Finally took the bait!
Charles was nearly laughing out loud inside, but he kept his face perfectly blank—so blank it was actually a little painful. "You can do that?"
"What, you think I can't? Any fool could trace those fresh magical marks!" Montport huffed. "Listen, I'll show you how to use your power to extract these traces—just go over and touch the altar."
Charles did as told, stepping forward and resting his right hand on the altar. Behind him, Nymeria had just been about to say she might know a way—though it'd be a hassle—when she saw a blue glow light up on Charles's hand, and something appeared, marked into the back of his palm.
"This'll do just fine," Montport said in his mind, wrapping up the explanation. "If any pact-bearers are near you, that mark will burn a little to alert you. With this trick, it'll be easy for you to root every last one of them out."
"Back in my old domain, I used this to sniff out people who signed secret contracts with devils. Never missed a traitor once. Trust me, it works like a charm."
Charles withdrew his hand and put on a thoughtful look, before deliberately announcing, "Ah… great. I just tried a new technique. Now I can magically track every pact-bearer in the area."
Nymeria quietly shut her mouth, swallowing her own explanation, and mentally complained to the demon inside her blade: "Eilinel, didn't you say this kind of thing was pretty tough? Why did Priest Charles just handle it in a flash?"
Inside her psychic link, Eilinel let out a sheepish laugh: "Uh… maybe Priest Charles just has exceptional talent, or he knows some shortcuts I'm not familiar with… ha ha ha… Looks like we're actually lucky…"
Nymeria huffed: "You little liar. Probably just wanted to trick me out of something again. From now on, I'll ask Priest Charles before believing a word you say!"
Eilinel silently cursed—his latest ploy wrecked.
His usual style was to offer a few correct tips, lull Nymeria into dependence, then slowly barter out information for favors, gradually turning her into his puppet.
Never did he expect, just as his plan was about to kick off, another expert would suddenly appear and ruin everything.
Damn, who is that guy?
Fine, maybe it was just rotten luck today. Next time, for sure, I'll win this girl over…
He tried to placate himself, unaware that at this very moment, his real rival in magical lore wasn't even Charles—but a cunning, ancient Demon Lord.
While Eilinel fumed in secret, Charles was lavishing praise on Montport in his head: "Well, Montport, I never thought you'd have such unique tricks. Really underestimated you before."
Montport chuckled smugly, finally reassured that he wouldn't be deemed "useless" and purified out of existence. For a greedy demon, he shouldn't have been this pleased—but relief after a narrow escape, plus a few words of praise from Charles, left him floating on air.
He couldn't resist adding, "There's more here. A lot more, if you dig a bit. For starters, I can sense an old friend's trace. I'm eighty percent sure—a real archdevil's avatar just manifested here!"
Charles froze.
Mephistopheles? His avatar appeared at this altar just moments ago—?!
He felt as if a giant hand had clenched around his heart, making it hard to breathe.
The mightiest mage of the Nine Hells, who rarely left his laboratory even once in centuries… why here, why tonight?
He could barely imagine what kind of new disaster or plot was brewing if an archdevil himself was on the move.
Oh no. I'm only level ten—I am so not prepared to deal with something this big!
He actually found himself clutching at his chest, struggling to calm down. Noticed by his side, Theresa gently caught his arm, concern flashing in her eyes. "M—Priest, are you alright?"
Charles swallowed, forcing a strained smile. "It's nothing. Just felt a bit off for a second. I'll manage."
He took a deep breath and continued, "We've made a huge discovery here. Theresa, contact Hattie and lock down this site. We need someone with even greater power to step in."
...
Meanwhile, outside in the theater's plaza, Hattie was maintaining order among the restless crowd.
Some nobles tried to slip away, but one, "Until we've found the arsonist, anyone leaving could be considered a suspect!" left them fuming but powerless to act.
She walked among the crowd, keeping a sharp eye for anything unusual. That's when she spotted a girl in a peacock-bright dancer's outfit, sitting alone in a corner, hugging her knees and trembling.
She was clearly terrified—understandable, after a fire. But something about her situation seemed off. If she was truly scared, why was she sitting alone, not with friends?
Unless… she was guilty of something!
Hattie narrowed her eyes. Given her skill at reading emotions, this was her moment.
She knelt by the girl's side, lowered her voice kindly. "What's wrong? Are you scared? You can tell me if you want."
Seeing Hattie, the girl shrank away, shaking her head. "I-I'm fine, miss nun. You don't have to worry, I just, uh…"
She grasped for words. Hattie grew more certain—this girl was hiding something.
Please. My job here is as a nun of the Life Goddess. We're here for all souls as equals. Only someone guilty would shrink from that.
She crouched beside her, gently pulling her into a warm embrace. In her softest voice, she soothed her. "It's alright, miss. Tell me what's scaring you. Whatever's on your mind. The Goddess of Life will listen, and if you truly repent, she'll forgive your mistakes."
While comforting her, Hattie subtly wove a mental spell—light psychic magic, meant to gently direct lost sailors or sway weak minds. It wasn't strong enough for true battle, but with frail mortals, it always worked.
Under Hattie's spell, the girl began to relax, and finally confessed, "I thought tonight would be normal—sing my song, go home… They said there'd be a prize for me, and I was happy..."
"But it was all a trap. The room was that noble's bedroom. They wanted me…to sleep with that fat man."
"I was so scared. I thought I could avoid it, but in the end…" She sobbed softly. "Then a voice came to me, asked if I wanted the power to get revenge… I agreed, and recited the incantation…"
"I didn't mean to, I never thought I'd kill a noble…"
Tears streamed down her face as she broke down, and Hattie's expression grew grave—she understood what had happened.
The girl had heard the temptations of a devil, been tricked in her terror into signing a soul pact—exchanging her afterlife for a tiny bit of spellcasting.
Now, like Charles, she was technically a warlock. But unlike him, when she dies, her soul will go to Hell as a devil's slave.
Hattie didn't share that hard truth. She soothed the girl's mind, calming her.
When the girl found her courage, Hattie asked, "What kind of power did they give you? Can you show me?"
"We'll help you however we can…"
Sniffling, the girl picked up a stone and whispered, "Just… like this, Chill Touch…"
A cold spell flashed—and the stone cracked, then shattered in her hand.
Hattie's eyes narrowed—she recognized the spell: Chill Touch. A basic cantrip. Any spellcaster could use it; it cost nothing.
She pressed further. "Anything else?"
The girl shook her head. "That's all the voice gave me…"
Hattie couldn't help but sigh.
Just a simple cantrip, and it cost a young woman her most precious soul.
Souls—so coveted by gods and devils alike. And yet, sometimes, traded for so little magic.
She took the girl's hand, reassured her softly. "Don't be afraid. Come with me. I promise, you'll be alright."
"Priest Charles will show you the way to redemption…"
Hattie led the girl back to the nuns' main camp, summoned Ruth, and discreetly told her to hide and watch over the girl.
Then she found Sephera, told her everything, and ordered her to quietly search for more girls displaying new spell powers and signs of murder. The nuns stayed subtle and secretive, spiriting away the suspects for protection—or, perhaps, for safekeeping.
At that moment, no one noticed the black meteor streaking out of the sky and plunging into the theater…
Not long ago, Charles had used his Sending Stones to ping Anno. She'd sounded groggy—clearly awakened in the middle of the night. But when he told her what he'd discovered—especially that Mephistopheles, an archdevil, seemed to have manifested in Liberl Port—she immediately jumped up, using her emergency comms to contact Lady Blackstaff Vajra.
Then, in a hidden instant, a meteor streaked across the city and plunged into the Cassalanter Grand Theater.
In the basement, Charles and his two companions stood guard over the altar, hearts pounding with nervous anticipation.
They didn't wait long. A flash of light, and there appeared Vajra—the legendary Blackstaff herself—draped in black archmage's robes, staff in hand.
Her long, silvery hair looked half-undone and even a little damp—she'd clearly been about to go to bed before Charles summoned her out for crisis duty.
Still, there was no hint of impatience in her crimson eyes as they met Charles's, then locked onto the altar: "Is this it?"
Not a wasted word. Efficient and direct.
Charles nodded seriously. "This is it. I'd ask you to examine it personally, Lady Blackstaff."
Vajra stepped forward, whispering subtle incantations as the Blackstaff pulsed with unseen magic. Charles, Theresa—even usually-bubbly Nymeria—shrunk back a little in awe.
Noticing that Vajra wasn't paying them any mind, Nymeria poked Charles and whispered, "Who is she? She looks crazy powerful…"
Charles glanced at Vajra, then whispered back, "She's the head of all Liberl Port security—the holder of the artifact Blackstaff. Most everyone calls her Lady Blackstaff."
Nymeria nodded with wide-eyed respect. Charles too eyed the legendary archmage, curious to see her work as he'd never seen in-game.
After a while, Vajra opened her eyes, her expression more somber than ever.
Clearly, she'd confirmed it—a mighty presence had indeed manifested through this altar, probably an archdevil from the Nine Hells.
She turned and regarded Charles, her voice crisp, "You've done well, Count Nigel Charles. This is a significant threat to the city."
Charles dipped his head. "It's always my duty to protect this city."
Vajra looked at him, remembering a conversation she'd had with Laeral Silverhand—that such merit must always be properly rewarded, lest lesser men take those places by default. His countship was a reward for defeating the Abyssal Lord, but he'd since vanquished Xanathar's Guild, returned stolen funds, and received nothing more.
Tonight, he'd earned even further merit.
She couldn't just lump all of that into his previous title.
Vajra decided, as always, to be upright and scrupulous. Besides, Laeral Silverhand's words still echoed: rewards should always fit the merit, lest the wrong people profit.
With a wave of her hand, reality split beside her. She reached in and withdrew a black pentagonal badge. "Regardless, this is a token of your merit."
She stepped forward; a faint, pleasant scent drifted to Charles's face. "This is my private Sending Stone. From now on, you can reach me directly with any question, at any time."
"I hope our communication will always remain open—so we can help each other in times of crisis."
Her tone was warm, giving Charles every possible courtesy. The sight of the badge stoked a surge of joy in his chest.
The Blackstaff's badge!
Basically Vajra's private line—he could call her directly from now on!
This was supposed to be almost impossible to get—required tremendous personal favor, strength, and a monastery grown to real power. Blackstaff Tower was a military fortress after all—without serious status, you'd never speak to the commander directly!
But Vajra had just given it to him, and even said she'd treat him as an equal. On the surface, he was now her peer.
A little shell-shocked, Charles took the badge, replying, "Of course. I look forward to it."
He stared at the badge in his palm, a little lightheaded.
Players who built their own power base and didn't join Blackstaff Tower would rarely get this before legendary status. Vajra herself was legendary—before that level, conversation as equals was impossible!
And yet, here he was, only tenth-level…
It felt unreal, dreamlike. But Vajra seemed to treat it as nothing special. "One thing, Lord Charles—no one outside our small circle must hear of this, understood?"
He came back to himself and nodded. "No one but us four, and Lady Anno, knows about the archdevil's manifestation."
Vajra nodded. "Good. Keep this under wraps or we risk causing a panic."
She scanned the room, murmured, "I'll restore the area—leave things as if no one was ever here. And we'll both keep investigating in secret. Until we root out that archdevil, don't let on to a soul!"
Charles agreed. Then the three of them hurried up the stairs, through the now-repaired doors, and quietly left.
Vajra undid the damage in seconds, the broken iron door good as new under her Mending spell.
Then, turning into a streak of light, she vanished without a sound.
The basement fell silent—a place no one would suspect such a crisis had unfolded.
Charles and the two girls headed outside, still in shock from the unexpected reward. He barely felt his feet, dazed until the winter's night wind jolted him back to himself.
Man, reality is so different from the game. Never expected Vajra herself to hand over her private line.
With that, maybe in the future he could suggest… Could she even be convinced to become his patron, sharing some of her spellcasting strength?
The more he pondered, the more possible it seemed. He was fired up now. What he didn't know was that Vajra, right now, actually felt she owed him—so she might not have refused, whatever he'd asked for.
But Charles was oblivious to all that—for now, he tucked away the excitement and focused. Guided by the tingling on the mark branded to his hand, he set off to locate the pact-bearers in the crowd.
He couldn't just let them go. He had to bring them in—regardless of whether they'd end up before the courts or not, he needed leverage.
Following the magical trail, he noticed the brand throb repeatedly—multiple times, identically.
That meant all the pact-bearers were together, at the same distance from him.
He frowned.
Why would they all be clustered together?
Wait—maybe he'd been wrong before. Maybe there really was an organization at work here. After all, if they traced a devil's pact, they'd probably all gained some power. Grouping up could only mean trouble.
He signaled Theresa and Nymeria to ready themselves and sprinted forward, following the trace.
What he saw on arrival left him speechless.
Why are they mixed with my witches?
As he barreled up, Ruth—the nun guarding the girls—caught sight of him and smiled. "M—Priest, you're back!"
Charles approached, face stern. "What's the situation with all these girls?"
Ruth explained everything Hattie had found and ordered, clearing up Charles's confusion. Understanding finally dawned, and he looked at the girls with a new sympathy.
Just then, Sephera arrived with another girl, brought her in, and then reported, "Priest, you've heard everything?"
"Hattie said that, knowing your temperament, you'd want to help them, so we gathered them all here."
Charles gave a rueful grin. Hattie, as always, knew him too well. But helping these girls would be tough—after all, they'd killed nobles.
He hesitated, then turned to Sephera and asked, "Are there any precedents here, where criminals could avoid a death sentence by joining the church—atoning through service and good works instead?"
He was an old hand at combat, but not so much at city politics. He figured Sephera—who often dealt with local politicians, if not always directly—might know more.
Sephera frowned thoughtfully. "There… should be cases like that. I remember it's possible, especially since you're a count now and have your own lands. Sending a few criminals to your estate for supervised labor should be fine."
"But…" She gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry, Master—I've never handled the process personally, so I'm not sure exactly what steps we need to take."
"If you really want to pull this off, you might need to check with Lady Anno. She's a noble and will know all the political angles."
Charles let out a dry laugh. "Knowing her, she probably wouldn't have paid much attention to this sort of thing…"
He thought it over. "Maybe I should look up Bernard—see if he can help get this sorted."
Sephera eyed him anxiously. "Master, do you really want to save these girls?"
From a purely strategic point of view, it wasn't worth it. The risks were high—the reward small. But if Charles was determined, Sephera wouldn't stand in his way. Inside, though, she felt a twinge of disappointment—once again, Hattie had understood Charles better than she had.
Charles straightened himself. "Yes. Because, as I see it, they're victims too. Cassalanter lied to them. The archdevil corrupted them. Sure, they committed crimes—but honestly, they never had a choice."
"Besides, they killed nobles—at the cost of their own souls. If they stand trial, there's no avoiding the gallows, and after death, their souls will be lost to the devils forever…"
He grew somber. "I can't let the devils win. We have to save them, somehow."
Thinking fast, he continued, "Actually, this ties right into something I was mulling over earlier—in addition to the battle nuns, I want to create a new order: 'Atonement Nuns.'"
"Members could come from any class—basically, it'd be those who made mistakes but want to make amends, including these girls, who gained spellcasting through no fault of their own."
Sephera's eyes widened slightly in understanding. "Ah, Master—you want their newfound powers, don't you? Bring them into your fold, strengthen your own ranks!"
Charles chuckled awkwardly. "Well… that's part of it, yeah."
He honestly wanted to save them, but he couldn't deny the tactical advantage, either.
…Of course, that meant withstanding the wrath of the slain nobles' families.
Here's hoping I'm up to it…
~~~
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