Ruth’s throat released an involuntary cry as twin tears traced her cheeks - whether from accumulated shame or the sudden stretch of her virgin vagina remained unclear. Charles marveled at how her petite frame accommodated his thickness, the exquisite pressure sending electric pleasure up his spine as every nerve ending came alive: "Ah, Ruth..."
Pistoning his hips with deliberate rhythm, he watched her transformation. Ruth’s small mouth fell open in silent ecstasy, brain short-circuiting as melodic pants escaped her throat: "Ah...ahh..." Her arms wound around his sweat-slicked back, their movements growing increasingly synchronized.
She arched her neck, glazed eyes and parted lips begging for relief. Charles answered by plunging his tongue into her mouth while his pelvis ground against her throbbing clitoris. The prolonged kiss carried Ruth through her second shattering orgasm, vaginal muscles milking his erection desperately.
Yet Charles remained far from completion.
Later, Hattie joined not as fellow pleasure-seeker but as co-conspirator, her nimble fingers teasing Ruth’s rear entrance while Charles dominated her vagina. The dual assault proved too much - Ruth climaxed repeatedly until her hoarse pleas finally triggered Charles’ release. Hot cum flooded her depths as he sealed their union with another possessive kiss.
After allowing Hattie to dress him, Charles left the dazed Ruth sprawled naked on damp sheets while he attended to breakfast. Returning hours later, he found her still sunlit and spread-eagled, staring blankly at the ceiling in post-coital exhaustion.
Deeming this indolence unacceptable, Charles enlisted Hattie’s help in demonstrating several inventive new positions until both women lay boneless beneath him. Cradling their nude forms against his chest, he sighed contentedly.
Ah, such days... truly wonderful.
Alas, they would last only today. This fleeting peace could never endure...
He remained keenly aware that the witches would return soon. When they did, his life would once again be fraught with peril—he must stay wary, ever ready to engage in their battle of wits.
Not only that, but he also knew his petty deceptions wouldn’t fool Regolas for long. That cunning cambion would soon see through his lies, and then... Well, having spilled so many of the Nine Hells’ lords’ secrets, who knew what horrors awaited?
As these thoughts weighed on him, his expression darkened with worry. Sensing his shift in mood, Hattie slowly lifted her head.
"Master," she murmured, "what troubles you?"
"Nothing," Charles shook his head. "It’s just... I can’t understand how we ended up crossing paths with a devil last night..."
Hattie, however, didn’t seem surprised. "The slums are lawless. It’s only natural that devils would slink in, secretly cultivating their vile cults."
As she spoke, her expression shifted slightly. "Speaking of which, Master... since they’re subordinates of the Nine Hells’ devils, I suspect this might be what they were after."
With that, she extended her bare arm from the blankets, reaching into the tangled heap of her discarded nun’s habit beside the bed. From it, she produced a small box.
The box appeared to be made of iron, its eight corners adorned with bone-carved figurines.
It had no visible opening. Each of its six faces was etched with intricate, arcane patterns—some resembling script, others like esoteric symbols.
"I found this on a corpse while searching Ruth yesterday," she murmured. "It felt important, so I brought it back."
At the sight of the object, Charles’s eyebrows shot up.
An Infernal Puzzle Box!
He recognized it—a container completely impervious to magic, nearly impossible to force open by physical means. To unlock it, one had to solve the intricate puzzle etched upon its surface.
Moreover, this was the kind of thing devils only used when making deals with mortals.
And not just any deal. The craftsmanship of an Infernal Puzzle Box was so complex that whatever lay inside was never cheap. Either it held treasures of immense value... or a secret pact between a devil and their partners.
Tch. So Xanathar, that beholder, has grown bold enough to strike deals with devils now...
As he pondered this, Ruth—still weak from exhaustion—opened her eyes and murmured defiantly, "An Infernal Puzzle Box... Not an easy thing to open. Solving its riddle requires exceptional intelligence. Unless you already know the answer, almost no one can unlock it."
Hearing this, the corners of Charles’s mouth curled into a smirk.
"No worries," he said. "I can open it."
Both witches stared at him in disbelief, but Charles’s confidence never wavered.
He had already examined the box. Though he couldn’t recognize a single symbol on it, he had one advantage—his Eldritch Invocation: Eyes of the Rune Keeper.
He could decipher every inscription. And as a seasoned player, he vividly remembered every type of Infernal Puzzle Box in the game—their riddles, their solutions.
For most people in this world, cracking one would be a nightmare. But for Charles? It was an open-book test.
Hmm. Model number thirteen. That means I need to erase this pattern, then place a drop of blood on this bone figurine...
"Ruth," he said softly, raising his left index finger. "Make a small cut on my fingertip."
Ruth hesitated. "But, Master..."
"Do it," he urged. "It’s necessary to open the box."
Reluctantly, she extended a nail and lightly traced it across the pad of his thumb.
Hiss— Damn, that stings!
Charles gritted his teeth as a bead of crimson welled up. Without delay, he pressed his bleeding fingertip against one of the box’s corner figurines.
The box sprang open. As he withdrew his finger, Hattie quickly grabbed one of his spellbooks, channeled magic into it, and cast Cure Wounds to seal the cut.
Charles barely noticed the minor injury. His gaze locked onto what lay inside—a neatly folded armguard, delicate as spun silk, resting at the box’s center.
Instantly, his pupils constricted.
Illusionist’s Bracers!