Inside the Dungeon.
Smack—
Nidalee knelt on the ground, her upper body resting low, limbs bound with ropes, her slender waist pressed as low as possible, causing her rounded hips to arch high, like a stretching kitten, adopting the most accommodating posture for Charles's punishment.
Charles swung a soft flyswatter, delivering yet another spank. A tingling, pleasurable sensation rose to her mind, making her delicate body shudder again.
"Ah..."
Her eyes closed, head raised, breathing raggedly, her skin drenched in fragrant sweat, her face displaying nothing but satisfied delight. Then, the Nidalee turned her head to look back, eyes suddenly mocking: "Is that all you've got? Did you skip lunch? Or are you eating grass these days?"
She taunted him thus, then turned back, shutting her eyes, waiting for his next strike; both dreading stronger pain and craving more intense stimulation, heartbeat racing, her soul brimming with excitement.
This trick had never failed before, but today, something changed.
Charles sighed, neither returning her mockery nor raising the paddle again, seeming suddenly disinterested.
After a long wait with no next blow, Nidalee couldn't help but wonder if she'd gone too far and really bruised his ego.
She turned her head again to look back at him. "What's the matter? Is something on your mind?"
Charles shook his head. "It's nothing. It's just, I'm leaving tomorrow."
Instantly, a powerful sense of foreboding struck her heart. "Where? How long will you be gone?"
"Sailing for a while—to clear out the undead occupying an island offshore. It'll be some time before I return." Charles said, "And during that time, only the other nuns can take over your interrogations."
Nidalee froze at once, as if doused in cold water. All excitement vanished; her eyes stared at him in dazed emptiness and reluctant sorrow.
She wanted to say, "Don't go," but at this moment, shame kept her silent.
What a joke—as a prisoner, how could she possibly beg him to stay...
She struggled silently, turning her face to the wall, her eyes vacant, her mood sinking into deep gloom.
Behind her, Charles picked up the flyswatter again. "No need to talk more. Let's continue!"
He gave her another brisk spank.
Smack—
But this time, there was little reaction. The girl didn't move, her expression dejected, as if her soul had fled—no response at all to the blow.
Charles's brow arched. "What, still too soft?"
Nidalee didn't answer, as if all will to converse had left her—indeed, even her desire to enjoy the punishment had vanished.
Seeing this, he narrowed his gaze thoughtfully.
It seems I'll need to use something stronger to pull this Nidalee's attention back.
So thinking, he set aside the flyswatter and gripped the edge of her prison uniform trousers.
Feeling his fingertips, Nidalee's body stiffened in shock. "What are you doing?!"
It was too late. Charles didn't answer—he yanked sharply and pulled down her blue-and-white striped prison trousers, baring her round, firm, toned backside.
Nidalee wore no undergarments—not by her own choice, but simply because Charles and the nuns never permitted her any. Thus, she had always remained bare beneath.
Beholding her lovely little bottom, Charles felt his pulse race. All these days, his flyswatter had tormented that rear through layers of cloth—never once had he seen it in the flesh.
Now he was feasting his eyes, thoroughly satisfied.
"You—!"
Nidalee panicked, looking back, but her posture offered only a perfect view of her exposed hips and thighs, fully on display.
And Charles's expression, from initial surprise, grew into admiration and awe, as if beholding breathtaking beauty!
She could imagine what he was seeing, just from his face. After all, throughout the flogging, her body had already grown intensely aroused—her flesh thoroughly wet!
Mortified to the core, Nidalee began to struggle more violently. "Charles, you lecher! Perverted priest—you deserve to die!"
But such futile resistance won no freedom; if anything, it only made her seem all the more like a kitten pleading for mercy.
Charles stroked his chin, gazing between her thighs. Because her waist arched low in order to raise her hips, that most secret place was on open display.
Though her skin was honey-colored, the untouched petals were still pink and tender. After so much training, Charles could even glimpse glistening moisture reflecting the firelight.
Truly... beautiful!
He marveled in his heart, then with a wave of his hand, conjured a black leather blindfold and a burning red candle.
Seeing the new implements, Nidalee tensed, a shadow of dread falling over her heart. "What... what do you want to do?"
"It's really quite clear, Miss Nidalee." Charles replied. "The traditional methods aren't affecting you anymore, so it's time to try something new."
As she resisted, he fixed the blindfold in place. Deprived of sight, Nidalee's attention became sharply focused on touch, her entire body tensed in anticipation of every unknown sensation, terror of what she could not see clenching her heart, tensing every muscle—
Next, Charles held the low-temperature candle above her hips and tilted it. A drop of melted wax landed on her delicate skin.
"Ah—!"
Nidalee's waist jerking upright, she screamed, all her hips and thighs trembling from the hot, stinging burn. "You fiend, Charles—!"
Charles showed no mercy, letting another drop of wax fall on the other cheek. The fierce sensation rendered Nidalee speechless, her body shaking violently, even the wet lips of her secret haven beginning to part and gasp, as though inviting him in!
"Seems effective."
Pleased by her renewed vigor, Charles nodded in satisfaction. Gazing lower, he could even see her soft, rosy flesh. No longer holding back, he gently slid two fingertips inside—
"Ah—no—ah—!"
It was her first time having something enter her body. Nidalee felt utterly overwhelmed. Instinctively, she tried to clench and expel the foreign objects—but before she could arch her hips and throw out the intruders, another drip of wax landed on her rear, making her scream again!
"How is it, Nidalee?"
Charles didn't move—he merely kept his fingertips inside, pausing even the wax. "Made up your mind yet?"
Nidalee bit her lip, her face now crimson. "Never!"
Charles nodded lightly. "Very well, then..."
He left the sentence hanging. Wax dripped again. At the same time, his fingers began to move, probing for her most sensitive points, flickering rapidly back and forth—
"Ah—ah—ahhh—ahhhh—!"
Nidalee screamed aloud. The double stimulation was too much, a sensation far beyond anything she could achieve with her own gentle middle finger.
Her hands clutched at the straw-strewn floor, thighs flexing hard, trying to clamp down and maybe snap those invading fingers!
She felt her soul nearly separating from her body, mind gone utterly blank, unable to think of anything but surrendering herself completely to the man behind, luxuriating in this moment of ecstasy—
Suddenly, a rush of warm fluid burst forth from Nidalee, spraying Charles's hand and wrist.
"Not bad at all."
Satisfied with her reaction, Charles finally withdrew his fingers, then slipped them between her lips, pinching her tender tongue and cleaning them there before rising to his feet.
He scattered all implements, freed her bonds, and rose, saying, "I'm off, dear Miss Nidalee."
"While I'm away, I hope you get along well with the nuns."
Leaving these words, and not even helping the limp, boneless Nidalee raise her trousers, he strode from the Dungeon.
Lying there, her soul slowly returning to her body, Nidalee didn't stir, but gradually regained her thoughts, recalling all that Charles had said.
He was off to slay undead again—just like when, in Zenith's castle, he used that white light to instantly purify an undead...
Could someone like him really be evil?
Maybe—maybe, he truly had the power to help us. After all, those terrifying witches now obey his every word...
But then, what of my own stubborn resistance these past days?
Have I... have I just been a fool?
She didn't know. After pleasure faded, all that was left in her heart was endless confusion and emptiness.
...
Soot Island lay in the straits southwest of Liberl Port. Thanks to the ocean currents, trash dumped at sea—broken crates, leftover food bones, and the like—was carried to this island by the waves. Hence, it earned the nickname "Garbage Island."
But it wasn't only debris that washed ashore. Sailors murdered at sea, their corpses too, drifted here with the tides. Over many years, the island had become a haven for the undead.
And it was these undead that Charles had targeted.
On the deck of a small wooden boat—about five meters wide at its widest, ten meters long, with a two-meter-tall cabin amidships—Charles, Hattie, and Theresa sat together at the bow, traveling onward.
Hattie used magic to control the waves, propelling the little vessel; the sea was her domain, and she could move across water even faster than in the air.
Theresa gazed into the distance, her beautiful eyes shining with magical energy. On the open ocean, nothing blocked her vision, and as a mistress of light manipulation, she could see for dozens of miles.
Thus, they could easily chart their course and avoid most dangers.
As for Charles?
He sat idly between the two girls, an arm wrapped around each full-bodied nun, enjoying the seascape while his sinful hands slipped beneath their garments to tease and provoke them.
He had no real contribution to make—the limits of his abilities left little for him to do in this setting.
The boat cut through the waves, flying steadily onward, making Charles feel like he was aboard a yacht. Yet the vessel's speed remained rather modest.
The sun floated southward. Around noon, Charles fetched provisions from the cabin to serve lunch, when Theresa suddenly said, "I see the island Master spoke of!"
Charles brightened. "Then let's drop anchor. We'll eat first, and then hunt the undead!"
It stood to reason, that with so much garbage, the place would smell foul. He didn't fancy purging undead on an empty stomach, retching from the stench.
Hattie stopped her spell. The witches busied themselves serving him lunch. Afterward, Charles lay his head on Theresa's lap and napped, resting until his food was digested enough to keep him from vomiting. Only then did he have Hattie resume rowing.
Half an hour later:
From ahead, a wave of rotten, sour stench washed over them with the salty wind. Charles wrinkled his nose, then dug a white cotton mask from his backpack and fastened it over his mouth.
He knew Soot Island was near.
Having learned his lesson in Zenith's castle, Charles had prepared plenty of masks this time, to block out any nauseating stench so his fighting prowess wouldn't be diminished.
Beside him, Hattie wrinkled her nose prettily and said plaintively, "Master, could I have a mask too? It really stinks here..."
"No problem," Charles said, handing one over—then paused, surprised: "Wait, Hattie, do you have a sense of smell now?"
Theresa turned as well, a little astonished. Hattie had never bothered giving herself a sense of smell or taste.
In days past, deep-sea witches enjoyed teasing captives to the peak of pleasure before devouring their souls, but abhorred the odor of human flesh and its secretions in such a state.
She found those odors disgusting, so she'd simply done without smell. But now, she'd restored it.
"Yes." Hattie nodded shyly, nestling close. "I overheard Lisa saying you smell wonderful, Master, and I realized I've never smelled you myself."
"So, I found a way to grant myself smell and taste. They're not terribly sensitive yet, but good enough for daily life."
As she spoke, she hugged Charles, nuzzling her nose into his neck and hair. Closing her eyes, she breathed in deep. "Lisa was right; Master's scent really is delightful."
Her action was almost like a spoiled child, and it seemed like she was claiming sovereignty, deliberately performing for Theresa. Charles couldn't help but feel happy, and hugged her with his backhand, and then helped her put on the mask, saying, "This is a good thing. Although there may be many inconveniences, it is still a good thing overall."
Nearby, the tall Theresa looked on at the couple with a satisfied smile, seemingly not jealous in the least, but rather delighted by their intimacy.
After this episode, Hattie continued navigating the boat forward. The island's shores were strewn with reefs, and heaps of garbage covered both nearby sand and distant beach, making it nearly impossible to land. After circling for over half an hour, they finally found a barely usable strand, ran the boat aground, and went ashore.
At the island's center lay a diagonal hillside, dividing it into southeast and northwest halves. "Garbage Island" was an apt name only for the southeastern side, where trash was everywhere; the northwest side was actually clean.
Yet he dared not venture northwest, so they searched for prey amid the stench.
Even with a mask, the stink made Charles distinctly uncomfortable. He didn't want to linger a moment longer and urged, "Let's begin as planned!"
Theresa nodded, having already sighted several wandering skeletons earlier at sea. Raising her hand, she conjured glowing will-o'-wisps near the skeletons.
At once, the skeletons were lured, shambling toward the lights.
As they neared, Charles's heart thudded faster. He'd seen zombies and horrors before—had even slain one—but this was still his first time facing real skeletons outside a game.
Just as seeing a panda excites even those jaded by rhinos and elephants, seeing these tottering bones and the ghostfire in their skulls set his pulse pounding.
Time to get to work.
Without fear, he cast Longstrider upon himself, skipping forward, sidestepping a skeleton's claw, and grabbing one of its bones: "Purified!"
Buzz—
Milky-white Purification light flared. Instantly, the fire in the skeleton's skull extinguished. Deprived of necromantic power, its bones collapsed in a clatter, the threat gone.
Charles quickly checked his system panel: 25 Purification Points earned, and he curled his lip—not even half a zombie's worth.
But he wasn't about to complain. With the number of undead here, he could probably farm out several thousand, maybe over ten thousand Purification Points on this island!
Thinking thus, he brimmed with ambition.
All right—let's get started!
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