Witch Monastery
Chapter 386: How About Another Party?
The Eighth Layer of the Nine Hells.
This is a world encrusted in endless, glacial ice, so inhospitable that even fiends—whose constitutions defy mortal logic—rarely manage to survive here.
Only the truly powerful have the strength, and the right, to live in this world and serve the great Mephistopheles, sometimes even earning his favor and learning a scrap of his formidable spellcasting abilities.
Yet in recent days, every devil dwelling in Cania had felt a strange tension in the icy air: their lord and master, the archdevil Mephistopheles, was in a thoroughly foul mood.
There was no public announcement, but rumors spread quickly among devils. Mephistopheles had personally sent an avatar to the Material Plane—clearly to pull off something big.
But when he returned, it was in this current state. There was no hard proof, but based on what was known, the consensus in the Hells was unanimous: their mighty mage-lord had suffered a catastrophic defeat.
Some of the powerful pit fiends were starting to circle. They didn’t know the full extent of Mephistopheles’s loss—just that his strength and dominion had probably taken a hit. And once the archdevil showed even the tiniest hint of weakness, there’d be a thousand so-called "loyal" devils just waiting to bare their fangs...
Meanwhile, back in his frigid palace, Mephistopheles ignored the swirling rumors that raged outside. He shut himself in his rooms, facing a massive ten-meter-tall mirror of ice, chanting spell after spell of divination and foresight. That way, he could scan the world without lifting a finger.
With every spell, the ice mirror flickered with scenes and faces. They were different scenes, different faces, but one woman’s face kept appearing over and over again—growing from youth to maturity each time.
That was the face of Vajra Safahr, current Blackstaff of Liberl Port.
After a long time, apparently finally having seen enough, the archdevil opened his eyes, the corner of his mouth twisting into a venomous smile.
"Vajra Safahr. You are the legacy blood of fiends left on the Material Plane. In the end, you’ll return to where you truly belong."
As his resolve hardened, plans began to ripple out from the Nine Hells, the Infinite Layers of the Abyss, and through to the distant Material Plane—a thousand schemes set in motion like silent tides.
But before any true plot made itself known, no one could possibly guess what new darkness was about to creep into their world...
Material Plane—Liberl Port.
"...Based on overwhelming evidence, the court now issues its final verdict on Madam Ammalia Cassalanter."
Atop the bench, the silver-haired judge tapped his gavel, sending a crisp sound through the chamber. "Madam Ammalia Cassalanter—for the past ten years, it is proven you have held no true faith, shown no loyalty to the Empire of Sein, and relentlessly pursued your own gain at any cost. You are found guilty on ten counts: conspiracy with devils, soul blasphemy, murder, human trafficking, unlawful imprisonment, rape, forced prostitution, destruction of public property, smuggling, and illegal mergers and acquisitions, with all charges substantiated beyond doubt."
"Given the severity of your offenses and the disastrous consequences, this court hereby strips you of your noble title and sentences you to death, combining all sentences."
Not even the nobles in the jury box could hide their disgust as they looked at the woman.
That night’s cataclysmic battle—oh, they’d felt it all right. A real fight, right in their own backyard! And if things had gone just a bit differently, they might have lost their own lives too.
With the woman of House Cassalanter at the center of such chaos—risking the very lives of her peers—it didn’t matter that she was nobility; no one was about to defend her now.
This execution was justice for all the trouble she’d caused and served as a warning: plot all you want behind the scenes, but if you stir up this kind of chaos—actually threaten your fellow aristocrats—no one can save you.
On the defendant’s bench, wearing a prison uniform, Ammalia Cassalanter held her head high, eyes full of arrogant disdain. Her gaze swept the room, and her cold snort made it clear she had no remorse. If anything, she seemed to say: don’t get smug—you’re no cleaner than I am.
Which only further provoked the nobles’ anger, filling the chamber with low, barely-contained curses. Only their last shred of dignity stopped them from hurling actual insults.
Guards hauled Ammalia away. With that, the matter was settled; there’d be no more waves from House Cassalanter.
Watching from the gallery, Charles couldn’t help but think: just like the game’s background lore. Four centuries ago, the Seinites’ heroes had been so notable that Laeral Silverhand still held out hope for the nobility under Sein rule.
So when the rich and powerful of Liberl Port committed crimes, she always refused to accept how utterly corrupt and fallen they’d become. She kept assuming it was just a few bad apples, always wanting to give the rest another chance at redemption.
Just like now: with so much calamity wrought by House Cassalanter, yet only Ammalia herself dealt with in the end.
Still, that had its advantages—Laeral’s bias was a weakness Charles could exploit, maybe even use to win her over someday.
As for House Cassalanter, Charles really didn’t care. Malena had no interest in restoring her family, so whether the line was wiped out simply wasn’t his concern.
His only concern was what kind of attitude Laeral Silverhand would have toward him.
With the verdict delivered, the nobles began a calm and orderly exit.
Charles stood up as well, Bernard at his shoulder, sighing, "I never expected Ammalia Cassalanter to pull something like this off! Man, I wish I’d been there that night—I’d have loved to fight by your side!"
Charles grinned. "You’re lucky you weren’t. All you would’ve seen was me scurrying around like a rat. Honestly, I barely did anything that night—Blackstaff did all the real fighting."
Bernard laughed. "Who cares! The fun’s in being there—fighting demons together is the best rush you can have. I wish we could do it again!"
He sounded like any thoughtless, naïve rich kid: "But hey, chances like that don’t come easy. Maybe next time, we really will fight side by side."
"Oh, right! I’m throwing a concert at my house tomorrow night—lots of young nobles are coming. Want to join us?"
Charles’s face twitched; he quickly shook his head. "I’ll pass this time."
Bernard blinked. "Why not? You can’t possibly still be upset about that demon attack wrecking the last party—"
Charles forced a smile. "Can’t. Uh... Anno won’t let me."
Bernard suddenly got it: "Ah... Yeah. Oh. Yeah. Gotcha. Fair point... Shame, though."
He didn’t push—for everyone in their circle, Anno was not someone you named lightly.
After all, she’d been beating up the older boys since she was a kid; by ten, she was single-handedly taking out human traffickers who dared snatch her off the street.
Privately, Bernard and his friends called her "Muscle Queen" and swore she’d never marry at this rate.
But then...
Looking at Charles, Bernard couldn’t help thinking: only a guy this tough could ever handle a woman like Anno. Truly a match made in heaven!
Charles, meanwhile, felt just a bit guilty for refusing so directly.
He thought for a second, then said, "Hey, Bernard, your family’s in shipbuilding, right?"
Bernard’s smile dimmed. "Yeah, but... Well, business isn’t great these days. No point talking about it."
Total nonsense. Every part of the world was forming new nation-states based on bloodline or race, jumping headlong into global trade and competition.
Liberl Port was the best entrepôt in the world—"bad business" wasn’t possible!
The real issue, according to what Charles had learned, was that Bernard’s family sold their ships mainly to big clients deep in the Empire of Sein, in the north. Now that the empire was weakening, those business prospects had dried up. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖
But that was exactly what Charles had set his sights on.
He leaned closer and said, "So, what if we teamed up and started a new shipyard? I’ve got connections with the dwarves—could get us some high-quality, cheap steel. I’ll provide the funds, you provide the expertise, and we can make it a proper partnership."
"Oh, and customers—we could sell to the Amazons. I’ve got a few contacts there, and you’ve heard how much money they’re making off the fishing trade. But here’s the thing—they’re still sailing wooden boats. That’s gotta be a huge market..."
Bernard’s eyes lit up—he was so excited he nearly shook. "You’re on!"
Wow, Father was right—if this works out, we’re going to strike it rich!
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