In Xanathar’s Guild’s hidden outpost, the guild’s commander Kendrz—a burly man with a thick beard who had recently appeared to have lost weight—stared at the parchment before him. Its clauses were written in ink as red as fresh blood, and his heart trembled at the sight.
Across from him, a lean figure clad in a black leather trench coat and a round-topped hat watched with keen interest.
Had Charles been present, he would have recognized the man instantly—Regolas, the cambion agent and apostle of Mephistopheles, who had once retreated before him.
Though nothing had been stated outright and they had never met before, Kendrz faintly understood the true nature of the being with whom he was dealing.
He also knew that by signing this pact, he would become a traitor to humankind. Without extraordinary fortune, his soul would never be cleansed of this sin!
But did he have any other choice?
Remembering the cold visage of his "Eye Hand" lord and the vicious expressions of his employers from the Cassalanter Family—who seemed ready to tear him apart—he took a deep breath. Suppressing his dread, he raised his hand and signed his name.
A crimson glow erupted from the parchment, seeping into his body. His organs strengthened instantly, and the crushing fatigue from days of relentless pressure vanished.
Yet at that moment, he realized with despair that his soul had been permanently marked by something foul.
"Excellent, Mr. Kendrz."
Regolas, clad in black fingerless gloves, gave a slow, mocking clap. "Your courage is... admirable. Rest assured, we honor our contracts."
With that, he extended his right hand forward. A silver flash—and suddenly, a roughly thirty-centimeter-long, silver square-headed hammer materialized in his grip.
"This is the Storm Warhammer, imbued with the fury of thunder. Once wielded by Dwarf Kings to strike down Giants," he explained.
Kendrz eyed him coldly. "The real thing?"
"Of course not. A replica," Regolas admitted freely—after all, the genuine article was a true artifact. "But for your purposes? More than sufficient."
"It retains three charges. Feel its weight—you’ll understand how to wield it," he continued. "Use it well. No one struck by this will keep their senses. With this, any foe before you will fall."
Kendrz said nothing. He reached out, took the warhammer, and slid its haft into the leather pouch at his hip.
"Do as I say. Lie in wait near the Timber Yard, and you will reclaim your lost cargo," Regolas grinned. "The Cassalanter Family, even those Amazon Guild bitches—they’ll be on their knees, begging for your mercy!"
Kendrz remained impassive. "When do we move?"
Regolas opened his mouth to answer—then froze. After a pause, his expression shifted, something subtle flickering behind his eyes. "Tonight. Now. Kendrz, gather your men. We strike at once!"
In the monastery dorm, Charles sat by the bedside, with Hattie, Ruth, and Sephera keeping him company.
Staring at his remaining 3,600+ Purification Points, he gritted his teeth slightly at the thought of the challenges he might face tonight. Finally, he tapped lightly on the "Level" column.
1,800 Purification Points were consumed. Then, a milky, purified light glowed as new power surged into his body.
The next second, his Spell Slots cap expanded to seventeen, and the system interface before him transformed. A new line of text appeared at the top:
"Please select your Attribute Value Improvement or learn a new Feat."
Below it, two lengthy lists unfolded.
A surge of joy rose in Charles’ heart as he began carefully scanning the options. At the top of the list were the six Attribute Values. He could either boost one attribute by two points or two attributes by one point each.
However, while the other five options glowed green—indicating they were selectable—the "Charisma" attribute was grayed out. This meant his Charisma had already reached the mortal limit and could no longer be improved through leveling up.
To enhance it further, he’d need rare artifacts or ascension to legendary status.
Naturally, Charles had no intention of wasting his choice on attribute boosts—they were the least efficient option. Scrolling down, he searched for a suitable Feat.
Many Feats were also grayed out, signaling unmet prerequisites—perhaps insufficient attributes, incompatible class, or missing a required prior Feat.
But overall, the options aligned closely with the game’s mechanics. Charles quickly grasped the possibilities, and soon, his decision was made.
Metamagic Feat: Extended Spells!
Its effect: When casting a spell with a duration of at least one minute, he could spend an additional Spell Slot to double its duration—up to a maximum of twenty-four hours.
After evaluating his current situation, this was the optimal choice. With it, his combat strength would nearly double!
He selected the Metamagic Feat without hesitation. Instantly, soft white light flared again, and a flood of knowledge rushed into his mind.
Charles closed his eyes, carefully perceiving the newly acquired wisdom. Only after fully mastering it did he reopen them.
Then, he began casting spells on himself:
2nd-level Armor of Agathys.
Low-level spells could be upcast. For example, by spending three Spell Slots, he could cast the 2nd-level version of Armor of Agathys.
Though it only cost one additional Spell Slot, both its protective strength and retaliatory damage doubled!
While it still couldn’t match true 2nd-level spells in overall value, it was the best option available to him now.
Combined with Extended Spells, Charles spent a total of four Spell Slots to gain a two-hour duration for the 2nd-level Armor of Agathys.
He then applied Extended Spell to Mage Armor, the 2nd-level False Life, and the 1st-level Longstrider, spending a total of thirteen Spell Slots.
This granted him formidable mobility and near-impenetrable magical defenses—but it also drained his seventeen Spell Slots, leaving him almost devoid of combat strength.
Yet Charles remained utterly calm.
Okay, mana’s gone. So now...
"Hattie, Ruth, Sephera....."
He called softly, then closed his eyes. Beside him, Hattie moved the fastest, beating the still-shy Ruth and Sephera—who hesitated in front of their sisters—to press her lips lightly against his.
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