"Mission accomplished."
Charles closed the system interface and stepped inside to inspect the newly constructed space. The room was fully equipped - tables and chairs for resting, four large barrels for storing hot porridge, a small cart for transporting supplies between the Offering Porridge Room and kitchen, along with stacks of clean wooden bowls.
He picked up one bowl and tossed it onto the muddy streets of the slums. A soft thud echoed as it hit the ground before vanishing in a flash of white light - instantly reappearing among the stack behind him.
Charles exhaled in relief. At least they wouldn’t need to worry about the porridge seekers stealing the bowls.
"Let’s head back," he continued. "Remember Hattie, if the other witches ask, tell them this was your and Ruth’s project."
Hattie smiled gently. "I’ll remember, Master."
While an unexplained construction might raise suspicions among some witches, having the two most powerful witches under Theresa vouch for it would eliminate any doubts.
With that settled, they left the Offering Porridge Room and walked toward the dormitory.
Though modest in size, the monastery courtyard featured two decorative pine trees. Moonlight filtered through their branches, casting intricate shadows across the ground.
Charles and Hattie strolled along the central gravel path, breathing in the delicate fragrance of surrounding plants. Suddenly, Charles stopped and turned to gaze at his companion.
Hattie halted as well, sensing his intense stare. She lifted her face slightly, cheeks tinged pink with shyness, her gentle eyes reflecting the tranquil moonlight like still water.
"You’ve been looking rather... content lately."
A discordant voice sliced through the moment. They turned to see Sephera approaching, her lips twisted in that familiar taunting smirk.
Charles’ pulse spiked, though his expression remained neutral as he subtly retreated half a step. Hattie swiftly suppressed her swirling emotions, stepping forward to shield him while forcing calm into her voice. "What exactly do you mean?"
"What do I mean?" Sephera’s laugh was icy. "That precious pet of yours - such a pretty thing. Just looking at him makes me want to drag him away and inject a full kilogram of aphrodisiacs into his veins. Imagine how beautifully he’d scream..."
"Sephera!" Hattie’s voice turned razor-sharp. "I’ve broken no rules, nor have I provoked you. Stay away from what’s mine."
Seeing Hattie’s sudden outburst, Sephera arched an eyebrow and let out another cold laugh. "No rules broken? The porridge offering is in two days. Having a man roam freely in the monastery—what if those slum rats coming for gruel see him? Wouldn’t that tarnish our reputation? Make people suspect us?"
Hattie glared icily. "If anyone were spying on the monastery, they’d already be suspicious. A man staying here under my care changes nothing."
"Don’t try to threaten me. I manage what’s mine just fine—without your meddling!"
She saw through it—Sephera, too, had fallen under her Master’s charisma. This was just a ploy to blackmail him away, to drag him into her room as her personal plaything.
But Hattie, equally sharp-tongued, wasn’t having any of it.
After a pause, she suddenly smiled. "Though you’re right about one thing. His voice is exquisite. Every night, holding him close, breathing in the scent of his soul—it fills me with absolute contentment..."
Her expression dripped with smug superiority. Sephera gritted her teeth and sneered, "Oh, how impressive. Hattie, don’t think I haven’t noticed—you reek of him!"
Hattie’s brow furrowed as Sephera continued mockingly, "You actually bedded a human? Is this the same proud, untouchable Deep-Sea Witch? Ah, but I suppose it’s true—the nobler the witch, the deeper the fall. To think you’d debase yourself beneath a human!"
"Tell me, in a few days, will I see you taking turns with the mangy mutts of the slums too?"
Sephera’s golden vertical pupils gleamed with excitement, her voice trembling slightly. "Why stop there, Hattie? Why not just bring one of those strays into the monastery? Let it satisfy your cravings!"
"That way, if outsiders see, they’ll think you’re just being charitable. No suspicion would fall on the rest of us. Perfect, isn’t it?"
Flames roared in Hattie’s eyes. Her breath came quick and heavy, her ample chest rising and falling sharply.
She couldn’t care less about Sephera’s insults to herself—but to compare her Master to some filthy stray?
Her Master—more exalted than the gods themselves, the supreme existence of this world!
Her rage burned fiercely. Yet, she knew all too well—now was far from the time to turn against her.
She gritted her teeth in silence. Seeing Hattie’s seething fury, Charles muttered under his breath: "Mock her Strength... and her figure!"
Witches could freely shift to human form, but they couldn’t take just any shape. There was an optimal form—one that best channeled their true bodies’ Strength.
Take Hattie, for instance. She could’ve made her chest smaller. But then, her human form’s Strength would’ve dwindled to a pitiful fraction.
Sephera was no exception.
Though now wasn’t the time to settle things with this Toxic Witch, the knowledge from his past life let him strike a verbal blow—small but satisfying.
Hattie drew a deep breath, then plastered on a look of pity. "How tragic, Sephera. Have you honed that poisonous tongue to compensate for your utterly harmless attacks?"
"I’ll admit, your wit is sharp. But alas, the moment I glimpse your... barren figure, all my fury simply vanishes."
With that, she patted her own ample chest and burst into laughter. "Next time, try stuffing rocks down your Chest first. Oh, and I’ve heard—a liter of warm milk daily does wonders for its growth!"
Still laughing, she turned, took Charles’ hand, and strode away. Only Sephera remained, eyes blazing, breath ragged.
"Hattie, you bitch—!"
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