Of course Charles knew—the system had told him. The message even included a countdown, precise down to the second!
But he also understood that revealing such impossibly accurate predictions about the Night of Witches would seem utterly outrageous to this world’s inhabitants.
After all, even the greatest astrologers and divination wizards could only narrow the Night’s arrival to a single day—let alone pinpoint whether it would strike before or after midnight!
So, even though Hattie was his most trusted witch, he deliberately rounded the timing to the nearest hour.
Yet even that was enough to stun her. "Master, how could you possibly know so precisely? You—"
Charles pulled her into an embrace. "This is my power. Don’t be alarmed."
Hattie relaxed, staring at him in awe before suddenly breaking into a radiant smile.
She wrapped her arms around his waist, the corners of her mouth quirking up. "Of course! Master is omnipotent!"
Then, hesitation crept into her voice. "But... there’s something I must warn you about."
"During the Night of Witches, my body will crave water uncontrollably. My power will run wild—I’ll attack and predate on everything around me."
"To protect you... and to avoid exposing myself... I must prepare now. I’ll need to hide in the deep sea to endure that night."
"While I’m gone... you’ll have to face the dangers alone..."
Charles wasn’t bothered. He caressed her hair gently. "Go. Do what you must."
He’d always known Hattie retreated to the ocean depths to survive the Night.
In fact, he knew all seven witches in the monastery—their vulnerabilities, coping methods, even their hiding spots!
But right now, he lacked the means to tame them all in one night. He’d have to prioritize the most dangerous ones first.
Smiling, he added, "Besides, my greatest threats here are the other witches."
"With all of you gone that night, the monastery will be empty. Safer, really."
Hattie couldn’t help but laugh, nodding firmly. "I know Master will be fine!"
That night, the two fell asleep in each other’s arms. By dawn, as the first clear rays of sunlight broke across the horizon, Charles was roused by Hattie’s morning wake-up call—her warm lips wrapped around his hardening penis, her aqua-blue eyes gazing up at him with devotion. Her tongue swirled along his length, teasing the sensitive tip before taking him deeper, her throat flexing around him in practiced rhythm. Charles groaned, tangling his snow-white hair between his fingers as he thrust gently into her mouth, savoring the wet heat of her cocksucking.
Their morning exercise didn’t end there. As soon as he spilled his cum down her throat—Hattie swallowing eagerly, her angelic face flushed—he flipped her onto her back, hiking up her heavy nun’s habit to expose her slick vagina. His sapphire-blue eyes darkened with lust as he plunged inside, her tight walls clenching around his erection. She gasped, her soft waist arching as he pinned her down, driving into her with slow, deep strokes, each one brushing against her G-spot until her moans filled the chamber. When her climax hit, her clitoris throbbed under his thumb, and she shuddered, her nipples pebbling against the rough fabric of her habit. Charles followed soon after, filling her with another thick load, his cum dripping out as he finally pulled away.
Afterward, they shared a leisurely breakfast—though Hattie, still lacking a true sense of taste, focused more on the way Charles’ fingers fed her, the way his lips brushed hers between bites.
She was trying. Changing. Not just her body—shifting her form to better please him—but her very nature. A witch molded for her master.
After breakfast, Hattie prepared to leave the monastery to gather supplies for the impending Night of Witches.
Just then, Charles made an unexpected request: "Hattie, I’m coming with you."
She blinked in confusion. "Master, if you need anything, just tell me—I’ll bring it back."
"The South Harbor District is too dangerous. Our monastery borders the slums under the guise of charity work. Gang thugs lurk everywhere—"
Charles smirked. "Perfect. I need to scout the slums... for future plans."
Seeing Hattie’s surprised expression, he then reached out and gently stroked her hair, saying softly, "It’s no use telling you. After all, you will lose control that night and I won’t be able to help you."
"But if this goes well..." His lips curled slightly. "Sophia will cease to be a threat."
Hattie’s eyes lit up. "Yes!"
She moved to take his arm, but Charles withdrew. "Better if I follow. If Ruth or the others see us together..."
Hattie sighed but nodded. "We’ll be cautious."
They departed single-file.
The monastery was compact—barely a hundred meters from his room to the main gate.
They encountered no one until the gateway, where a figure emerged sideways, her nun’s habit wriggling unnaturally as she glided toward them. "Hattie, you—"
The raven-haired, dark-eyed witch froze mid-sentence, staring at Charles.
His heart leapt to his throat.
The Memory Witch’s cascading black hair—revealed when she removed her wimple—was legendary.
Yet beneath her beauty lurked a horror: a cottage-sized, brain-shaped monstrosity with soul-draining tentacles that invaded ears to steal memories.
As Sophia approached, Charles cursed inwardly. Of course something went wrong!
While he panicked, Sophia merely looked puzzled.
Since when does Hattie take humans outside?
Flustered, she silently chanted. Magic rippled as her hidden pedipalps reshaped into human legs. Composing herself, she stepped forward gracefully.
Hattie forced calm. "Sister, did you need something?"
Sophia glanced at Charles. With an outsider present, certain topics were off-limits. "Just checking on you. Yesterday’s... discomfort worried me."
Her gaze shifted to Charles. "And this is?"
Hattie’s smile tightened. "Mr. Charles. I’ve been nursing him through fever. Some fresh air might aid his recovery."
As she spoke, she blinked rapidly, throwing a pointed look at Sophia: "Sisters, is there anything else? If not, I’ll take my leave now."
Charles kept his head down, silent. He still remembered the last time Ruth’s glare nearly gouged out his eyes—it had become something of a psychological shadow. Naturally, he wasn’t eager to speak up recklessly again.
Sophia’s gaze was heavy with worry, flickering between her and Charles. Her instincts told her the relationship between these two was anything but ordinary.
But in the end, she guessed it was just Hattie’s usual whimsy—unwilling to devour a pretty food right away, preferring to toy with it first.
After all, proud witches could never possibly fall for a human, could they?
So she said nothing more, stepping aside to clear the path. "Well, if all’s fine, then go ahead."
Hattie and Charles both exhaled in relief, murmuring thanks before hurrying off. Sophia watched their retreating figures, a sense of unease lingering in her chest.
Yet neither of them noticed her gaze. Once they crossed the monastery gates, the outside world awaited.
Though it had been over half a month since his transmigration, this was Charles’s first time stepping beyond the monastery walls into the streets.
The moment he emerged, the air itself felt different—wider skies, crisper morning winds, the scent of freedom rushing at him, sending every cell in his body trembling with wild exhilaration!
He knew it was temporary, of course. Eventually, he’d have to return to the monastery, retreating to his room or the scriptorium, too afraid to venture out for the rest of the day.
This wasn’t some voluntary seclusion, some noble sacrifice for a grander plan—no, it was sheer terror of the witches’ violence and threats that forced him to hide in his room.
The suffocation and wronged frustration were unbearable. So even this fleeting respite, this momentary taste of liberty, filled him with overwhelming relief.
Of course, leaving the monastery also meant leaving behind its comforts. The lingering warmth faded, replaced by a sharper, more unforgiving atmosphere.
Inside and outside the monastery—truly, they were two entirely different worlds.
Within the monastery, though six powerful, evil witches still lurked, it was his territory. One day, he would fully command it, turning it into his absolute sanctuary.
But the outside world? A treacherous, ever-shifting sea of dangers. There was no hope of controlling everything—only struggling to stay afloat in the tides of the era, barely surviving...
Still, no matter what, all of it would have to be faced sooner or later!
Steeling himself, he swept his gaze across the surroundings, taking in everything beyond the monastery gates.