Lying in his arms, recently snatched from the jaws of death, Willo was still shaken. Her heart pounded rapidly, as if she had just ridden a rollercoaster, but in that moment, she found the man’s broad, heated chest radiated such a powerful sense of security that she just wanted to curl up as she had in childhood and never let go.
Reflexively, she slipped her arms beneath his, hugging his chest, her cheek nestled against his torso, savoring that brief tranquility.
Across the cavern, Danche—dusted and a little battered from his leap—rose unsteadily and, upon seeing Willo cradled so trustingly in Charles’s embrace, eyes flashed with anger.
You again, man of Sein!
This grudge—I’ll remember it as well!
Danche clenched his jaw but forced himself to endure. Now was no time for vengeance—he took up his greataxe anew and turned to face the swarm of shadow demons.
Charles, meanwhile, suddenly became aware of just how soft Willo felt—her body seeming almost boneless, like a bundle of warm, cotton-stuffed clay melting into his arms. And he realized, acutely, that this woman wasn’t wearing any undergarment, so the curve of her breasts pressed against his chest, separated only by thin layers of cloth, radiating unmistakable warmth and yielding but resilient pressure.
His blood pressure climbed, and to avoid embarrassment, he quickly let go, shifting so he stood before Willo. "Stay behind me; I’ll deal with these demons!"
Even as he spoke, he strode forward, meeting a lunging shadow demon head-on, brushing aside its talons and thrusting his blade through its body: "Purified!"
With Theresa’s intense radiance flooding the battle, these shadow demons, blinded by the light, could neither see their foes nor resist incoming attacks. What once seemed a tremendous threat could only flop helplessly, like fish on the butcher’s block.
Amid the misty, purified white light, the demon shrieked and was shredded apart, its form vanishing without a trace.
No time to check his gains, Charles darted toward the next foe.
Behind him, Willo, watching his swift, decisive form, blushed as she realized what she’d just done. She quickly composed herself, began to cast a cantrip, and joined the fight against the demons.
Elsewhere, Anno brought her longsword down on a shadow demon; golden light flashed from the blade—
The holy power sliced clean through the demon as if through butter. Its screech of agony was brief, and in the next moment, it dissipated to nothingness!
She had felled it with a single Divine Smite.
Seeing this, Anno looked momentarily awkward. "Uh... sorry, Charles, I didn’t hold back on that one... I’ll let you have the next!"
Charles flashed a wry smile—of course he did not blame her. "It’s fine! I’ll handle it myself."
With that, he turned and rejoined the fray.
Theresa’s guiding bolts, meanwhile, nearly vaporized her targets one after the other. She had to intentionally restrain her spell’s might, leaving the shadow demons half-dead so Charles could reach them and purify the rest.
As for Hattie and Nidalee, lacking effective means against this demonic breed, they shamelessly hung to the sidelines. This lack of team spirit stood in stark contrast to the half-orc warriors, who fought with desperate valor, swinging mundane axes that couldn’t really hurt the shadow demons but valiantly refusing to yield.
Still, in the severe brilliance of Theresa’s light, these shadow demons were hardly more threatening than Dretch. In the end, the whole group routed their enemies with only minor mishaps.
Unfortunately, because the foes’ weakness was so obvious and their fragility so pronounced in the light, Charles only managed to finish off three himself, earning a mere 1500 Purification Points.
This brought his balance near 8000—just a step away from the next level-up. Chapters first released on Nove1Fire.net
Now, only one target remained: the stele at the center of the cave, scorched with bloody, abyssal blasphemies.
It was a wellspring of pollution, injecting madness deep into the mountains. Based on Willo Green Vines’s deduction, the demon-worshipers had set it here in hopes of polluting, corrupting, and ultimately controlling more Chthonians—since this cave’s shape alone made it clear a slumbering Chthonian was near.
The demon-worshipers knew the grave risks here. They left no guardians but only a trap: if attacked, the stele would open a portal to the Infinite Layers of the Abyss, unleashing a torrent of demons to kill any foes.
With that trap already spent, only unease remained as Charles regarded the stele, his mind turning over Willo’s recent intelligence.
Willo evidently felt the same. The satyr’s hands crossed over her chest, face overwrought with worry. "We don’t know if the demon-worshipers prepared other contingencies. If they did, we could be forced to face a Chthonian..."
Charles looked up at the cluster of stalactites and the ceiling; the prospect of fighting a Chthonian in this environment made his blood run cold.
The worst possible scenario... but there was no backing out now.
"We need to prepare some water," he said. "If a Chthonian does burst out, we can drive it off without causing even worse damage."
Willo nodded in agreement. "Shall we fetch water?"
Charles shook his head. "No need, we have an everflowing water bottle. Did you bring any containers? We’ll just fill as many as we can for the fight."
At this, Willo’s eyes lit up and she sighed with relief. "That’s wonderful—having this makes things much easier."
Charles smiled softly, offering no further comment. After all, it was the mountain folk who scorned all things from Liberl Port and ’modern’ magical creations—only to praise them when put to use themselves.
He dropped the issue. The group all took out flasks or buckets—whatever they had—and with the everflowing water bottle, he filled each in turn as preparation.
"When the battle starts, stay close to Knight Anno as much as possible," Charles instructed. "Chthonians can dominate minds, but a paladin’s Aura of Protection can shield you from such influence."
Willo nodded. "Mr. Charles is right; everyone must follow orders."
Danche looked surly, but he knew nothing of these matters; in the end, he just lowered his head and accepted Willo’s word.
Charles tracked everything carefully, considering a plan. Once all the water containers were filled, he went to the half-orc and offered him the everflowing water bottle.
"Mr. Danche," he said, "I’d like you to take this everflowing water bottle for now."
Danche’s head jerked up, stunned. "You’d lend it to me?"
"Yes." Charles nodded. "We’re all busy spellcasting; it would be wasted in my hands."
"You should take it—just say the command word, and it will shoot a powerful jet of water; perfect for killing a Chthonian."
He fixed Danche with a look of sincere encouragement. "Besides, none of us move as well as you. This weapon’s greatest strength will shine in your hands."
"Mr. Danche, our safety is in your hands."
Danche fell silent. Beside him, Willo urged, "Take it, Danche. None of us is a better warrior than you."
That, at last, did it. The half-orc took the bottle. "Fine. I’ll return it after the battle."
His tone was as cold as ever, but Willo beamed a radiant smile. The other male satyr smiled as well. Originating from the Feywild, their senses of mood were acute. They all felt, thanks to Charles’s gesture, mutual suspicion was finally starting to thaw...
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