In an instant, Sophia’s expression froze. Her pupils contracted to pinpricks.
"What did you say?!"
As rage overtook her, the soft flagella on her pedipalps hardened into steel needles, piercing his skin and leaving dozens of crimson gashes across his face!
His eardrums ruptured instantly.
Blood trickled from his face and ears. The agony nearly jolted him back to awareness—but Sophia’s overwhelming magic power still crushed his consciousness rcilessly.
Fortunately, at that mont, Hattie’s voice suddenly rang out from behind: "Sister, what are you doing here?"
Sophia whipped her head around, her stern gaze locking onto the newcor. "Hattie!"
But then, rembering the outsider present, she silently chanted an incantation. "Sleep."
The spell took hold. Charles felt a wave of crushing drowsiness hit him. He slumped back into his chair, then collapsed onto the table, sinking into deep slumber.
In the doorway, Hattie frowned, her voice sharp with displeasure. "Sister, how could you lay hands on my food?"
She was genuinely alard. Through the Pact, she had sensed the other party’s power surge, siphoning a portion of her magic—likely a sign of Charles’ sudden strength increase. She had rushed over imdiately.
Yet, she never expected to walk into this.
So, she struck first, questioning Sophia’s motives.
Unshaken, Sophia turned back to Hattie, her tone icy. "I should be asking you, Hattie. Why did you reveal our secret—that we’re witches—to this human?"
The color drained from Hattie’s face. But under Sophia’s piercing glare, she chose to yield, scrambling to smooth things over. "I... I’m sorry, Sister. It slipped out by accident..."
Her brain raced for an excuse. "I planned to kill him too, but not yet. As for why... well..."
Sophia watched her coldly.
Hattie pressed her lips together, then spoke with renewed resolve. "It’s... because I still need him."
Sophia’s eyes narrowed slightly, her anger cooling. "You an... the Night of the Witches?"
Hattie’s heart still pounded, but she played along, noncommittal. "You know how it is. This ti, I... failed to sense the Night’s approach."
"I’m desperate. I’ll try anything."
Her words gained montum, weaving a convincing front. "And him? He’s an... unconventional strategy. I’m not sure it’ll work, but it’s worth a try."
"My dear Sister, you’re the one I trust most. I’d never breathe a word of this to the others. You’ve endured the Night more than anyone—surely you understand my confusion... my terror?"
Seeing the usually unshakable Hattie wear such a pleading expression softened Sophia’s heart.
Yet her words remained stern. "Still. You never should’ve revealed we’re witches. One misstep, and the entire monastery pays the price."
Hattie’s eyes glead—she’d won ground. Relief flickered in her chest. "Sister, dearest Sister, don’t fret. My spells hold firm. The man’s already broken, wrapped in my illusions. He’ll never speak a word."
"You have my word - every ounce of my attention has been on him these days. Nothing will go wrong."
She kept making these solemn promises until finally, Sophia’s tone softened. "As long as you know what you’re doing, Hattie. I hope you survive this Night of the Witches."
Hattie nodded repeatedly. "Yes, you too. Oh, don’t worry - after the Night of the Witches, I’ll co find you imdiately. I’ll bring you back to the monastery and help you recover so of those lost mories."
From her conversations with Charles, she knew Sophia’s greatest fear was losing control due to mory losses. Addressing this concern was guaranteed to move the witch.
"Ah, Hattie, my good sister." True enough, Sophia smiled again and nodded. "Then you have my thanks in advance."
With these words, Sophia bid Hattie farewell and departed.
Only when Sophia was well out of sight did Hattie finally exhale in relief. She imdiately rushed to the scriptorium and gently shook Charles. "Master! Wake up, Master!"
His once handso face now looked horrifying. Though the wounds had scabbed over, the crimson gashes remained shocking. His ears were clogged with congealed blood.
This pitiful sight made Hattie’s heart hesitate.
Her nun’s wimple slipped away as her long hair reverted to its true form—slender, ink-green tentacles that fluttered across the desks before finally retrieving Charles’s Witherbloom Prir.
Then, she poured her magic into it, casting Cure Wounds spells upon him recklessly, as if they cost nothing.
Fortunately, magic proved reliable. After several spells flooded his body, the scabs on his face slowly peeled away, revealing fresh, unblemished skin beneath. The clotted blood in his ears dried into dust, and the damaged canals and eardrums healed perfectly.
Thankfully, the treatnt had been tily—no scars remained, nor any permanent hearing damage. Otherwise, re 1st-level Cure Wounds wouldn’t have sufficed; they’d have needed a 5th-level Greater Restoration!
Charles stirred awake, residual pain echoing in his ears and mind. Seeing the teary-eyed Hattie beside him, he blinked in confusion. "Hattie? You... uh... I think Sophia was here earlier? Is she gone?"
He glanced around but found nothing.
Hattie sighed. "Sophia hypnotized you, Master. And... she learned many of our secrets."
Charles stiffened. "What did she ask? What did I say?"
"She knows you’re aware I’m a witch," Hattie murmured. "But I convinced her you’re just a madman under my illusions—that everything’s under control. That’s the only reason she didn’t kill you."
"Still... the situation isn’t ideal. At best, we’ve only delayed the danger until after this Night of the Witches..."
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