surged through him as horrific memories resurfaced.
He remembered.
He remembered what he had been doing last night.
And he remembered exactly who—or what—this woman before him was.
Last night, he was playing a lewd game called Witch Monastery, where he took on the role of a young priest, engaging in a battle of wits against seven witches lurking within the monastery—evil monsters that fed on human souls.
And now, the nun standing before him was the first witch he had conquered in the game—a terrifying entity from the ocean's depths, a deep-sea witch who delighted in tormenting minds with illusions and devouring fragments of souls just as her victims reached the brink of despair. Her name was Hattie!
He had actually transmigrated into this game world!
"Mmmph—!"
He struggled desperately, but two more tentacles shot down, binding his arms and legs, rendering him completely immobile!
"Bzzzt—"
The tentacle worming into his ear scraped against his eardrums, while the one slithering down his throat plunged deep into his esophagus, burrowing all the way into his stomach. Then, the tentacles began emitting a sickly green glow, draining his soul!
"Ghh—!"
In an instant, Charles felt as though his soul was being torn apart. His head throbbed violently, yet at this very moment, he couldn't even scream!
Help—!
I don't want to die—!
Someone—please save me—!
His mind roared in desperation—and just then, a cold, electronically synthesized female voice echoed abruptly in his head:
"Transmigration phenomenon detected. System initializing…"
"Conducting Host identity verification… Error. Host's physical body and soul do not match. Reverting to soul as primary identifier…"
"Host soul recognized as belonging to the Developer Clan. Granting highest-level access…"
"Greetings, Host. The Monastery Construction System is at your service."