Up at the priest's lectern, seeing Willo's current state, Charles couldn't help arching a brow. But he didn't say anything, simply continued to quietly oversee her part-time class-change ritual.
Soon, the milky light faded, signaling the end of the process. Charles stepped down from the lectern, grabbed a bath towel from the nearby bench, and draped it over his shoulder.
Then, he walked over to the hot spring, reached into the water, and slid his arms beneath Willo's armpits, preparing to lift her out.
As his hands slipped beneath her, feeling the soft warmth of her skin, Charles's heart began to pound. Especially from above—overlooking the full, generous curves of her chest now well within reach—he found his nerves stretched to the breaking point.
He was, after all, a young man, prone to excitement. Faced with such a vision, he could barely restrain himself. It took all his willpower not to give in to his baser instincts, and instead, he carefully hefted her out of the spring.
Despite her curvy figure, Willo wasn't especially tall, so her weight was little challenge for Charles. As her flawless body emerged from the water, streams glided down her skin, stirring up desire and visual shock in a way words failed to capture.
Once she was out, Charles wrapped her up in the bath towel slung over his shoulder, carefully drying her off. Even through the soft cotton, his hands roamed her body, feeling the heat and elasticity beneath the towel. The nearness of her bare skin threatened to drive him mad with longing—he wanted nothing more than to take this satyr woman right then and there.
But in the end, he restrained himself. Fighting the heat bubbling in his chest, he tucked the bath towel securely around Willo, then, carrying her bridal-style, strode out of the small chapel straight toward her room.
The journey wasn't long, but it was far from private—he ran into several nuns along the way. Each time, they caught sight of him carrying Willo, wrapped in little more than a towel, their eyes going wide and hands flying to cover their mouths, shooting him playful, knowing glances as if they'd just uncovered a juicy secret.
Charles felt awkward as hell but could only grit his teeth and power through it.
Thankfully, it didn't last long. He made it to her door, set her gently down on the crisp white sheets, and tucked her under the covers.
He found himself gazing at Willo's sleeping, peaceful face for a long, long time. After what just happened—almost baring their souls, or at least their bodies—admiring her beauty seemed only natural.
Even if it was a one-sided thing.
At length, he finally regained composure, turned, and slipped quietly out of the room.
Six hours later.
Evening approached. In the winter, afternoons always faded early into darkness, so by now the world outside was growing dim. Willo slowly woke from her deep sleep, opening her eyes to the familiar ceiling of her room.
She realized at once she was lying there completely naked under the covers. The bedding kept her warm, but she couldn't shake a sense of emptiness.
For a moment, she was confused.
What… happened to me?
She forced herself to retrace her memories, and as the images of what she'd just done came flooding back, her face went crimson.
I… I seriously stripped in front of Priest Charles, showing absolutely everything!
What's even worse—I fell asleep right after!
Which means…
Was it him who fished me out of the spring, dried me off with a towel, and carried me back to my dorm?
Does that mean he not only saw me but also…
She couldn't help shrinking under the quilt, covering her face as the shame hit like lightning.
Gods, how am I supposed to face him after this?
So awkward, and—
The memory of Charles's blazing, hungry gaze during the baptism ritual left her breathless and mortified.
But even beneath her embarrassment, a sliver of secret, unspoken satisfaction began to bloom in her heart…
...
Far beneath the ground, in the hidden depths of Xanathar's secret lair.
This was a square corridor, about four meters across, neither foul nor reeking but spotlessly clean—nothing at all like what you'd expect from a sewer. If not for its location, no one would guess what it really was.
This was the headquarters of Xanathar's Guild.
"Whew… whew…"
The halfling wanderer, fresh from his failed mission at Charles's monastery, pelted down the hall, glancing back skittishly until he was sure he was safe. Only then did he let out a long, shaky breath.
Right then, a harsh, duck-like male voice cut through the gloom: "Well, look at you! Run off with your tail between your legs?"
The halfling's face soured instantly. He looked up to see his dark elf colleague leaning by a corner, watching him with thinly veiled amusement.
The halfling snorted. "Wipe that grin off your face, Narl. If trouble from the Deep comes knocking, you won't find it so funny, either!"
With the Chthonians tunneling everywhere and all sorts of fiends and outsiders sneaking into Liberl Port, even Xanathar's Guild was feeling the squeeze—safe routes weren't so safe anymore.
Hearing this, the dark elf lost his smile, brows knotting in concern.
After gulping down a few deep breaths, the halfling steadied himself and stepped forward. "So, what's our Great Xanathar up to these days?"
His tone was openly sarcastic—he clearly had no love for their egomaniacal beholder boss.
"Dreaming," snorted the dark elf. "Ironic, isn't it? Used to be, he ran from sleep, terrified of dreaming another beholder up. Now he does it on command just because a Mind Flayer said a few sweet words!"
Dark elves and mind flayers both hail from the Underdark—and both evil to their core—but they were hardly natural allies. Even as a traitor to the Spider Queen's city, years of drow upbringing kept him wary of illithids.
The halfling just gave a lopsided smirk. "Fine by me. As long as he keeps his nose out of our work, we can run the Guild however we want."
He took another step forward. "Do me a favor—round up the others? We need a meeting. There's a stack of business to go over."
The dark elf shrugged and melted into the shadows, vanishing before the halfling finished speaking. The halfling continued down the corridor, pushed open a door, and found himself in a round room with a big conference table and a few crude wooden stools.
Clearly, it was a makeshift meeting spot. The halfling took the head seat, opened a little notebook, and started jotting points for his report.
Soon enough, the door creaked open again as the dark elf returned with four more in tow. Each took a seat, and the meeting was ready to begin.
~~~
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