When it came to Strength, aside from Fate Weaver Theresa, who firmly held the top spot in the monastery, the second and third positions—occupied by Ruth and Hattie—were far from secure.
The reason lay before her: the Memory Witch, Sophia.
This witch was even shorter than Hattie, her straight, jet-black long hair hidden beneath a nun’s wimple, with only a few strands escaping. Her slender brows arched like willow leaves, and beneath long lashes lay eyes as dark and beautiful as black pearls.
Compared to Hattie, her face carried a more youthful softness, and the curve of her chest was only a slight swell—like the unripe fruit of a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old maiden, showing clear signs of growth but far from reaching full, sweet maturity.
Yet in truth, her real age exceeded two thousand years. She was the oldest, most experienced, and most knowledgeable witch in the monastery.
As a witch, her nature was to feed on human souls. However, while draining a soul, she also delighted in stealing their memories, savoring their past like a film reel as she basked in post-feast satisfaction.
This made her knowledge vast. She understood the methods and weaknesses of every class and could weave countless spells effortlessly—if she lacked the power to cast one, it was only because of limitations, not ignorance.
The sole regret was that during each Night of the Witches, her loss of control also cost her fragments of memory. This made her strength fluctuate unpredictably—some years, she rivaled Theresa; others, she fell far below even Hattie...
Witches seldom fought among themselves, and duels were rare. Thus, no one knew just how strong Sophia was now.
Hattie felt a flicker of tension. Sophia seemed to have noticed something: "You haven’t been out hunting lately. Is there trouble?"
"If so, you can tell me. My experience might help."
Hattie’s heart leapt to her throat. Since Charles’s Purification, her daily... exchanges with him had satisfied her needs entirely.
So for days, she hadn’t hunted outsiders or drained a single soul.
She’d assumed the other witches were too busy to notice. Yet Sophia had picked up on it!
Not yet—it’s too soon. I need an excuse.
Forcing a smile, she replied: "There is something troubling me, yes. It’s killed my mood to hunt..."
Before Sophia could press, she hurried on: "I’ve been wondering how to get large sums of money quickly."
She met Sophia’s gaze, steering the conversation: "Dear Sophia, my good sister, you’re the most experienced. In all your memories, is there a way to make fast coin?"
Sophia’s smile faded as she stepped beside her, brows knitting slightly. "What do you need money for?"
"A minor trouble. Enough coin would solve it easily." Hattie straightened her back, chin lifted, clinging to her commanding air. "So, Sophia—can you help me?"
Sophia parted her lips, then chose silence. Centuries of life had taught her to pry less and keep every witch an ally.
After a pause, she said: "The fastest way is robbery. Our South Harbor District isn’t wealthy—even the Golden Dragon Bank avoids it. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t rich targets..."
Her eyes suddenly gleamed. A soft swallow. "The easiest mark? Amazon Fisheries Company. And we could grab a few female warriors too..."
Hunger twisted in her gut. The monastery’s "low-profile" strategy had denied her the wild, iron-willed souls of Amazon female warriors for decades.
Now, the craving made her nun’s habit wriggle—as if her legs trembled.
But Hattie knew: those weren’t legs. They were tentacles, squirming free as Sophia’s lust slipped its leash.
Frowning, Hattie chided: "That’s madness. I hesitated to rob slum thugs, fearing corpses might draw attention. And you suggest provoking those she-pirates?"
Amazon Fisheries Company—nominally a fishing enterprise, actually a large-scale operation run by Amazon female warriors.
Fifty years ago, the Empire of Sein’s colonial fleet anchored at South Harbor District’s port, waging a brutal colonial war against the Amazon Isles’ natives.
Thus, these matriarchal tribes—once content with crude wooden boats, plundering gold, grain, and men—united for the first time in a fierce resistance war.
The conflict raged for years. Eventually, the empire’s internal strife forced a peace treaty: the Female warriors suffered heavy losses, but the empire returned all occupied islands.
The war cost the empire immeasurable resources. Their sole "gain"? Uniting the once-divided Amazon tribes.
Worse, the Female warriors now eyed the wider world. They formed the Amazon Kingdom, crowned their war-heroine as queen, and embraced global trade.
Amazon Fisheries Company was their pivot from piracy. The queen deemed plunder unsustainable, so she state-funded this venture—ostensibly fishing, but in truth, a comprehensive business spanning robbery, salvage, escort, transport, and more.
Now, they traded actively via Liberl Port. Though no rival to giants like Golden Dragon Bank, they dominated South Harbor District.
Hattie, a deep-sea witch, had often clashed with these pirates in her youth—her true form all tentacles and jagged fangs.
Decades ago, scattered matriarchal tribes were easy prey. But now, united as a kingdom?
Raiding their flagship enterprise wasn’t bold—it was suicide.
She vetoed firmly: "No. Attacking Amazons wouldn’t just doom us. It’d drown the whole monastery."