The night was deep, yet Charles remained awake. Burning the midnight oil went against his current regimen for recovery, but tonight’s matter was too critical—sleep simply wouldn’t come.
He was waiting for Hattie’s return. Whether her efforts bore fruit would determine if his next plan could proceed.
The moon crept lazily across the sky. Charles added another note to his plans, his mind growing sluggish. Just as his thoughts began to blur, a gust of wind rattled outside, followed by the door swinging open to reveal a slender silhouette.
It was Hattie. She had returned.
The moment she stepped inside, the Hattie let out a soft cry before flinging herself into his arms. Charles felt the tension drain from his chest as he embraced her in turn. "No trouble, I hope?" he murmured. "How did it go?"
"None at all. Did you really think I’d run into trouble every night?" Hattie chuckled lightly, then nodded. "It went smoothly. That tavern owner knows which way the wind blows. He caught my meaning before I’d even finished speaking."
She proceeded to recount her conversation with Alan in full detail. Hearing this, Charles exhaled in relief. "Good. He’s sharp, then. Now we can sit back and let the rumors turn in our favor."
Tonight’s scheme had been Charles’ doing. He knew Alan, the tavern owner, was one of the few in the slums who had glimpsed the monastery’s true, terrifying nature. That was why he’d sent Hattie to deliver a half-truth, half-threat—to nudge the man into steering the gossip their way.
Alan couldn’t leave the slums of South Harbor District. For one, he was a cripple—a man society had all but discarded, incapable of surviving on his own.
The life he had now depended entirely on his connections in South Harbor. Leaving would mean abandoning his greatest asset, reducing him to nothing.
The monastery wasn’t going anywhere, either. The two would remain neighbors for years to come. And with Blackstaff Tower’s investigators set to depart in a few days, Liberl Port’s officials would revert to their usual indifference toward this wretched corner of the city. For Alan, staying on the monastery’s good side brought no downsides—only benefits.
The tavern owner was no fool. Charles trusted the man understood the stakes. That was why he’d likely help.
Yet even with eighty percent certainty, Charles—having never attempted such a scheme before—had been uneasy. Only now did the tension finally leave his chest. His eyelids grew heavy, the weight of exhaustion crashing over him like a tide.
"I can’t hold on any longer." He had to close his eyes. "I’ll take a rest first, Hattie. We can discuss other things tomorrow."
As he said that, he lay down on the bed and slumbered into unconsciousness.
Hattie’s lips curled into a faint smile. "Goodnight," she whispered before swiftly shedding her nun’s habit and sliding under the covers, nestling against his arm as she drifted off.
The next morning, as Charles and the three witches accompanying him ate in the kitchen, three mosquitoes alighted near their ears. Andny’s voice buzzed through:
"Master, your plan worked. This morning, people in several districts are already gossiping about how Blackstaff Tower’s investigators were made fools of by Xanathar’s Guild!"
Charles gave a slight nod, unsurprised. "The scheme proceeds smoothly. But we must let the rumors spread further before attempting to purchase land in the slums for expansion."
"Andny, continue monitoring public sentiment and the investigation team. Also, keep searching for traces of Sophia."
"Understood," Andny replied before the mosquitoes dispersed.
Hattie, who had been standing nearby, paused mid-motion. Hesitation flickered across her face. "Master... how do you plan to gather the funds for the land?"
As she spoke, Ruth glanced up at Sephera. "How much do we have left?"
Sephera answered without hesitation, as if reciting from memory. "Around four thousand gold. If we liquidate some artwork and rare texts, we might scrape together six thousand."
This was the monastery’s communal treasury—primarily filled with the meager savings of the humans they had slain. Its purpose? Bribes for inspections, charitable porridge offerings, and minor repairs.
Most of their victims had been poor, with little to their names. Yet their own expenses were minimal, allowing the funds to accumulate into a substantial sum over the years.
"While it’s not an insignificant amount, it’s still far from enough," Sephera fretted. "Even with residents desperate to sell now, purchasing eight thousand square meters in the slums would be impossible. And that’s before accounting for renovations—we’d need at least ten thousand gold. What about the sisters’ personal reserves?"
Hearing this, Hattie’s expression turned uneasy. "I’ve nothing left. The coin I spent on Master’s spellbooks was borrowed from Sophia."
Ruth’s face darkened. "I’ve never been one to save. And as far as I know, neither Andny nor Ekta have much to spare..."
The three witches fell into uneasy silence, daunted by the staggering financial gap.
Charles, however, merely smiled—as if he already held the solution. "It seems our next priority is acquiring a considerable sum, then."
"Come, let’s brainstorm. Hattie, Ruth, Sephera—tell me: in Liberl Port, what’s the fastest way to amass coin?"
"Robbery!" Hattie answered without hesitation. This was the conclusion she and Sophia had reached long ago.
Ruth pondered briefly before nodding in agreement.
Only Sephera hesitated, weighing her words carefully. "Perhaps... financial ventures in the Central District yield far greater profits than theft. Though they require capital upfront, and the risks are substantial..."
Charles nodded approvingly at the witch who managed the monastery’s affairs. "Sephera’s answer comes closest to the truth."
"Elsewhere—strictly speaking, in most parts of this world—robbery is the fastest method."
"But this is Liberl Port. Here, factions across the realms scramble to back their proxies, trading and maneuvering capital. Don’t just see the chaos in the gutters. Look higher—to the impeccable order and gilded excess above!"
His eyes burned with ambition as the witches stared in confusion. Slowly, he revealed: "So here, the fastest way to wealth... is borrowing."
All three witches blinked in astonishment. After a beat, Hattie ventured uncertainly: "Then... Master, you mean to approach the grand banks of the Central District for a loan?"
Charles shook his head. "Wrong."
His lips curled into a smile once more.
"This is called... securing investors."
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