Witch Monastery
Chapter 391: Beheading, and the Angel Ancestor
Mithral District, Secret Execution Grounds.
Tall stone walls enclosed the area, guards in chainmail and carrying spears standing watch at the sole iron gates. Spring sunlight shone down, leaving nowhere to hide on the open ground.
This was the site reserved for secretly executing nobles. After all, nobles represented sanctity and honor—even in death, their final moments weren’t to be witnessed by the commoners outside.
Ammalia Cassalanter, clad in a prison uniform, was escorted up to the scaffold by two soldiers, her wrists shackled with cuffs suppressing any magical power. Both of her escorts were themselves titled nobles—only those of noble rank could carry out a noble’s death sentence.
The executioner straightened his crisp coat, preparing to begin the ritual, when—
Whoosh—
A sudden gale swept overhead, making the group look up in surprise. A tall figure, jet black with dark red stripes, leaped clean over the high walls and swept across the grounds like a hurricane.
He moved with blinding speed—after two or three harsh punches, both soldiers escorting Ammalia and the executioner were knocked unconscious.
At the main gate, the startled guards bolted, running for help and shouting that someone was breaking the prisoner free. On the scaffold, Ammalia Cassalanter’s face lit up—she recognized the intruder instantly: "Shapiro, you’re here to rescue me? Oh, I knew you wouldn’t forget all the candy I gave you as a child!"
Of course, it was Shapiro. He hadn’t drawn his trademark massive scythe, instead subduing the guards with just his fists.
He shot her a cold glare, voice like ice: "No. I’m here to execute you myself."
With that, he extended his hand. A flash of dark red flame flickered—and then his signature massive scythe appeared in his grasp. "I didn’t want to start my vengeance so soon, but if I don’t act now, someone else will take your head!"
Her smile froze in place. She opened her mouth as if to explain—or plead—that she wasn’t involved in his family’s tragedy, desperate for a chance at survival.
But Shapiro had no patience for her words. Perhaps sensing he was running out of time—Mithral District’s patrols could show up any moment—he wasted not another second. He stepped forward, scythe swinging—
Shhk—
Ammalia Cassalanter’s fat head rolled free, a six-foot-high fountain of blood spurting from her neck. Her head landed on the ground, eyes open wide in indignation—defiant even in death. But it was over; there’d be no second life for her.
As for her soul, it would be reborn in the Nine Hells, serving as Asmodeus’s soldier—condemned to the endless bloody front against demons, fighting for centuries to atone for her sins.
Or else, perhaps, she’d eventually find a way back to the Material Plane, seducing more mortal souls down into damnation.
Staring at Ammalia’s decapitated head, Shapiro exhaled heavily. Under his breath, he muttered, "Next is the Cassalanter family... and the Holme family, and the Yorks—they’re all going pay..."
"Everything you made me suffer—you’ll all savor it in full!"
He whispered the words, voice growing manic, teetering on the brink of madness. His rage was so intense his whole body shook; years of torment bursting loose all at once, his very soul trembling under the emotional weight.
From afar, the shouts and tramping feet of soldiers were drawing closer—Mithral District’s reinforcements had arrived, and it sounded like more than a few, no doubt with some powerful ones among them.
Shapiro regained his composure instantly. He had no plan of fighting these guys head-on. With a snort, he transformed into a breeze, clearing the walls and vanishing into the distance.
By the time the soldiers arrived, all they found was a cluster of unconscious guards, and Ammalia Cassalanter’s headless corpse.
The soldiers exchanged anxious glances—there was nothing else to do but carry off their fallen comrades, collect Ammalia’s remains, and send a couple quick-witted, silver-tongued officers to report to their superiors.
Everyone felt it: something about this was deeply strange. Apprehension and unease spread among the ranks...
...
South Harbor District, inside the monastery.
It was getting late—Malena, just off work, was humming a tune as she made her way home to cook.
Today she’d just finished designing a new style of stockings and had invited Charles to her workshop for a preview, teasing him half to death. The result: they winded up going at it hot and heavy right there in her sewing room.
Afterward, Malena looked refreshed, her cheeks aglow and eyes shining like liquid—a portrait of post-coital bliss.
Though it was now late spring and the sun set later, a skipping silhouette still appeared right on time at the housing block’s gate before full dark.
Lisa—just returning from a day playing in the slums.
The little girl was utterly grimy and dripping sweat, drawing a look of playful disgust from Malena. "Go scrub your face and hands before you come to dinner, or you’re not setting foot at the table."
After dinner, Malena boiled a tub of hot water, stripped both herself and Lisa, and treated them to a relaxing bath.
After so much pampering, Malena noticed her daughter had grown cheeky, hands constantly kneading at her chest and behind, reigniting a spark she thought satisfied earlier. In the end, she had to smack Lisa’s little hands repeatedly just to regain some peace. But the damage was done—clearly, she’d need to help herself wind down again if she wanted to sleep tonight.
What she didn’t know was that, in the shadows, a pair of eyes—smoldering with longing, made of translucent black mist—watched her every move.
And she couldn’t possibly imagine that these eyes belonged to her ancestor, the secret instigator who’d pushed her brother into seeking revenge.
Her ancestor, once a Deva, the origin of her family name—the angel Sulpharlo.
Right now, that once-holy angel looked and acted more like a depraved criminal, voyeuristically peeping at her own descendants bathing. Even as she watched, her mind ran wild with admiration.
A perfect candidate!
Oh, Malena, I never dreamed your physical abilities would be this magnificent!
I thought only Lisa, after awakening the bloodline, had the necessary qualifications—and so I’d need to wait another ten years until she grew up.
But apparently, Lisa’s awakening wasn’t just coincidence; you meet the conditions too!
Wonderful, Malena. If you don’t join me, it would be a crime against your talents—it would be blasphemy against Fate’s blessing!
Hahaha, yes, this is the will of destiny! Only you two, mother and daughter, survived, and both are suited to my purpose. Clearly fate is blessing my plan—I have made the right choice!
Sulpharlo burned with this obsessive fervor. By now, it was very late. She watched Malena and Lisa leave the bath, towel off, and head for bed.
Meanwhile, outside the neighborhood, a white-haired man in a gold-trimmed white nun’s robe—a tall, voluptuous silhouette—strode quickly toward the area.
The white-haired man was Charles—a figure exuding confidence and determination, looking all around with keen concentration, clearly searching for something.
In just another moment, he swiveled, fixing his gaze on Sulpharlo’s hidden Arcane Eye, raising his hand and murmuring an incantation, gathering spell power.
Sulpharlo’s heart skipped—she instantly recognized him: the man who’d dealt with Abyssal Lord Montport, now notorious throughout the city—Lord Charles.
And yet—he can sense my Arcane Eye?
Maybe this man wasn’t the lucky fool Shapiro claimed; maybe he really was somewhat dangerous.
That thought flashing through her mind, and as Charles started toward her, Sulpharlo dared not delay. She chanted quietly, dissolving the Arcane Eye, and vanished without a trace.
Charles, seeing the little red dot on his map disappear, didn’t feel relieved—instead, his frown deepened and suspicion thickened.
Who was it?
True, in the Amazons’ residential blocks, little red dots would pop up now and then—usually burglars or merchants displeased with him, though loosely friendly with the Amazons.
The former were routinely caught by the Amazons—quickly losing a fingertip or sometimes their lives. The latter knew whose turf it was and never stuck around long, always hurrying out after finishing business.
But someone who lingered from afternoon until night like today? Very rare.
Fearing Mephistopheles’s minions might track him down, Charles brought tonight’s bedmate, Theresa, to investigate. If it was only a small-time thief, so be it—the worst would be a quick thrashing and a boot out the door.
But he found nothing at all.
And whoever it was had vanished instantly as soon as he approached.
Which meant the visitor must have mastered some advanced magic, managing to disappear beneath his very nose—teleporting away in the blink of an eye!
No ordinary sneak—this had to be a spy dispatched by a powerful enemy.
Most likely an agent of Mephistopheles!
Having reached that conclusion, Charles took a deep breath. "Theresa, let’s stay sharp—there’s real trouble coming."
"Hell’s agents are about to come for us."
As Charles brooded over the mysterious spy, Sulpharlo likewise seethed in the darkness, replaying the encounter.
That monastery really was a tough nut to crack. Forget Charles himself—even the "nun" at his side had magical power almost rivaling her own.
Such people—how many more might they have? If even three or five of these folks stood against her, she’d have a mighty hard time winning, even with every ally she could find!
And since they could even sense her Arcane Eye, that made her operation many times trickier.
Fighting head-on was out—she’d have to win by cunning!
With that cruel, calculating idea, a plan began to take shape in her mind.
...
So, five or six more days passed quietly. The monastery, and all South Harbor District, seemed at peace—serene, undisturbed.
But the calmer things looked, the more the storm was brewing in the unseen depths. This frail peace could shatter at any moment—followed by a tidal wave of disaster.
One evening:
"I’m heading out."
At the monastery gates, standing before the street and his waiting carriage, Charles gave Hattie a parting reminder. "While I’m gone, stay vigilant. Have Theresa watch the place—don’t give that enemy a single opening!"
Recently, the red dots marking "minor threats" kept appearing and vanishing—never lingering, always coming and going in a split second. Unlike others, who either got swarmed by Amazon "green dots" or came and went via normal exits, this one popped up and disappeared at will.
Charles was pretty sure all these "vanishing dots" were really the same person—far smarter and cagier than before. As soon as he made any move, they’d vanish instantly, never leaving him a shot at intercepting.
It was maddening—but lying in wait wouldn’t lure out a cautious quarry. Whoever it was hid perfectly, evading him every time.
So tonight, he planned another gambit.
Hattie nodded gravely, stood on tiptoe to kiss his forehead, and whispered in his ear, "Go easy on the wine, and come home early."
Charles smiled, gave her a hug. "I will."
He’d grown less secretive about his witch affairs—anyone could see what was going on.
Except Anno.
Ahem...
After that hug, he climbed into his carriage. The driver snapped the whip, and the coach rumbled away. Hattie watched him go, standing at the gate until the carriage vanished at the far end of the street, then turned back to her duties.
With Charles’s business empire booming, the territory they controlled grew daily, and the witches worked long hours just to keep pace—so Charles could stay hands-off, with time for magic, body training, and practicing feats.
Meanwhile, from the shadows, Sulpharlo’s Arcane Eye watched it all.
She hid far from his home base now, having learned—after days of testing—that Charles could never track her if the Arcane Eye stayed out of the monastery and Malena’s neighborhood.
This led her to suspect that Charles had magically remodeled these areas as his "domain"—much like a dragon’s nest, an Abyssal Lord’s territory, or a deity’s realm—places under his total, supernatural control.
It was shocking: this man hadn’t even reached "legendary" status, yet already wielded magic to carve out a domain of his own. Sulpharlo was taken aback, but quickly moved on, strategizing how to deal with him.
Once he left his territory, his perception would drop drastically—then, her tricks might go unnoticed.
Sulpharlo had centuries of battlefield experience—she knew her craft.
You’re ultra-alert in your territory... Fine. I’ll wait until you’re out, then flood your senses with distractions—so much noise and trivia that you’ll miss what really matters.
Drowning you in data and ritual, until the real threats slip by.
She dispatched a magical message, then waited.
Ten minutes later, a blind, deaf beggar shuffled into the street by the monastery. It was late—few people passed with alms—so no one noticed him muttering spells.
He kept sending in insects and familiars, making them his eyes, ears, hands, and feet—sneaking them into the monastery, causing chaos to fulfill his part of the secret deal.
Another half hour, and in the direction of the slums, an angry mob of men and women stormed into the Amazon quarter, shouting: "Where’s that porter? Get out here!"
"You owe us money! It’s been months!"
"You said you’d pay this month—no more stalling!"
...
Tensions rocketed. The Amazons, of course, couldn’t just start a fight to the death—so a raging argument erupted, voices echoing off the buildings.
At the same time, in the sewer behind the monastery, a mysterious figure in a round-topped hat blew a flute—giant, green-furred rats rose up behind him, padding upright and chanting in chilling voices, "Take it, take it!"
Sulpharlo, watching from the shadows, ticked off the time, a knowing smirk on her lips.
Let’s see how many places you can cover at once, Nigel Charles!
She thought smugly—as in the slums, a hunched old crone with crutches and a hacking cough shuffled deeper into the Amazon neighborhood, disappearing amid the growing chaos.
~~~ 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞
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