anwhile, down in the basent, two guards laid Charles out on a small blanket spread on the floor before turning to leave. Ammalia Cassalanter made her way down alone, stopping in front of a wall where she quietly recited a magical incantation. The wall silently slid open, revealing the family’s hidden chamber.
Ammalia was first to step inside. Instantly, the blanket beneath Charles lifted on its own, floating gently into the chamber, carrying him in.
Inside, a massive mirror stood in the center of the room. Reflected inside, a towering devil turned his head to look this way. "You’ve brought him?"
Ammalia bowed quickly. "Yes, my lord. I’ve had him slumbered—he won’t wake before morning."
"Now, let’s finally unravel his secrets!"
The devil in the mirror nodded, then stepped out from its surface. He didn’t take on his true, three-ter form—this basent’s ceiling was far too low for that.
Instead, he disguised himself as a roughly six-foot cambion and walked up to Charles. "All I need is a single drop of his blood," he said, "and I’ll be able to analyze almost his entire bloodline."
Who he intended this for was anyone’s guess. Charles, laying motionless on the flying carpet, didn’t react at all. The cambion reached out, conjuring blue glacial crystals that quickly ford into a slender scalpel—specially made for bloodletting rituals.
He pressed the scalpel to Charles’s palm, slicing open a vein. A bead of jet-black blood welled up. Invisible magic instantly captured the drop, Charles’s wound healing instantly while the cambion tilted his head, pupils flashing with arcane light as he scanned the blood, probing for components and origin.
Ammalia stood nearby, head bowed, not daring even to breathe heavily. The devil had given her the magic power she’d always craved, and his overwhelming presence made her see him as her master. There was no way she’d ever risk disrespect.
Seconds ticked by—the chamber was deathly silent. The cambion, calling himself phistopheles, began to pace slowly, expression growing more and more puzzled. "That... can’t be right..."
Finally, around ten minutes later, the magical gleam faded from his eyes. "Well, that’s unexpected... I wasn’t expecting this result at all..."
Behind him, a voice suddenly rang out: "What’s the verdict on my bloodline?"
Ammalia spun, horror-stricken. Charles still lay on that flying carpet, but was propping his chin up, smiling playfully at the two of them.
The plump matriarch staggered back half a step, full of anxious disbelief. "Y-you—when did you wake up?!"
phistopheles, on the other hand, stayed perfectly calm. "Oh? Finally dropping the act?"
He’d already realized Charles hadn’t actually passed out. His previous "casual remarks" were ant to keep Charles relaxed—to let him draw that drop of blood for inspection.
Charles didn’t mind the free blood test, so he hadn’t blown his cover imdiately either. Now that it was out in the open, he grinned. "Well, since you noticed, what’s the point in pretending anymore?"
Truth was, he’d never lost consciousness. Thanks to the essence Sephera once shared with him, Charles was now basically immune to all toxins—so the sleeping poison Ammalia bought had no effect.
If not for Sephera’s whispered heads-up, he wouldn’t have known he’d been drugged at all. To see what the Cassalanters were plotting, he simply pretended to have fainted and let himself be carried to their lair.
Now, it was ti for a face-to-face showdown with the real puppetmaster.
"You... You actually deceived !" Ammalia’s first shock gave way to outrage. "You—you despicable fraud!"
Charles just frowned, barely bothering to look at her, and turned to phistopheles. "Would you mind telling your mutt to quiet down? I’d like so peace for our conversation."
phistopheles shook his head. "No can do."
Charles sighed. "Alright then, could you at least tell what you found in my bloodline? As the owner, I think I have a right to know."
phistopheles tilted his head thoughtfully. "That’s fair. Well, there’s one piece of good news and one piece of bad news. Which do you want first?"
On the side, Ammalia’s rage beca so intense her chest heaved like a set of bellows—the fact that these two ignored her presence only making her angrier.
But since phistopheles was mid-conversation, she didn’t dare speak up. Boiling with hatred, all she could do was glare daggers at Charles.
Charles’s eyes lit up. "Good news first."
phistopheles nodded. "The good news is, your bloodline is absolutely packed with the ancient, noble, and powerful. There’s traces from the archmages of the ancient Sein Empire, legendary generals, ancient silver dragons, even blessed warriors and magical heirs from the southern sea isles. All of them left their mark on your blood."
Charles nodded. That didn’t surprise him. The Empire of Sein had conquered so much territory over the years—their genetic spread had absorbed countless others, so it was no shock he’d inherited bits from all sorts of strong bloodlines.
phistopheles continued, "The bad news: every single one of those bloodlines is extrely faint—so diluted that none reach the threshold for awakening, or gaining real power."
He looked a shade regretful. "In other words, unless you had so crazy stroke of luck, you’d never unlock those powers in this lifeti."
Charles looked mildly disappointed. "Is that so? Pity, I was hoping I’d get so kind of power boost out of it."
phistopheles now looked curious. "Which makes wonder—where did your actual power co from?"
"With such an unremarkable bloodline, and no recorded magical training, how did you end up so ridiculously strong?"
Charles smiled. "You want to know?"
phistopheles grinned. "Sure. Will you tell ?"
Charles nodded. "Why wouldn’t I?"
He continued, "Honestly, the main reason is, I read and study magic every day for at least four hours, train physically for just as long, and then purify fiends and undead like you. That’s how I get stronger."
He lifted his hands, shrugging. "That’s the core of how I went from ordinary person to what I am now."
The cambion on the other side just stared at him, looking completely mystified. He paused, thinking things through, before finally nodding. "Oh, so, basically, you must have signed a contract with so unknown powerful being."
"You complete its tasks—purging fiends—and it rewards you with power, right?"
Ammalia suddenly blurted, "So you’re a warlock? Wait, does that an your patron is so kind of celestially aligned fiend-hater?"
Charles blinked, then shrugged. "Uh, if that helps you sleep at night, sure."
Oddly, that gave him pause: his relationship with the system was actually a little like being a warlock and patron.
Hmm. Could the system, in this world, really be so massive entity so bent on exterminating evil it just boots up and rewards those who do the dirty work? Sothing like the great engines in chanus?
No—even those legendary engines couldn’t mimic what the system could do, like deleting demon souls outright.
So...
Just what on earth was the system?
He didn’t have an answer, thoughts swirling. Across from him, phistopheles let out a sigh, visibly disappointed. "So that’s it... I half hoped there’d be sothing truly special in your bloodline behind all this power..."
But the cambion soon regained his composure, turning elegant once more. "But I do have another question, dear Mr. Charles: On that day, just how did you erase Regolas’s soul?"
Charles spread his hands. "Don’t ask —I only have the power granted by that ’mysterious entity’ of yours. Any fiend or undead, soul wiped clean. That’s just the way it is."
He fixed the cambion with a light smile. "Yes—you included. You’re next."
The cambion mused, "You’re confident. I was considering negotiating, but really, if you’re dealing with such powerful beings, I have nothing to bargain with."
He rolled his wrists, clearly preparing for battle. "No matter. As long as I capture you and dissect your soul, I’ll have all my answers."
Ammalia panicked, turning to glare at the devil. "Wait, you’re going to kill him? That wasn’t part of the deal—!"
The cambion snapped at her, "Fool—when did I say I’d kill him? We need to subdue him, break his mind, make him our puppet!"
"Drop your little sches. He’s the hero who banished the Abyssal Lord! If he escapes with secrets of this place, neither of us will live it down!"
His words awakened a deep terror in Ammalia. Gritting her teeth, she turned her rage on Charles. "Freeze into an ice sculpture!"
Whoosh—
Without even casting a spell aloud, she raised her hand, and an endless frigid wind manifested, trying to envelope Charles in an icy tomb.
But Charles just chanted, "AbsorbElents!"
Buzz—
All that frost was instantly swallowed up, Ammalia’s attack nullified. He shot her a mocking glance. "Maybe you’re good at noble intrigue, but when it cos to magic, you’d be fodder for first-year students."
He raised his left hand, bracers of illusion gleaming, forming a complex gesture. "I, on the other hand, have you outclassed. Eldritch Blast!"
Four massive beams of arcane energy shot toward Ammalia Cassalanter. The plump matriarch’s hair stood on end—her earlier pride in her newfound power was gone, replaced by pure, naked terror.
She was so paralyzed she didn’t even try to summon a defense.
It was the cambion who intervened, rapidly intoning, "Vortex Warp!"
As the words left his mouth, the space around Ammalia distorted into a raging vortex. Her heavyset body was helpless as she was sucked in and teleported away—destination unknown.
Charles’s Eldritch Blasts struck the wall where she stood.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Chunks of stone and earth were blasted apart, forming huge craters, debris scattering chaotically in every direction.
Charles turned to the cambion, a little surprised. "Not bad!"
He recognized the spell: Vortex Warp, a 2nd-level spell for instant relocation. But the casting ti was way too fast. He must have paired it with a Quickened Spell tamagic feat!
The cambion gave a placid smile. "It’s a cheap trick—not worth ntioning."
But his eyes grew sharper. "It’s more than enough against you."
A chill of killing intent radiated from his eyes, a pressure so heavy that Charles’s body trembled!
"Absorb Elents!"
On pure reflex Charles called out his own spell even as, in the next second, a torrent of frigid energy assaulted him, nearly freezing him solid.
This cambion... his spellcasting was strong!
Gritting his teeth against the pressure, Charles yanked out his staff, quickly invoking Hexblade’s Curse: "hexblade’scurse!"
A hateful sigil settled over the cambion, as four glowing magic circles spun open behind Charles—then four more, then eight, using Quickened Spell to multiply his output!
There was only one choice now—the sa brute-force blitz he’d used to blow up Montport: seize the pace of the fight by sheer aggression!
Yet, even going all-out, the cambion kept his cool, shield up, magic flickering. Most of the Eldritch Blasts skimd harmlessly by; those that hit fizzled on his magical defenses.
But Charles hadn’t been counting on blasts alone. He dashed like lightning, closing the gap, and in a flash, his twin-bladed polearm appeared in his grasp.
He brought it down in a savage chop. "Purified!"
During the earlier chat, he’d secretly cast buffs from his spellbook—Longstrider, False Life, and more—so now he was faster, tougher, and perfectly prid for lee in a cramped chamber.
"Misty Step!"
In a breath, the cambion disappeared in a puff of smoke, reappearing behind Charles, five ters away.
He gazed at the white light glinting on Charles’s weapon, obvious shock on his face: "This... no, that’s not right, it shouldn’t be, that’s against the laws of Order..."
He mumbled to himself, as if he’d just stumbled onto sothing inconceivable. Charles turned to face him, heart racing, as his sense of pressure surged. This guy... was a major headache.
Was he even Regolas’s boss, rather than an equal?
Was Ammalia Cassalanter really worth having the Nine Hells send soone this powerful to her ho?
Doesn’t matter. No more overthinking—this enemy was clearly out of his weight class...
"Theresa!" Charles shouted. "Take him out!"
He knew brute-forcing magic duels wasn’t his forte—if the gap was this serious, it was ti to tag in his ace support.
Almost before he finished speaking, a bright light flashed above—a space-jumping "Blink" spell revealing Theresa in the chamber.
Still wearing her regal white nun’s habit, her stunning face was serious as ever. She’d co along tonight, hiding in the shadows; if Charles handled things, she’d stay out of the way. If he faced trouble, she was ready to fight.
Clearly, she recognized their adversary’s strength. Without wasting a second, she raised her hand, unleashing a seventh-level Prismatic Spray: "Prismatic Spray!"
Buzz——
A brilliant rainbow of energy filled the room, engulfing the cambion entirely.
Phew...
Charles stepped back, glancing up at Theresa’s graceful figure, his heart pounding. Even with an archwitch on his side, he didn’t feel any safer—the sense of crisis only grew.
Gradually, the blazing rainbow vanished. Charles focused his gaze, and saw that the cambion was standing unhard, as if the 7th-level spell had barely touched him.
Before him, an invisible wall—splitting the space in two.
At once, Charles recognized the spell.
Wall of Force!
It blocked every kind of power: divine, arcane, psionic, nature, chaos—nearly unbeatable for defense!
Charles’s expression soured. This cambion really was a Mage who’d mastered magic to its peak—his command of these spells was simply terrifying.
But, even Wall of Force had its weaknesses...
"Theresa, tear this place down!" he growled. "Expand the battlefield—fight him sowhere bigger!"
Wall of Force was strong, but with two flaws: it couldn’t move, and its area was limited! In a cramped place like this basent, it was a nightmare—but if they blew the chamber wide open, the shield would be almost useless.
He may not have had many high-level spells, but his tactical mind and dueling experience were enough to tilt the balance for Theresa!
~~~
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