The milky light quickly faded as Charles opened his attributes panel. In truth, not much had changed—his mana bar increased from 27 to 32, and a new class feature appeared: "Accursed Specter."
The effect of this class feature was simple: it allowed him to bind the greatly weakened soul of a creature he killed, turning it into a ghost to serve him.
Whether for battle or other tasks, it would obey.
After all, Hexblade is a class wielding power drawn from the Shadowfell, so commanding a ghostly servant was only natural.
Still, even with this ability, Charles had no intention of killing a living person rely to create a ghost slave on the spot. But the ability wouldn’t go to waste; he already had a perfectly suitable candidate in mind.
The ghost Agatha, boarding that pink diamond ring, was clearly the best choice.
Currently, this ghost was so weak she could not manifest in the real world. She could only invade people’s dreams, attacking within them and draining soul energy to recover her strength.
However, because her power was so feeble, the least mistake could result in her prey turning the tables—just as in that night in the Rockseeker camp, when Charles, Ruth, and Sephera all managed to drive Agatha out, and Charles even purified her in the dream, enslaving her to his will...
Ahem!
Regardless, due to extre weakness, this female ghost had never made a true appearance in the real world, only appearing occasionally in ergencies to assist Charles in battle—though never in any high-level encounters. For example, when he purified Theresa, Agatha had not joined at all.
But now, with his new feature, once he returned to the monastery and reclaid the ring, he could finally allow this female ghost to walk the world again.
Hmm... For the mont, the Agatha ring was still at the monastery, worn by one of the witches remaining behind. Every night, the ring invaded Nidalee’s dreams, distorting her thoughts.
So, on this trip back, it seed the training would finally be complete?
At the thought, Charles felt a surge of anticipation.
For Nidalee to endure such relentless tornt yet refuse to yield, the truth surely went deeper than a re demonic invasion; it must relate to the vital interests of her own tribe.
Now, what could it be?
...
Inside the Dungeon.
It had been four days since Charles had departed.
For each of those four days, a different witch had co to tornt her. Every witch possessed a gorgeous countenance and graceful figure, always wearing a warm smile—but their thods of torture were more cruel than could be imagined!
Potent aphrodisiacs, crawling worms, smoking and roasting, forced mory readings... Each witch had mastered a unique technique, their thods jaw-dropping, their selection of secret tools giving Nidalee constant surprises and new forms of horror.
Nidalee, who had believed her will was already adamant, was almost pushed to ntal collapse over these few days. Add to this the nightly arrival of her spring dreams, each rekindling a unquenchable lust within her and leaving her body desperate for release.
This dual tornt of body and soul broke her will to resist. Her mind was occupied with only one thing—Charles, please co back, co back soon!
But in yearning, longing, and desperate pleading, a darker doubt lingered within her heart.
What if... Charles had never truly left, never gone to purify so undead-ridden island?
What if, instead, he had simply grown bored of her, tired of indulging her in those gas of pleasure and punishnt, and had chosen any excuse to abandon her forever?
After all, her own charisma could hardly compare to the tall, fair, and alluring witches.
She did not know, but whenever this possibility crossed her mind, terror coiled within her, nearly making her lose all hope.
Thus, the fifth day after Charles’s departure arrived. Nidalee woke from uneasy dreams, curling into the corner of her cell, unable to imagine what new torture awaited her today, nor how much longer she could last...
Thud, thud, thud...
The descent of footsteps echoed from above—the newest tornt was approaching. Nidalee shook with terror, her heart gripped so tightly by fear she nearly fainted—
Then, at the staircase at the end of the dungeon, that tall, familiar silhouette appeared once more: "I’m back, Nidalee."
The iron cell bars slid slowly aside and Charles stepped inside, an eager light of concern in his eyes. "How have these days treated you?"
As if she had just seen her savior, Nidalee’s pupils widened to their fullest and, unable to control herself any longer, she broke into sobs: "Waa—!"
He hadn’t abandoned her. He had spoken the truth!
He had truly purified the undead on that island and then co back for her!
A surge of overwhelming delight flooded her soul; even though the Dungeon was as dark and gloomy as ever, at that mont, Charles radiated a warm, white light that seed to illuminate her entire world!
She lunged at him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Charles—!"
"Don’t go, don’t ever leave —don’t leave behind again!"
All the grievance and agony of days past poured through her heart—her mind could no longer contain her emotion. "Please, I’ll do anything, anything you ask—please don’t leave , please don’t give back to them..."
Her wailing was all the proof needed of just how harsh her tornt had been. Charles gently stroked her long, dark, shining hair—and from the feedback flowing through the Dungeon, he was certain every emotion in her cry was absolutely genuine.
Good. The training was finally a complete success.
He breathed a silent sigh of relief, knowing that from today, this girl would be truly, completely his.
When Charles recalled the witches’ reports—how cruel their punishnts had been—he felt a rare twinge of sympathy. He stroked her hair a few more tis, then slipped both arms under her armpits and lifted her upright.
Due to her height, even standing she barely reached his shoulder. Charles had to bend slightly to et her tear-filled gaze, and whispered gently, "Don’t worry. From today forward, we’ll never be apart."
Charles looked deep into her eyes, his voice soft and soothing: "As your master, I will fulfill any wish you desire."
"So, Nidalee. Tell , what do you want most right now?"
Nidalee ceased her sobbing, surged forward, closed her eyes, and kissed him on the lips.
Charles returned the kiss without resistance, embracing her trembling form. He knew precisely what primal need consud her.
Inexperience rendered her clumsy—a novice fumbling without technique. Charles dominated their first kiss, tongue probing her mouth to tease her delicate muscle until she quivered helplessly.
Simultaneously, his hands slid beneath thin prison garb, caressing her taut abdon and slender waist, palms savoring velvety skin.
Her wheat-toned complexion spoke of heritage, not sun damage—a druid hunter preferring forest shadows over open combat.
Nidalee’s hands reciprocated feverishly, tugging at his shirt to explore defined musculature beneath, absorbing masculine heat and texture.
Perfection. Exactly as dreams foretold.
Countless nocturnal fantasies had played this mont, every contour morized. Now tangible reality reignited those mories.
Charles deepened their kiss, permitting her aggression while his palms journeyed upward to capture firm breasts.
No undergarnts hindered him—prison garb hung empty beneath. He cupped perky mounds, nipples already hardened peaks beneath his touch.
Though smaller than Amazons’, their springy resilience enthralled him. Nidalee shuddered as electric pleasure surged from sensitive tips, lting her resolve.
Their lips finally parted.
Gasping, she gazed up with lust-drenched eyes, cheeks flushed crimson. While Charles toyed with her chest, she’d fumbled desperately with his belt buckle—inexperience culminating in a hopeless knot.
Unperturbed, Charles summoned Pact of the Blade, slicing the restraint: "To the bed."
He moved to initiate, but Nidalee crouched instead, yanking down his trousers.
His thick cock sprang free, grazing her face. Unfazed, she stared transfixed—this treasure she’d fantasized about night after night.
Yes! Identical to her visions!
The very object of aching desire!
re recollection of dream-pleasure made her pussy flood. She opened small lips, engulfing his girth—
"Ah—" Charles groaned, seizing her hair to thrust deeper into her throat.
"Wurgh—!" Gagging erupted as his thickness breached her limits. She fought expulsion with her tongue, unknowingly intensifying his ecstasy.
"Cough! Cough-hack—!" Only when her distress peaked did Charles withdraw, saliva-slicked. Tearful accusation shone in her eyes.
Apologetic, Charles knelt embracing her: "The bed. Now."
He intimately understood her fantasy sequencing. Nidalee licked residual taste, defying again: "I prefer not beds."
Dreams always consummated on hillsides or fields.
Comprehending, Charles knelt on hay, swatting her rump: "Arch up!"
Blushing crimson yet unresisting, she presented herself without restraint—plump ass lifted high, glistening pussy lips spread in invitation.
She buried her face in straw. Charles gripped her hips, crown nudging virgin entrance before sheathing fully with brutal plunge—
"Oof—!"
"Ah—!" They groaned in unison—her pain, his satisfaction. Savoring fiery tightness, Charles drove deeper, thrusting with gathering force.
Nidalee gasped as her dream beca tactile: his thick cock stretching tender walls, burning ache yielding to rapturous friction. Charles pistoned steadily, each withdrawal coating his shaft in creamy wetness before reentry dragged quivering pleasure through her core. She convulsed—an orgasm already rising from the relentless stimulation of his girth.
Charles withdrew, flipping her effortlessly. Nidalee’s legs wrapped instinctively around his waist as he impaled her again, this position allowing deeper penetration. Her cries blended pain and ecstasy as he pounded upward, cockhead kissing her cervix with every stroke. Sweat-slicked bodies slapped rhythmically until Charles pulled out abruptly.
"Hands and knees!" he commanded. Glistening thighs trembled as she scrambled to obey, presenting dripping folds from behind. Charles spat into his palm, saring viscous fluid over his cock before spearing her anew. Her sharp cry dissolved into gasping whimpers as he established a punishing rhythm.
"Master... harder!" she begged mindlessly, her hips rocking to et his thrusts. He obliged, slamming into yielding flesh, fingers digging bruises into her hips. Nidalee’s third climax crested without warning—a silent scream tearing from her throat as her pussy clamped violently around the thick intrusion.
Charles seized her hair, yanking her head back. "Where do you take my cum, pet?"
"Inside—ah!—please fill , Master!" she sobbed. Guttural groans tore from him as hot jets erupted deep within her clutching passage, seed pulsing with each convulsive spurt.
Spent, they collapsed into sweat-slicked hay, chests heaving. Charles kissed her temple, fingers tracing possessive patterns on her hip. Nidalee curled against him, spent but blissful, his drying cum cooling on her inner thighs. She nestled closer, whispering against his shoulder: "Pure perfection..."
After their climax, the two lay naked together on the straw-covered ground, holding each other close, breath coming in rough gasps, their sweat-soaked skin pressing flush, unwilling to separate for even a mont.
Nidalee rested her head on Charles’s arm. She had never imagined there could be a day in her life as full and satisfying as this. anwhile, he caressed her breast, unable to take his hands off of her, though he didn’t forget his true purpose: "So, now you can tell —the real reason your tribe wants the Holy Sword Fragnt?"
Nidalee lowered her head; at that mont, her heart was a maelstrom of conflicting feelings and her mind troubled with countless tangled thoughts: her father’s expectations, her tribe’s inheritance, the demons’ pollution, the fate of the mountains, arranged marriages, her own desires...
But finally, she chose to let all thoughts go, and replied softly, "Yes, it’s to... purify the Earth Dragon that has been polluted."
Charles raised an eyebrow. "Earth Dragon?"
In this world, there are chromatic dragons, tallic dragons, and gem dragons—five types each. Besides them, there are also three legendary kinds of dragons. But no matter how much he thought about it, Charles had never heard of an "Earth Dragon."
Unless...
"Is it a creature from the Plane of Earth? An Elental?" he asked.
Nidalee nodded slightly, and for so reason, finding Charles knew this made her relax. "Yes, Master, you are truly well-learned."
"That ’Earth Dragon’ is, in essence, a lizard-shaped being with not particularly high intelligence—an earth elental lord. About a hundred years ago, to fight off the armies of the Empire of Sein that invaded our mountains and forests, my ancestor signed a contract with it. Our tribe would offer it a tribute every year, and in return, it would fight to defend the mountain woods."
"It is thanks to this being that the Mountaineer tribe has remained strong to this day. Not even the so-called Blackstaff Tower would dare to casually provoke us."
As she said this, a touch of pride crossed her face. But soon, that expression faded to gloom. "However, since the Night of the Witches several months ago, sothing has gone wrong with the Earth Dragon."
"Our best guess is that so tribes ignored the old laws of the mountains and summoned demons to the material world. Corruption and demonic madness began to spread throughout the mountains, and our Earth Dragon was, unfortunately, polluted."
"For these past months, it’s been sliding ever closer to insanity, completely unable to fight. Even my father spends much of each day just trying to soothe its mood..."
Her voice grew dim. "Our tribe’s greatest weapon is on the very brink of going out of control. That secret absolutely cannot be exposed. Otherwise, even if Blackstaff Tower does nothing, the enemy tribes in the forest—and any number of reckless opportunists—would see us ruined..."
Charles nodded thoughtfully. "I understand. Hm... The Earth Dragon—just how high is its challenge rating?"
Nidalee looked startled, then shook her head slightly. "That, I don’t know. I have dealt with Adventurers at the Rockseeker camp before, but... honestly, I don’t really understand how those experts from the Adventurer’s Guild determine the challenge rating for such powerful elentals."
"So monsters that seem easy to , they’ll rate extrely high..."
Charles scratched his head; he didn’t really get it either. Their Monster Manual’s ratings always seed at least a bit outrageous...
Nevertheless, he comforted her softly: "Don’t worry, honestly, nobody really understands their system—not even them, I’d bet."
"But is there any reference? For example, what kinds of foes has it defeated? Or—how strong is your father? Compared to this Earth Dragon?"
Nidalee considered for a mont. "My father holds the title of Archdruid, and by his own admission, he’s no match for the Earth Dragon at all..."
Charles’s eyes went wide, pupils narrowing. "Archdruid? That’s—twentieth level, the peak for druids?!"
Real Adventurers advanced by training, improving their own strength, and then taking a class guild test to confirm their level—the complete opposite of how Charles leveled up instantly via his system.
"Yes." When Nidalee saw how shocked Charles was, a proud look returned. "My father is a once-in-a-century genius of the Mountaineer tribe, second only to the ancestor who first signed the contract with the Earth Dragon."
"All of us hope that one day, my father might even break through to legendary status—becoming the first true legendary druid in Mountaineer tribe history!"
She bead with pride, and at that mont, Charles had a sudden insight. "Wait—what druidic circle does your father belong to?"
"Of course—Circle of the Land," Nidalee replied. "Everything I know of druidry, I learned from him."
Instantly, Charles breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank goodness—then there’s nothing to worry about."
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