Charles couldn’t help but sigh inwardly, then pushed aside all traces of pity as his gaze fell upon the final line.
Thankfully, though the cost had been brutal, his gains were at least substantial.
He tapped open the Purification Points details, scrutinizing them. Purified Andny yielded 400 points, Ekta 550, while Sephera granted the most—a full 1,400, a tier above Hattie and only 50 short of Ruth.
As for why the final tally read 3,679...
The construct clinic had consumed a sliver, then charged him a few Purification Points for purifying his toxins.
The thought ignited a surge of resentment. He pulled up the construction interface, eyes locking onto the clinic’s description—and a torrent of curses erupted in his mind.
Damn this system and its asinine design! Poisoned and unconscious, dragged into the clinic, yet no immediate treatment? Instead, the witches had to exhaust themselves rousing him, only for him to verbally order his own detox...
Why couldn’t the construction just heal patients the moment they were admitted, deducting Purification Points automatically?
As he fumed, the system’s interface flickered. A new button appeared on the clinic’s page:
Charles froze. A whirl of questions arose—could this system actually develop new functions based on his thoughts?
Then... could it generate specialized constructions if he wished?
Custom constructions?
His mind raced. Shutting the clinic’s interface, he focused on the main construction screen, envisioning an Aircraft Carrier Assembly Yard.
The interface flickered again. A new construction appeared, adorned with a spaceship icon. Heart pounding, he tapped it—only to see bold text: Plastic Toy Workshop.
Well... Guess a Level 1 Monastery had its limits.
He sighed, abandoning any hope of cutting corners, and reopened the clinic’s interface. His fingertip hovered over the Auto-Treatment toggle. A tooltip popped up:
When enabled, the clinic will treat all individuals entering the construction. Force may be applied. Enemies mistakenly admitted will also receive treatment, consuming significant Purification Points.
Charles didn’t hesitate. He clicked it ON.
After facing death once, these minor risks meant nothing. Survival came first.
With the settings adjusted, he shut the system’s interface and glanced at the witches beside him. A rare sense of security washed over him.
From today onward, as long as Theresa stayed away, the monastery was firmly his.
Sophia remained missing, still unpurified—but at least now, he no longer had to skulk in shadows. He could stride freely through the monastery, his safety assured.
Better yet, he could have Sephera forge him a new identity—a Priest, perhaps—granting him unimpeded access to the monastery from now on...
No more restrictions.
He exhaled, recalling the frustrations of the past month and a half. For a moment, his eyes even stung with the threat of tears.
After dinner, the four witches fussed over Charles as if he were an infant, supporting him despite his full recovery, escorting him to the bath chamber for a quick wash before finally guiding him back to his dorm to rest.
Their expressions were so grave, so tense, that Charles couldn’t help but smile wryly—though he didn’t stop them. Only after they had safely deposited him onto his bed did the four girls collectively exhale in relief.
Watching their exaggerated caution, Charles waved a hand dismissively.
"Go on, all of you. A night’s rest is all I need."
The four witches immediately turned to leave—
Then, abruptly, he added, "Ah, right. Sephera, stay."
At once, Sephera’s body stiffened slightly. As if suddenly conscious of something, a delicate rose-pink bloomed across her fair cheeks.
Hattie, too, turned back, her eyes flickering with concern.
"Master... are you sure you’re well enough?"
For a brief moment, Charles’ expression turned awkward. Then, clearing his throat, he replied, "No need to worry. I’ve mostly recovered."
"Go on, now. All of you."
Hattie and Ruth exchanged a glance—the former stifling a giggle, the latter blushing as she tugged along a still-oblivious Ekta, the three quickly taking their leave.
Soon, the room held only Sephera.
The Sephera’s cheeks burned darker, her breath hitching. "Master, I... I’ve never learned these... techniques. I don’t even know how to—"
Unlike Ekta’s delayed comprehension, Sephera’s sharp mind had already grasped what awaited her. Yet awareness did nothing to quell her trembling.
"It’s alright," Charles murmured, voice low. "Come here. I’ll teach you."
Sephera’s steps were hesitant, her gaze locked on the floor as if she could vanish into her own chest. For all her venomous wit, for all the monastery’s witches she’d mocked with razor-edged words, she was still young. Untouched.
Now, confusion and shyness coiled tight in her stomach.
Charles watched, amused.
In fact, at the beginning, he was still thinking that Sephera was such a vicious person, and all the witches in the monastery had been mocked by her. It can be said that everyone had been offended by her.
Then, for her first night, all the witches should follow him to take revenge, to take revenge, to plaything with her body from top to bottom, inside and outside, and to vent all the resentment from her in the past along with the desire.
But in the end, considering that Sephera had lost so much Essence, her Strength had dropped significantly, and she was in the weakest state, Charles gave up this idea because of his heartache for her.
Forget it, let’s give her a perfect First Experience.
Sephera finally reached the bed, her fingers clutching the sheets before she leaned down, arms sliding over his shoulders. Charles cupped her jaw, thumb brushing her lower lip. Then he pulled her into a kiss.
Her lips parted in a gasp—just enough for his tongue to slip inside. He explored her mouth with practiced ease, his thick cock already straining against his clothes as he tangled his tongue with hers. Hers was forked, delicate as a viper’s, and it fluttered nervously against his invasion.
A whimper escaped her throat. Her body sagged against his, all strength gone.
Charles smirked against her mouth. Sephera were light—easy to maneuver. His hands slid down, deftly unlacing her corset until the heavy nun’s habit pooled at her feet.
Bare skin greeted him.
Her breasts were petite, nipples already peaked. Her waist—gods, that waist—narrowed into sinful curves, her hips swaying with every shaky breath. Lower still, a thatch of Emerald green pubic hair glistened, already damp.
Charles didn’t hesitate.
One hand braced her spine; the other slid between her thighs. His fingertips found her entrance, slick and hot, and he pushed inside.
Sephera jerked, her back arching. Her waist writhed like a trapped serpent, her skin scorching where it rubbed against him. Every twist of her hips sent fire licking up his spine.
He added a second finger, curling them just so.
Her moans pitched higher, her body clamping around him. Then—
Her cunt convulsed, gushing around his fingers as she collapsed against him, boneless and gasping.
Charles withdrew his glistening fingers and pressed them to her lips. "Taste," he ordered.
Tears welled as she obeyed, her tongue flicking weakly at her own arousal.
Sephera’s legs instinctively wrapped around him, her breath hitching when the thick head of his cock nudged her soaked folds.
In one smooth thrust, he sheathed himself to the hilt.
Sephera’s scream shattered into sobs. Her nails dug into his shoulders, her cunt clenching like a vice around his cock.
Charles groaned, gripping her hips. "Look at you," he growled. "Taking me so well."
Her tears streaked her cheeks, her body trembling as he began to move.
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