Inside the Dungeon.
Nidalee lay on her bed, one hand caressing her petite yet firm breast, the other delving beneath the quilt between her thighs, gently teasing the mysterious spot there.
"Mmm…"
Her eyes closed, her fingertips moving in slow circles; as desire climbed, delicate gasps escaped her lips.
This had become a daily routine. After all, each night's inevitable spring dream would leave her burning with need, unable to resist. And being a woman, she was not like a man who would risk losing something equaling the value of tenfold blood; for her, there was no limit.
Pleasure would come, lust would be quenched.
But today…
After a long while, Nidalee slowly opened her eyes, withdrawing her wet fingers from between her legs. Staring at the crystalline fluid on her skin, her gaze was filled with confusion and emptiness.
She could still feel a trace of pleasure, but satisfaction eluded her completely…
All it took was his fingers invading her body that once, and now her own brought comfort no more.
So empty…
Nidalee bit her lip. In addition to darkness and loneliness, her suffering had a new torment now: a growing craving for the pleasures of man and woman.
In the midst of all this discomfort, a fresh thought rose from her mind: If only I'd told him the secret of the Earth Dragon yesterday, would he have stayed?
She couldn't say, but the question haunted her mind and would not go away.
I miss him… when will he come back…
She wailed soundlessly in her heart, but today, no matter what, Charles would not return.
Footsteps echoed from the Dungeon staircase. Nidalee glanced up and saw a familiar, tall and slender silhouette, her hips swaying down the steps like a water serpent—Sephera, none other than the nun Nidalee knew well.
Seeing the taunting smile on the nun's face, Nidalee resignedly closed her eyes. She knew that today, she was in for a rough time.
...
Buzz——
Purified white light shone briefly and then faded. Charles had long since lost track of how many skeletons he had purified. With each casting, he had to call out, "Purified!" and now, his voice felt raw. He resolved that upon returning, he'd find some honey or something similar to soothe and care for his throat.
At least, the rewards of this trip were worthwhile. His Purification Points had soared to over twenty thousand.
For that, the whole journey was worth it.
That said, these days of sitting and amassing large amounts of Purification Points were almost at an end.
The real world was nothing like a game. On this storm-battered, weathered island, the bones of skeletons broke and decayed easily.
And without their bodies' protection, the fire of their souls dissipated all too quickly. In truth, there weren't really that many undead wandering here.
Perhaps seven or eight hundred at most, enough to provide nearly twenty thousand Purification Points—a truly impressive bounty.
As for the other side of the mountain, where the greater undead slumbered quietly in their crypts—each was worth as much as several hundred skeletons in Purification Points. But those beings would never awaken alone.
If one awoke, all would. And if they awoke, it would become a raging tide of undead that Charles simply dared not provoke right now.
No, better to leave.
Noticing Theresa frowning, her beautiful brows creased, her gaze seemingly peering past the central peak, eyeing the skeletons wandering just beyond, eager for action, Charles called out, "Hattie, Theresa, let's go! No more hunting, we're going home!"
Theresa drew back her gaze, a hint of regret on her face. Hattie said nothing; the three of them made their way back to the small boat stranded on the beach, preparing to set out.
He had spent two days on this island; today was the third morning. For the past days, the small boat's cabin had been his temporary home; eating, sleeping, resting, and even relaxing—all of it, he had done there.
He had to admit, amusement on such a small boat, with its rocking hull and the waves' regular pounding, brought with it a rather unique experience.
But now, everything had to end.
The three of them took their seats at the bow, and Hattie once again controlled the waters, speeding the boat away from the island. Watching that shrinking peak vanish in the distance, Charles let out a long sigh—this plan, at last, could be called a complete success.
"Master, what exactly is behind that little mountain?"
Hattie suddenly asked, her attention split between guiding the craft and clinging to his hand in full view of Theresa. Pressing her full chest against his arm, her eyes sparkled with curiosity as she asked sweetly.
Theresa watched the whole thing, her expression unchanged, only her yellow-green eyes showing curiosity as she quietly waited for Charles's answer.
"Oh, over there…" Charles glanced once more at the retreating peak, his voice tinged with awe. "That's the resting place of a fallen Blackguard, along with his Death Knight subordinates—an entire tomb of dread."
Paladins—knights sworn to justice—attain their noble class only after taking sacred oaths before the world itself.
But should they break those oaths, paladins lose all of the gifts the world bestowed, cursed with a terrible burden. Unless they can receive fresh guidance from their deity, atone for their sins, and renew their vows, they are forever barred from the Order.
Such was the law decreed eons ago by the Gods of Order. But just as the gods' own material world is not perfect—hence the rise of witches and other evil creatures to exploit flaws in that world—so too was there always a loophole in the oaths themselves.
This loophole is not easily exploited—it requires the aid of either fiends or necromancers. But in the end, one who succeeds becomes a Blackguard: a knight who stands side by side with fiends and the undead, indulging in evil—with power equal to any paladin.
These Blackguards can still unleash powerful Divine Smite—or more correctly, Malicious Smite—though this time their targets can be any innocent living creature. Their terrible aura of hate no longer blesses mortal companions, but vastly strengthens undead and fiends.
These usurpers of Order and Justice's sacred power are, in truth, public enemies across the whole material world.
And there, slumbering still, is a Blackguard of immense strength.
"In life, he was prince of a small island kingdom, a paladin of the Oath of Devotion, resolved to defend his country and people," Charles explained. "But when evil creatures rose from the seafloor—no, not witches, Hattie, but a horde of Merrow devoted to the Demon Prince Demogorgon, who invaded his land with their demonic hosts—"
Hattie nodded gently; she had been nervous at first—if witches had done these things, a Death Knight's wrath could well have fallen on every deep-sea witch, and an undead army might well have marched on the monastery.
But it hadn't, and thus it did not concern her.
"In the end, his army was defeated, his people slaughtered, and he was helpless to stop it," Charles continued. "In despair, he listened to a devil's whispers, drew forth the Blade of the Damned—sealed away by his ancestors—and fell, becoming a Blackguard. He raised his fallen knights and soldiers as Death Knights and undead warriors, then launched a counterattack upon the invading fiends of the sea…"
"If that were all, it might have ended there. But he soon found his armies were still too few. He realized that commoners raised as undead could, under his leadership, wield power dozens of times stronger than before." Charles spread his hands. "In a sense, kings protecting their subjects are much like farmers guarding their livestock. After understanding this, that prince at last broke—he raised his blade against his own people."
Hattie's expression changed little, but Theresa frowned and let out a soft sigh.
Once, nothing delighted her more than playing with people's hearts, luring them into corruption, then devouring their souls. But now, thinking back on the many tragedies she'd personally caused, her heart ached with remorse.
"Though he fought and won, his will was finally consumed by the Blade of the Damned, rendering him its puppet." Charles said. "In one last moment of clarity, he begged the kingdom's greatest mage to seal him, and his cohort of Death Knights, away on this remote and filthy island, vowing never to awaken—unless he one day subdued the sword's will entirely."
Here Charles couldn't help but laugh bitterly. "Naturally, in that contest, the prince lost."
"Between the psychological torment of slaughtering his own people, and his resentment toward the gods for not granting him strength to protect what he loved, holes were worn in his faith. And so, he was powerless to resist the Blade of the Damned. Now, what lies sleeping on that distant shore is a monster fallen irrevocably into evil."
The two witches listened silently; all of this was new to them. At last, Theresa looked up and asked, "So, what's the Death Knight's challenge rating?"
"I recall it being about twenty-two—actually, he wouldn't be that strong himself, but it's because of that Blade of the Damned," Charles replied. "That sword was forged by Orcus, the Demon Prince of Undeath—infamous Abyssal Lord—meant as a temptation to paladins. Whoever wields it is doomed to fall and become a Blackguard."
He furrowed his brow. "A true Death Knight should have a challenge rating of about seventeen. Honestly, in terms of strength, the prince could maybe reach eighteen or nineteen at best—but that sword is savage."
He smiled. "Don't worry, he's not alone in his crypt. He has eight loyal Death Knights, and the monsters he summoned in life. There's no hope of us defeating any of them."
Theresa smiled warmly. "Naturally, Master, by your account, any of those undead would be stronger than I am."
As she watched the distant ridge, she shivered with lingering fear. "Thankfully, they're all still asleep."
Charles kept on smiling, but he knew this fragile peace would not last long. Sooner or later, some reckless adventurer, lured by a devil's treasure map, would come searching, disturb those tombs, and unleash these dreadful undead creatures.
By then, the utterly mad Death Knights would muster a legion of the dead and fiends, vowing to destroy all the gods cherish in the material realm.
But that was for the future. For now, Charles had only one thing to do.
Level up!
To go from level five to six demanded only seventy-five hundred Purification Points; he had saved more than enough. Now was the moment.
With nothing else to do on the boat, he opened his system and pressed the button—
Buzz——
Milky purified light shone as Theresa's brow arched—she sensed her power draining, turned, and shot him a slightly surprised look, before breaking into a gentle smile.
Ever since purifying the archwitch, Charles had switched his main magical source from Hattie to her.
This, too, was part of why Hattie had been so keen to stick close to him these past days.
Charles did not mind. To the first witch he had ever purified, the one who nursed him through his weakest days, his feelings were special; he was happy to indulge her a bit more.
With Theresa's power, he could cast every spell below the sixth circle—up to level ten as a warlock.
And now, going from five to six? No trouble at all.
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