Witch Monastery-Chapter 332:Mother and Daughter Smitten

Pinned to the ceiling, Charles felt the ever-surging tide of magic throughout his body suddenly clamp down, suppressed. It was as if his veins were blocked, every muscle as numb and useless as a leg that’s fallen asleep—drained of power, extremely uncomfortable.

At the same time, the telekinetic grip faded, gravity reclaimed him, and his body went crashing straight to the floor!

BANG—

"Ugh..."

Falling from four meters up, he landed in a heap, head spinning, every bone in his body screaming with pain.

No help for it: inside the Antimagic Field, even the extra protection from False Life was canceled out. The only thing between him and certain doom was the clothes on his back and the hidden chainmail shirt underneath—nothing else protected him now.

The pain shot through him, and he couldn’t stifle a cry. But there was no time to ease his battered body—the deadly beholder was still right there!

"Tch, useless spellcasters!"

Up ahead, spotting Theresa and the others writhing in agony, Xanathar gave a derisive snort, utterly contemptuous.

"Get them! Bring me their heads!"

It snarled at its subordinates, then floated forward with its hulking mass, gaping shark-toothed maw opening wide, lunging to bite!

Beholder’s Eye Rays were themselves magical. Now that it had unleashed its Antimagic Field, disabling the witches’ spellcasting, it had actually shut down its own deadliest weapons as well!

But at least it still had backup—and, of course, its monstrous fangs were more than capable of tearing a head clean off!

Behind Xanathar, the lieutenants exchanged nervous glances, none eager to move. Just moments before, they’d inhaled heavy doses of Sephera’s Poison Gas—their throats and lungs ravaged, leaving them barely able to fight.

Running now would only get them killed by a furious Xanathar, so they gritted their teeth, sucked in huge lungfuls of air, grabbed what weapons they could muster, and trudged after, doing the bare minimum to feign loyalty and stay alive.

Ahead, the witches retreated in a rush, smart enough to try darting behind a corner. But the gap in combat skill quickly became obvious.

Theresa, Hattie, and Sephera—all witches who’d survived the Night of the Witches—were familiar with the feeling of their energies spiraling out of control. As miserable as this was, they kept their discipline, falling back smoothly and in good order.

Willo winced, also struggling with magic suppression. At least she’d lived through loss before—her druidic connection shattered, mana devastated—so she managed to keep it together.

Only Adele, still young and inexperienced, had grown reliant on her magic after awakening such power far too early. Now, to have it suddenly cut off—her whole body was numb, legs barely moving.

Clinging to the wall, Adele stumbled backward, every step like walking through clouds, falling farther behind her companions, with the beholder’s gaping maw closing fast above her!

"Adele!"

Seeing her daughter in trouble, Willo grabbed her arm, trying to pull her along. But they weren’t fast enough. The monstrous eye hovered above them, jaws dropping to snap down—

"Aaah—!"

Adele’s eyes shrank in panic, and a scream tore from her lips, bleak despair racing through her soul.

But in that instant, a streak of white light flashed past—

Slash—!

The twin-bladed polearm whirled, hacking clean through one of Xanathar’s eye stalks. Ink-green blood sprayed everywhere—jolting the monster with a wave of agony, its snapping jaws halted in mid-air!

And then, a white silhouette lunged forward, arms outstretched, barreling Willo and Adele to the floor in a rolling escape.

"Phew—!"

Hitting the ground, Charles held the two of them protectively, but there was no time to check on either—his eyes snapped up as Xanathar, still raging, lunged at them, mouth gaping.

"Ruth!"

The monastery’s only witch trained for physical combat, whose magic was strictly secondary, hadn’t acted since the battle’s start—waiting for this, the pivotal moment, to strike!

At his shout, Xanathar’s instincts screamed. An eyestalk flicked sideways—a flash of steel slicing through the dark.

Slash—

A deep gash tore open behind its main eye, ink-green blood spraying out. Pain followed—piercing, overwhelming!

"AAAGH!"

Xanathar howled desperately, whirling to bite at the attacker. But Ruth, true assassin, was already retreating, giving it no chance for revenge.

Her agility widened the gap—forcing Xanathar to backpedal, leaving a bloody trail as it floated away.

It cast a mournful look at its severed eyestalk. Some part of it realized—the loss was permanent. It would be a crippled beholder forever.

That eyestalk was its greatest weapon, its spellcasting organ. To a beholder, losing it was like a human losing their thumb.

Normally, an eyestalk should be nearly impossible to sever. Its scaly sheath was tough as steel and brimming with magical energy, rejecting almost any outside harm.

But now, in its own Antimagic Field, it had suppressed all magic—its own included. Charles’s weapon, artifact-tier even if its exotic properties were suppressed, was still real enough to bite through the scales. The result: its stalk was pitifully sliced away!

"Whew..."

Charles scrambled upright, not sparing a glance for the mother and daughter, grabbing the Montport twin-bladed polearm, taking a deep breath. "Ruth! Draw its attention! I’ll cut another stalk off!"

Barely finished speaking, he charged forward. Even with Longstrider’s magic suppressed, and his limbs feeling heavier than usual, his focus was laser-sharp, the beast’s behavioral patterns running through his head, eyes fixed on the stalks—his prey.

He knew which weapons mattered most, and he made sure Xanathar saw him aiming for them—forcing it to think twice with every move.

The look in Charles’s eyes made Xanathar shudder. It tried to float away, but Ruth—now revealed—was relentless. Darting through the cramped tunnel, she boxed it in, issuing a deadly threat from behind.

"You bastard!"

Enraged, Xanathar roared—ready to fight to the death. Whipping around, it lunged to bite Charles’s head clean off. But Charles, practiced with his twin-bladed polearm, simply reversed the staff, ramming the other end straight into its mouth—

"URK—!"

Teeth shattered beneath the force, blood pouring out as the blade bit deep. Xanathar hastily backed off, spitting steel and blood, realizing once again it had come out on the losing end.

"Heh."

Charles gave a low chuckle. Even without his magic, he felt perfectly at ease. Every reflex honed in battle, his muscles building perfect memory—he could flow through every move needed as if reading the manual on instinct.

"One more, Beholder!" he snarled, surging forward—another brutal cleave at its eyestalks.

Flush with adrenaline, he didn’t even notice Willo and Adele behind him, clambering to their feet, looking at him with strange new eyes.

Adele couldn’t tear her gaze away from his mud-streaked hair and tattered clothes—a mess by any standard, but she was entranced. The seed planted that night had now sprouted and blossomed. Each moment with him only made his charisma harder to deny.

No wonder, she thought, all those amazing girls want to be with him... so willingly.

So that’s it. I used to think those girls demeant themselves for his sake, but now...

She let out a soft sigh, terribly conflicted inside.

Beside her, Willo was gasping for breath, face flushed, desire burning almost out of control.

Nothing stirs the heart like a brush with death—especially after the "three of them" had recently shared forbidden pleasures together. Now, rescued by him from the jaws of death, and watching as he dominated the beholder in battle...

Her full thighs pressed together, her posture growing more and more awkward.

She was wet.

Whatever was running through the two’s minds, Charles pressed the attack. Two eyestalks gone—two Eye Rays permanently crippled.

A bit more, and this beholder would be nothing but a shell!

Xanathar realized it was running out of options.

"Get back!"

With a wild scream, Xanathar could no longer hold back its terror. Suddenly, the crushing pressure on Charles vanished—power and agility flowed back as magic returned to his limbs!

The Antimagic Field had been dispelled!

Realizing this, Charles grinned. "Spellcasters, burn down the beholder!"

With magic back on the table, it was time to deal with the monster the old-fashioned way.

But Xanathar wasn’t about to just sit and die. As it canceled its own ability, it was already prepping its next move!

"You all—DIE!"

In the blink of an eye, dark Chaos Energy exploded beneath it, forming a swirling black vortex!

The pull was instant and brutal. Caught off-guard, Charles was sucked in!

This was the beholder’s pocket dimension. Inside it, Xanathar was unbeatable!

"Priest!"

"Charles!"

"Master!"

The party gasped in terror. Ruth, closest, lunged to grab Charles’s hand, but the vortex’s pull caught her too—dragging her in beside him!

Further back, Hattie and Theresa rushed to help, but before they got close, dozens of proto-demons burst from the black hole, howling and shrieking, flooding the sewers!

There was no choice. The witches had to halt, casting spells to hold back the fiends.

The vortex vanished, and the field dissolved into chaos again.

Elsewhere, Xanathar’s subordinates—who had spent the whole battle cowering and sniping from cover—saw what happened and got thoroughly spooked.

They’d watched every moment—Xanathar totally outmatched, forced into a corner and dumping every summoned horror it had left. In their eyes, the fight was lost.

Well, if not even the beholder could win against that crew, then—

A glance passed between them, the message clear.

Let’s get out of here.

No more risking their necks for this half-crazed, demon-summoning monster. They’d already agreed before—best get to the warehouses, grab the loot while Xanathar was busy, then make their escape!

No more hesitation. They seized the moment, slipped away into the tunnels, and vanished without a trace.

Meanwhile, inside Xanathar’s pocket world—

Charles saw nothing but roiling darkness, heard only silence, felt like he was hovering in an endless void. He couldn’t sense the ground, couldn’t touch anything with his hands—just suspended, weightless, not even the sensation of falling.

He could perceive nothing—not a single sense functioned. He couldn’t even breathe, couldn’t taste air. His chest felt bloated and tight, heart pounding in his ears, but the oxygen-starvation only grew worse—pure agony.

Just when the suffering reached its peak, a surge of magic erupted from his heart, spreading like wildfire through his veins—brilliant, burning, unstoppable.

No air, but these energies replaced the need. He could survive a little longer, even like this.

What was happening? Where was he? Wait—a familiar feeling...

That pressure—the wild magic in the air—was just like the Night of the Witches.

Where was he? In a domain? A pocket world? An extra-dimensional barrier crafted by Xanathar?

Damn, when did Xanathar gain access to this kind of power...?

No time to worry—better make use of it.

He reached out, though no sound carried in this darkness, and quietly uttered the word: "Purified!"

Buzz—

Milky white light flared from his palm, sweeping through the void. The dense Chaos Energy split and reformed—ordered magic, divine power, natural energy, even solid reality.

Light elements rose, heavy ones sank, the rest swirled in the center—and breathable air condensed in the emptiness, letting him finally draw a deep breath.

"Whew..."

He exhaled, watching as the blackness gave way to pure white—a world of light forming from the muck. He nodded, satisfied.

"Hm?"

He spotted, drifting in the distance, a small, familiar silhouette—curled up in a ball.

Looking closer, he realized it was Ruth. 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

"Ruth!"

He raised his hand and called, the wave of purified light barreling across the space, cleansing the Chaos Energy around her.

The next moment, the Blade Witch opened her lovely violet eyes, gazed in his direction, and brightened. "Master!"

No gravity, no ground—just a drifting sea of white. She stretched, swimming through the lusterless void toward him, graceful as any mermaid.

Charles nudged himself forward with a thought, letting his magic power carry him, floating to her side as well.

Within less than a minute, the two met. Charles clasped her small hand, expression puzzled, "How did you end up here? I thought you were further away..."

But one look at Ruth’s worried expression told him the truth. He wrapped her up in a tight hug, whispering, "It’s alright. I’ll be fine, I promise."

Ruth just hugged him back, anxiety written all over her face. Charles sighed gently, looking around. "Let’s try to figure out what this place really is."

"So much Chaos Energy... What the hell is that beholder up to?"

Ruth frowned, studying their unearthly prison, and finally spoke: "If anything, this place feels a lot like where I was born..."

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