Nidalee instantly became alert, standing up and peering outward, ready in a defensive posture. She soon saw a tall, slender male silhouette slowly making his way down the dim corridor.
Of course, tall was relative to Nidalee.
The silhouette looked a little unfamiliar, dressed in priest's robes and wearing a square cap. Nidalee frowned slightly. When he drew closer, and she saw the face clearly, she recognized his identity.
It was Charles.
That delicate, still somewhat boyish face wore the familiar smile Nidalee knew. For a moment, she was almost dazed, then suddenly became conscious that, in last night's spring dream, the boy she'd pinned down, whose clothes she'd rudely stripped away while they rolled together on the wild hillside, was none other than the man in front of her!
Realizing that, a burst of irritation burned in her heart, and she cursed herself for her lack of self-discipline. How could she dream of him!
He was her enemy!
Even if this guy looked genuinely handsome, with that delicate face and white long hair… well…
"Where's your hair?"
That was the very first thing she reflexively asked as soon as he came near.
Charles paused as he reached the iron bars, his tone a touch helpless: "Miss Nidalee, weren't you there that night? Didn't you see my hair go up in flames and burn away?"
Those words instantly pulled up memories Nidalee would rather forget: that nightmarish evening.
That night, she'd seen with her own eyes those beautiful, naked nuns' bodies erupt into clouds of black mist and purple-red lightning, transforming into monstrous beings far more terrifying than any demon, all snarling as they fell upon a single crystallized figure…
"Ahhh—!"
Recalling that night, Nidalee clapped her hands desperately over her head, shrieking in terror, her pupils shrinking: "They're witches… you're one too, you're those witches' master, you're a demon!"
She scrambled away, throwing herself back onto her bed against the wall, watching Charles with fearful eyes: "Stay away from me!"
Charles sighed and raised his hand. Immediately, two of the cell's iron bars slid aside, opening a path for him. "I think you're missing something important. Sure, Sephera and the others took horrific forms—that's just their battle stance."
"Is this kind of thing so important? Did they hurt you? Did they drain your soul? Think carefully, we didn't provoke you at all, but you always took the initiative to raid us, raid Ruth, and when you failed to rob her spoils, you chased us to our house to steal, right?"
As he said this, he walked into the cell: "So, we are the good guys, and you are the bad guy who caused all these bad consequences!"
Nidalee was speechless; Charles was only stating the facts—and she couldn't argue. Still, the terror of what she'd seen that night was seared into her heart, an indelible psychological shadow. So, for now, there was no way her attitude would change.
But Charles didn't bother debating further. Seeing the girl pressed into the corner on her bed, hugging her knees and eyeing him with fear, he sat down at the foot of her bed and addressed her seriously: "I have a question, Nidalee. Why did you want the Holy Sword Fragment? Did your people get into trouble?"
He thought perhaps the Mountaineer tribe had encountered demons. Yet when she heard him, Nidalee's pupils contracted, thinking Charles already knew something of her enemies.
No, he mustn't find out about the Earth Dragon!
So, she shook her head furiously. "I don't know. Our tribe's leader sent me to fetch it. As for their purpose, I have no right to know…"
She looked pitiful, but Charles's gaze narrowed.
She was lying.
Not only did he judge from her expression and body language, but the construction itself gave him clarity.
Remember—this was the Dungeon, a special facility for holding monastery captives. It could sense a prisoner's mental state while speaking and provide full feedback to Charles, its Master.
Now, this construction had already been upgraded to Level 2; seeing through Nidalee's little act was effortless.
"I'll give you one more chance, Nidalee." Suppressing his irritation, Charles tried again with diplomacy. "I mean no harm—otherwise, you'd already be dead. Why do you want the Holy Sword Fragment?"
Gritting her teeth, Nidalee's mind flashed with memories of the elders' sacrifices for the survival of their people; a sense of self-sacrifice welled up in her chest. In a resolute voice, she replied, "I don't know!"
Charles nodded, then sighed softly. "Well, that's your choice then."
A shudder of dread arose in Nidalee, but she had no chance to take back her words. Charles raised his hand, and four thick ropes suddenly snaked out of the wall, binding the druid's wrists and ankles, and yanked them tight.
"Ah—!"
Nidalee screamed, struggling, but to her dismay, her strength was gone.
She couldn't shift those four ropes at all; she could only be forced down, upper body prone on her low bed, her round little ass lifted high, exposing her in a humiliating posture to Charles.
All she could do in resistance was wiggle her raised hips—less defiance and more like a begging display.
"What are you doing?!"
She lifted her head, demanding angrily. Then her pupils shrank again. Now she saw it: Charles was, somehow, holding a plastic flyswatter—his face twisted into a strange and frightening smile.
"What do you think I'm doing, Miss Nidalee?" he said. "I told you, I'm a good man. I just want to understand why you need the Holy Sword Fragment, to see if I can help, resolve any misunderstanding between us."
His voice was so polite and righteous, but suddenly it turned stern: "But you refuse my goodwill—you insist I'm the villain. Fine then; if that's what you want, I'll use 'villain methods' to get the truth."
He stood, resting the swatter against the plumpest part of Nidalee's backside, taking aim. Through the thin prison uniform, he brought it down hard—
Smack—
"Ah—!"
The wide swatter landed heavily, and a melodious moan escaped from Nidalee's lips.
Truthfully, it didn't hurt much—but the impact vibrated through her muscles, into places she'd seldom worked in training.
As a ranger, Nidalee took care of her physique. Still, some muscles simply weren't easily exercised. In moments of burning need, she'd relieve tension by rubbing her thighs, stimulating through movement, especially secretly grinding the delicate folds of her inner garden to try to ease her own heat.
But now, the flyswatter's crack brought a whole new sensation. Never had Nidalee experienced this sort of pleasure—a tremor running inside her, her thigh muscles quivering with excitement!
And as they trembled, the most sensitive inner folds also slid against one another, a tingling jolt shooting up her spine, making the uninitiated girl moan aloud even as she tried to fight it down.
Truth was, after her spring dream, Nidalee's body was already needy and damp. The spark of arousal still burned within her, so this single blow only stoked her desire, sending waves of blissful tremors through her.
At the same time, she was wracked with shame and guilt!
Too humiliating!
How could she possibly feel pleasure after being struck by her enemy? How could she moan, almost as if begging?
No! She had to resist, had to bite down and hold fast.
Charles, meanwhile, didn't pause. He kept up the smacks, left and right, always hitting the thickest parts of her bottom.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
The sharp sound grew more rapid. Nidalee's rounded hips kept trembling; the friction of her wet inner flesh was a hundred times more intense than anything she'd managed with her own thighs.
She could even feel warm liquid leaking from her depths.
"How does it feel, Miss Nidalee?"
Charles's voice was icy as he observed her blushing face and the sweat on her brow; he knew the Dungeon was working perfectly. "You can tell me the truth any time you wish."
"In your dreams! Oh—!"
Nidalee spat defiantly, but his response was another hard slap—her mind drowning in sensation, a whimper breaking free once again.
She bit her back teeth, shut her eyes, refusing to look at Charles, forcing herself to endure, beautiful face twisting.
She tried hard not to moan again, but the body never lies.
The unknown pleasure kept building, her body shaking with need. Beneath her striped uniform, her wheat-colored skin gleamed with sweat, face flushed and steamy.
She was at her limit, the pleasure poised to break her will. With Charles's final swat, her trembling body went rigid.
Waves of wild spasms flashed across her buttocks. Her secret lips clenched and pulsed, and in the gap between her thighs, a small patch of dampness appeared on her uniform.
She had climaxed.
Seeing this result, Charles put away the swatter with satisfaction. "That's it for today's punishment, Nidalee. Think carefully about your answers."
"I'll come again tomorrow. If you're still not cooperative, there's much more to come."
He didn't give her a second glance. With a command, the ropes retracted, freeing her, and he turned and walked away.
Collapsed atop her bed, Nidalee slowly drifted down from the peak of ecstasy, shivering from the aftershocks. Remembering the intense throbs in her lower body, to the point where she'd found pleasure at his hand, she buried her face under her blanket in shame.
How could she come undone in front of that bastard…
She blamed it on last night's dream—that her body could have such a reaction to this man!
She swore to herself that next time she'd keep herself in check, never again to degrade herself like this!
But she didn't notice the faint pink light glinting from the diamond ring on Charles's left forefinger as he left.
As for Nidalee, captive in the Dungeon, wrestling with her isolation and shame, Charles left the bath chamber into the midday sun.
He looked up at the blue sky and let out a long breath, feeling his own internal fire needing release.
Truth be told, Nidalee was stunning, her figure athletic and her wheat-toned skin exotic compared to the other witches of the monastery.
Calm down, Charles. Remember, taming this druid would be a long campaign—you mustn't let yourself surrender before she does.
He silently admonished himself, taking several deep breaths in the cool autumn air to quell his urge.
He didn't go to the scriptorium to study, but asked the mosquito on his shoulder, "How are Malena and her daughter? Are they up?"
He'd been concerned about how the mother and child slept after yesterday's ordeal, but knowing their shock, he hadn't wished to disturb them early.
Andny's reply surprised him: "They've been up a long while. Malena even took her daughter to the Tailor's Shop before nine and began working."
Charles arched an eyebrow: "That early? …Well, I'll go check in on them."
So he set off, crossing the garden to the Tailor's Shop just beyond the wall.
As he arrived, he saw Malena at the sewing machine, busy at work.
The urgency of last night meant he'd scarcely looked at her before. Now, he couldn't deny it: Madam Malena was a beautiful woman.
She was tall, with bright eyes and long, wavy black hair. Only her skin, a little sallow from malnutrition, and some exhaustion in her features marred her beauty.
Perhaps that coloring was a disguise that had protected her for several years in the brutal slums.
She wore a black cotton blouse with white flower patterns, sleeves rolled to reveal white wrists. Her proud chest strained the fabric, contrasting starkly with her slender neck, collarbone, and waist.
But Charles knew that unlike Theresa, Malena's fabulous bosom was full and real—last night's trace of milk still haunted his mind, making his throat dry.
As he approached, Malena looked up reflexively. Seeing him, her face lit up. "Priest Charles, you're here!"
She quickly called out, "Lisa, come out!"
In fact, Lisa had already dashed from inside, clutching a picture book, flashing Charles a pure, angelic smile: "Priest, my lord!"
Charles kept his smile gentle as he gazed down at the sweet little girl. So different from months ago, healthy and rosy-cheeked now, her jet-black eyes sparkled, as if all her family's nourishment had gone to her alone.
Unlike her mother, Lisa's hair was golden—a side-effect of awakening her bloodline. Most warlocks would go through such a change: some people's eyes turned red, others white or gold…
All quite typical.
"Madam Malena, Miss Lisa." He tried to sound calm, though it was hard to look away. "Did you sleep well last night?"
Malena hadn't answered before Lisa dashed forward, hugging his thigh. "We slept so well! Mama and I have never rested so peacefully before!"
"Thank you, Priest, my lord!"
Well-mannered and obedient, Lisa's words reassured Charles.
Great—if they slept that soundly, he could advertise the rooms he'd built as top-class lodging…
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