Within the monastery’s great hall, seven witches sat in anxious anticipation. Six of them ford a ring, with the petite Andny seated in their midst.
At that mont, this most diminutive of witches had her eyes closed, exerting all her magical power to control her swarm of mosquitoes—spying on Porter’s chamber from every conceivable angle.
At the sa ti, her small mouth relayed a constant stream of comntary for her fellow witches, describing the current state inside Porter’s room:
"Amazon number five has just pressed her chest down! Master’s been blinded again! Porter’s on top! Now Porter is launching a brisk up-and-down assault!"
"Porter’s technique is rather unrefined, but her strength is formidable, her stamina boundless, and worst of all, Master is under heavy siege! This is no fair duel! He can barely handle it... He’s screaming! Master’s at his limit! He’s surrendered! Waaa, Master’s collapsed..."
"Luckily, Porter also fell at the sa ti, so the first round could be called a barely-decided draw. Now they’re talking... but Master’s at it again! Porter has caught her second wind! Porter’s mounting up! Now round two is beginning..."
Her voice rose and fell with excitent, as if observing this lascivious revel was even more thrilling than taking part herself.
But to her chagrin, only she could witness such blood-stirring spectacle. The other six witches could only imagine what was happening—filling in with their own minds the luxurious image of Charles beset from all sides by a bevy of powerful, bronze-skinned won. Their worry deepened by the second.
"Should we rush over and rescue Master?" Hattie blurted out first. "When I used to haunt the seas, I dealt with those won plenty. They’ve never cared much for a man’s life."
"If this keeps up, Master’s body might suffer so truly irreversible, permanent damage..."
So spoke Hattie. Next to her, Ekta’s eyes darted, then she piped up timidly: "But from what Andny’s described, it sounds... like Master is... rather enjoying himself?"
"If we burst in now, wouldn’t we only disturb him?"
She mustered all her courage to offer this, and imdiately, excepting only Theresa and the ditating Andny, the other four witches swiveled to stare at her—ten eyes, unblinking, conveying every shade from surprise to mockery, amusent, or just icy disdain.
Though none spoke, the sheer pressure bore down on Ekta’s shoulders. The witch shrank back half a step, stamred, and offered a nervous, conciliatory smile: "It was just a thought... heh..."
Though witches were a collective, theirs was a rigid hierarchy, not to be breached. In the past, the leader was self-evident; after all, strength was always the truest claim to supremacy.
Beneath the indomitable Theresa, stood Sophia—keeper of vast knowledge—and Sephera, Theresa’s most trusted confidant.
Sophia’s ranking ought to be higher, since Theresa often relied on her knowledge for counsel. But due to her affliction of mory lapses, Sophia had to be cared for by the others, giving Sephera a slight edge in the daily hierarchy.
Still, these two witches were more or less equals.
Next ca Ruth and Hattie, both boasting considerable power and versatility in their magical arts—secure in their mid-tier status.
And at the bottom: Ekta and Andny. Their magical prowess was weak, their specialization unremarkable, nearly devoid of standing.
Yet ever since being purified by Charles, the hierarchy had subtly shifted.
Hattie and Ruth—having been purified earliest—rocketed upwards, with Hattie now exuding clear leadership. By contrast, Theresa—last to be purified—had unmistakably lost influence.
Now, a witch’s standing was primarily decided by Charles’s affections. The relationships among the five peers would need to be reshuffled; a new order had yet to stabilize...
Regardless, this was the invisible competition among powerful witches. Ekta and Andny remained firmly at the very bottom; if they so much as dared to overstep, regardless of the rit in their words, the others would instantly object on instinct.
Except for Theresa. Once mistress of the monastery’s highest authority, she was now the least bothered by such breaches of decorum.
"In fact, I think tonight’s events may not be a bad thing at all."
As Ekta finished, Theresa’s voice rang out: "Sisters, we are witches after all. Though we’ve made good the lacks of soul and flesh, we can never bear Master’s children."
"If Master is to pass down his bloodline, he must still mingle with mortal won."
"And, by all accounts, those Amazon won are healthy, robust, and have nothing but adoration for Master—no malice whatsoever. They are, in short, excellent candidates for motherhood."
As she spoke, she let slip a radiant smile. "Sisters—do none of you long to see Master’s child?"
She ant every word. Beside her, Sephera started to speak but fell silent, instead supporting the archwitch’s decision: "Indeed, by human custom, Master’s age is right for siring children."
Theresa nodded and looked toward the others, seeking affirmation.
In tis past, her word was law. The others held their objections and complied as told.
But things were different now.
"I must disagree."
Hattie lifted her head, blue eyes steadily eting Theresa’s, as if she weren’t directly challenging the archwitch’s authority: "Amazon won are wild and unrestrained—and if the child is a girl, they keep her as their own. The father has no claim."
"So, while beautiful and strong, they are absolutely unsuited as proper mothers."
Saying this, she fixed her gaze on Ruth. "No matter which Amazon you compare—so of us would be far better choices."
"For instance, Lady Anno, who’s been visiting Master lately. Noble birth, spotless reputation. We ought to seek a more dignified mother for Master’s child—not a pack of self-indulgent she-pirates."
At this, Sephera’s eyebrow shot up. She’d recently been badly mocked by Anno—or, well, so she’d imagined—and regarded the knight most poorly. Now, as Hattie brought her up, resentnt flickered in her eyes.
Under Hattie’s insistent stare, Ruth dredged up mories of the royal wife-selection ordeal (and the sixteen decapitated kings), and nodded quietly: "True, Amazons may not be the best match."
A tense two-on-two standoff arose at once. Ekta quivered at the back, relieved at having no say—and thus, no risk of being forced to take a side.
Then all the witches turned to the last eligible vote: "Sophia, what’s your opinion?"
At that mont, the most learned of the witches, Sophia’s vote would determine their course tonight.
At last, Sophia stepped forward into the center, squaring her shoulders: "I believe we need more information before making any decisive move tonight."
Taking command, she beca the focus of all eyes. "Andny, watch the bird eggs the Amazons are eating—see if their yolks contain rose-red threads?"
Frightened by the rising discord, Andny at last dared to speak: "They do, but it looks more like blood to ..."
"Good, then all’s well." Sophia nodded, then gazed around at her sisters. "Everyone can rest easy. Their supper consists of special tribal tonics, reserved for only the most honored of n."
"In short, these dishes can permanently enhance a man’s fertility—allowing him to impregnate more Amazons and father more exceptional offspring."
Her poise was commanding, as if she were already the monastery’s true sovereign. She pronounced: "So let them be. Tonight is a rare and fortunate event for Master."
Dawn, the next morning.
Charles awoke from deep, dreamless sleep, roused by a gentle kiss upon his lips. Before he could open his eyes, a contented woman’s voice chirped, "Good morning, dear Charles—priest."
He opened his eyes at once, and caught his first glimpse of the chaos left in the room.
Naked Amazon won sprawled haphazardly over the straw mats, their bronze bodies shining with every kind of lingering secret—remnants of last night’s wild revels, evidence of just how unbridled and mad the feast had been.
Not a shred of coverlet on them. With bodies hardened since childhood by rigorous training, catching a chill was the last thing they feared.
Yet the voice was not theirs. Charles turned his head and found Porter, already dressed, calmly watching him.
Her lips bore a gentle smile, as if she were the doting wife, tending to her husband’s waking.
But the mory of last night’s near-manic ordeal was still vivid; Charles shook his head repeatedly: "No more! There’s truly not a drop left in !"
After Porter had sated herself, the other Amazons had each taken their turn with wild abandon—until at last they’d collapsed, satisfied, into sleep.
Unlike Porter, whose skill left much to be desired, so of the others were seasoned pros. By the end, Charles felt he was running on empty. Whatever they’d mixed into last night’s at, though, must have been powerful—for even after the last Amazon fell, he’d remained as vigorous as ever.
Recalling the scene in hindsight made his heart race with dread. Now, seeing Porter’s smiling lips, his first reaction was to refuse outright.
At his look of dread, Porter cocked her head: "Really? Let see..."
She reached under his body, gently teasing him. Instantly, his ’sleeping dragon’ awoke—boldly pointing at the woman who dared taunt it.
Charles couldn’t help but hold his forehead slightly, while Porter chuckled smugly: "Seems you’re still brimming with energy!"
Yet, despite her words, she did not further tornt him. Instead, she gathered his clothes, preparing to get up for the day.
Charles heaved a sigh, then asked, "Is this how you Amazons practice your seed-taking rituals? So many, taking turns to tornt just —isn’t that dangerous?"
He’d heard of the Seed-Taking Tradition, but always one-on-one—never like what happened last night.
"Usually, no. Everyone gets her pick, and shares with no one." Porter grinned. "After all, one woman’s taste is rarely another’s."
She reached to cradle Charles’s face: "But you’re special. More than one of us has her eye on you. That’s why you received the full attention of so many female warriors."
"So, what do you think? Isn’t it nice, having us all like you?"
Charles rolled his eyes. "So none of you mind if I die in the process?"
"Not at all—we took precautions." Porter laughed softly. "The cost of all the food and drink you had last night—truth be told, not even that house you sold would’ve covered it."
"We saved up ingredients for ages to plan this revel. You’re the man we all chose. Of course we wouldn’t let you co to harm."
Charles tilted his head and rolled his eyes again: "But I still can’t help feeling wronged—it really felt like I was going to die last night..."
Porter spread her arms, pulling him back into her embrace. "Don’t worry, we know our limits."
"Relax! As compensation, I’ll help you find buyers for those houses you’re selling. You’ll make a huge profit."
With this promise, Charles finally felt a shred of solace. Then another question ca to mind. He hesitated: "So, if you or your sisters actually conceive my child..."
"If it’s a boy, we’ll send him to you. Girls, we keep ourselves." Porter answered at once, her smile fading. She released him, leveled her eyes at his, and spoke with grave seriousness, "It’s an ancient tribal tradition—so, if it’s a girl, don’t expect to see her again, or to ever hear her call you ’father’."
She’d never gone through such things herself, but from remarks in the sisters’ ordinary gossip, she understood that for n from patriarchal cultures, being told they’d never see their own daughter, never hear themselves called "father," could be deeply hurtful.
Even for a daughter.
For them, no matter their own preferences, so n felt personally challenged by this. After a seed-taking, countless Amazon won had fallen out with the fathers of their daughters for precisely this reason.
At the ntion of this tradition, Porter’s deanor turned solemn.
"...Very well, I’ll respect your tradition." Charles dismissed the thought for now, then turned away, avoiding further eye contact.
But he certainly had his own opinions.
As if! Once the ancient sea-god wakes and your tribes face obliteration, and your War God tucks tail and flees, forced to rely on my strength—let’s see what becos of your precious traditions, and whether my daughter will call ’Papa’ after all.
As a player, he’d skipped many plot scenes in the ga, but he still knew the true cause, strength, and ramifications of the final bosses. If anything, it hardly bothered him how stubborn these won might be—for in the end, their own queen would be begging outsiders for help.
All that, however, depended on whether he had the strength.
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