Witch Monastery-Chapter 328: Dark Elf

Charles’s expression shifted the moment he heard the words, his gaze sharpening, his demeanor deadly serious.

Dark Elf.

It’s only been a few months... and these guys have already infiltrated this far?

Charles knew there was an entrance to the Underdark in the Haunted Gold Mine up on Ridgecrest Plateau. After the Chthonians tunneled underground, that entrance was almost certainly connected to the sewers. That meant Underdark creatures invading the port city was always a real risk.

He was just shocked at their speed—barely two months since the last incident, and it was still winter. How did they move so fast?

"Andny, how many are there?" he asked quietly. Andny replied at once, "About twelve—all drow. Three women, nine men. Of course, there could be others hiding under invisibility, but that’s all I can confirm right now."

"As for their makeup... at least two are specialized spellcasters."

Twelve Dark Elves.

A bead of sweat slid down Charles’s forehead as unease swept over him, tension tightening his chest.

The Dark Elves—after the ancient elven empire split, the ones who followed Lolth, the spider queen, became known as the drow, cursed by the sun. Their once-pure skin turned pitch black, and now they’re allergic to sunlight—forced to live in the Underdark, deep beneath the surface.

They’re the only elf race generally known for evil—sure, there are the odd good ones, but those are rare exceptions.

Their typical pleasures? Killing, enslaving, and torturing other races for Lolth’s entertainment—sometimes even slaughtering their own kind, since Lolth actively encourages betrayal.

In most groups, unity is sacred—"don’t turn on your brothers and sisters." But Dark Elves are the polar opposite. Their goddess welcomes and rewards backstabbing, celebrating anything that shatters trust and internal cohesion—it’s what makes them so dangerous.

And despite this, through sheer power and cunning, the Drow still dominate the Underdark. The fact that a society built on mutual betrayal still survives—and rules below—tells you just how frighteningly strong they are.

Elves... elves!

In games, everything gets "balanced" for fairness. In the real world, there’s no such thing. Elves are naturally magical, blessed with millennia of life and endless talent. Toss an elf into any human society, and they’d be a living legend.

So even though Andny thought only two out of twelve were spellcasters, Charles knew the truth: all twelve were.

But because of drow society’s female-dominated system, males aren’t allowed to practice magic—instead, they’re trained as assassins.

That’s another deadly Drow specialty: the art of the kill.

Their black skin makes hiding in the dark effortless, and with their mastery of poisons, one dagger strike is enough to take down almost anyone.

Even Charles had to be wary. If the ancient elven empire could mass-produce "+N" series magical weapons, you can bet the Drow all carried enchanted daggers—nullifying most of his magical defenses.

Twelve drow, all spellcasting assassins, launching a synchronised ambush? That was enough to wipe his whole team—everyone’s throat slit before anyone could scream.

He’d have to be extremely careful.

"Everyone, stay on high alert!" Charles called out in a level voice, masking his urgency. "We’re deep in beholder territory now—Xanathar’s enforcers could be lurking anywhere, waiting for a chance to ambush us. Stay vigilant! Don’t give them an opening. Understood?"

All the girls nodded, faces growing grim. Then, quietly, Charles whispered, "Andny, fill them in on the drow situation. After that, no more chatter. We wait for the enemy to make the first move."

Andny agreed and did as instructed. The tension in the party ratcheted up, everyone eyeing every shadow—no one wanted to be the next drow victim.

Theresa went a step further, casting cantrip Light on everyone’s gear. Multiple high-powered beams swept the darkness away, eliminating any chance for an ambush from the shadows.

They moved on in absolute silence—bare footsteps echoing alongside their pounding hearts.

A bead of sweat trickled down Charles’s temple. The sense that any second a dagger could press against his throat was excruciating.

They traveled another hundred meters—a hundred meters where every step squeezed their hearts tighter, everyone bracing for the drow to strike.

"Andny, status?" Charles whispered after a few minutes, voice taut with worry.

"They’re still in the nearby shadow passage—armed, fully ready for battle. They know we’re here, but haven’t moved yet. Of course, one or more might be invisible—I can’t confirm... Master, should we strike first? If Eldest Sister fires off a Dawn or Prismatic Spray, those sunlight-hating drow probably won’t stand a chance."

Charles’s eyes flickered as he thought.

"No," he said softly. "We’re here for the beholder. If the drow aren’t attacking, we don’t need to pick a fight."

With the entire city’s sewers connected to the Underdark, making enemies of the drow without cause would be reckless in the extreme.

Andny dropped silent, keeping surveillance on the enemy, while Charles led the way.

In the shadows—

As Andny watched them, the drow had already noticed the party. With all that Light radiating in every direction, there was no sneaking up on Charles’s team.

The drow themselves were tense. They’d heard enough about Liberl Port to know it was a city of lies, riddled with sin—double so in the sewers, playground of every evil power under the sun.

They weren’t spoiling for a fight today. But in these cramped tunnels, it would be nearly impossible to avoid conflict if things got ugly.

This was the first full party they’d encountered on their mission. They had no clue what Charles’s group wanted—or what they were capable of. Caution was everything.

They watched as the blatantly obvious, lantern-lit group finally slipped out of range.

"They’re gone."

"So, do we jump them?"

"My vote? Yes. Even with masks on, I can tell those women are hot—high-value slaves."

"I say no. They clearly didn’t spot us, and we don’t need the hassle."

"I agree. They’re alert—not easy marks."

"They’re watching out for ’beholder assassins.’ Nothing to do with us."

"Or maybe they’re just pretending..."

...

The drow assassins whispered among themselves. Their female leader frowned as she watched Charles’s party disappear, feeling something wasn’t quite right.

But seeing how brightly Theresa’s magic had lit the tunnel, exposing every shadow, her ambition to "go for it all" faded.

That woman—her spellcasting was no joke. If she really could cast Dawn or something that generated actual sunlight, their whole troupe would be wiped out.

They still had other objectives in the surface world—losing everything here would be a failure.

"So let’s not worry about it," the leader decided. "Even if they’re pretending not to see us, at least that means they aren’t picking a fight. We have our main mission—let’s not stir up trouble."

"When they’re gone, we move out too."

Her command silenced the others, and they watched Charles and his team hustle away.

At the same time, Andny’s voice echoed in Charles’s ear, "Master, the drow are retreating—they’re moving in the opposite direction."

Charles finally let out a long sigh of relief. "Thank goodness—they’re gone."

He was confident in winning a fight against the drow, but they were assassination experts. All it would take was a single mistake for someone on his team to die.

No unnecessary conflict—that was best.

His anxiety eased, he told Andny, "Let everyone know it’s safe to relax—stay alert, but we’re clear for now."

Andny passed the word along, and Charles felt the whole party’s nerves ease a notch as everyone finally let out the breath they’d been holding.

In much better spirits, the team pressed on toward the beholder’s hiding place.

...

Outside Xanathar’s hidden chamber.

The guild’s higher-ups clustered at the doorway, glancing worriedly at the heavy doors. Next to them lay two stretchers, each holding the corpse of a strong, tattooed human male.

Xanathar had demanded fresh human blood—victims killed within the last twenty-four hours. So the underlings had snatched two men off the street, knocked them out, and bled them dry on the spot.

So far, they’d given Xanathar more than two kilos of fresh blood—but the beholder’s experiment still wasn’t finished...

The leadership’s anxiety ran high. Killing on the battlefield was one thing—kill or be killed. But tying men up like livestock, slitting their veins, and watching them die... this was a first for all of them.

Even the male drow was disturbed. He’d left the Underdark because he couldn’t stand the endless cruelty of his own kind.

"Hey, what do you guys think Xanathar’s doing?" The halfling wanderer finally blurted out. "He used to just want gold and silver—why’s he suddenly after this nasty stuff?"

No one had an answer. They all suspected freshly slain blood was a component in some evil spell—but only the vaguest idea what for.

The male drow suddenly spoke up. "I have a theory—but I can’t be certain..."

The others all looked over. "Go on—if you’re right, at least we’ll know what we’re up against."

The drow took a deep breath. "Blood from a freshly killed, greatly weakened person—that’s classic spell material for summoning lesser or higher demons."

"If Xanathar wants this, maybe... he’s preparing for a demon summoning."

The others fell silent, exchanging uneasy glances. The halfling wanderer swallowed hard, then his eyes went wide. "Oh! So that’s why that priest has the power to counter those monsters!"

"I get it now—he’s really a paladin! That white light is his Divine Smite. No wonder my demon underlings just melted in front of him!"

It all clicked, and a cold sweat broke out across his back. Even crooks hoped for a decent afterlife—the thought of being demon food while still alive was horrifying.

Another chimed in grimly, "That mind flayer—he’s using Xanathar to mass produce the fiends he wants!"

"This is pure evil—it’ll be the end of all of us! We’ve got to stop him—kill him if we have to!"

Everyone nodded and agreed instantly. No more waiting—they left the chaos of Xanathar’s lab, slipped around a corner, and kicked in the door of another side room—

With a metallic crash, all six burst into the chamber. There stood the mind flayer—not spellcasting, but staring at the wall dividing his room from Xanathar’s, face full of worry.

The gnome whipped a light crossbow from her belt and aimed it at his head. "What’re you doing—turning our boss into a demon factory?!"

The others ringed him with weapons drawn. The mind flayer looked surprised for a second, then spoke directly into their minds: "Why do you think that? As you see, I haven’t done a thing."

The drow pressed his knife to the mind flayer’s neck, snarling, "But he asked us for fresh human blood—classic demon summoning fuel! You’re using him for your own ends!" 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

"Don’t play dumb. You know what we’re capable of—don’t make us get creative."

The mind flayer shook his head, telepathically replying, "That was never my intention. I only tried to suggest he dream of beings he could control—strong, but manageable."

"I never meant to summon demons. I want my soul to stay free. This was all his idea. If you don’t believe me, ask Xanathar yourself."

Someone else snorted. "Maybe we will. But first, we’re dealing with you!"

He raised his sword, about to skewer the mind flayer’s heart—

—when an explosive, feral energy surged from beyond the adjoining wall—

Boom!

A terrifying blast shattered the wall, chunks of stone and a shockwave sending everyone—including the mind flayer—flying. A few spat blood, already badly injured!

Horrified, they looked up to see the beholder shrouded in black mist, laced with dark red lightning, more monstrous than ever.

Beneath it, primitive demons—misshapen, their limbs grotesquely stretched—scampered in every direction, howling with laughter or anguish.

Everyone’s face went deathly pale.

This was it—they’d become complicit in summoning demons!

Not even an ocean could wash their sins away now!

...

"Easy does it. Careful—one, two, three... got it, we’re through."

Following Charles’s guidance, Adele tiptoed across the correct tiles, making it safely past the trap-riddled corridor. Seeing none of the flame jets ever triggered, Charles’s lips curled up in a satisfied grin.

Perfect. Just like in the game.

Seems even for a criminal guild like Xanathar’s, trap technology ends up following the same formulas.

The next few obstacles would probably be no different...

He was relaxing at last—until a sudden shockwave exploded from far ahead: Boom!

The ground shook. Faces turned pale; Charles’s scowl deepened. "What was that? Andny, did you see anything?"

Andny’s frantic voice came through, "No idea... I can only sense a spreading wave of filth—it feels just like the night we were ambushed!"

"Master, those demons are headed our way!"

Charles’s jaw clenched.

Shit. It has to be that idiot Xanathar playing with proto-demons—he’s screwed everything up!

"The enemy’s demons are out of control!" he shouted, his words wiping every smile from the team’s faces. "Weapons up. Prepare for battle!"

~~~

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