This was a large-scale control spell. Anyone without ironclad willpower would instantly succumb to deep, magical slumber.
And now, deep into the night, exhaustion weighed heavy on these Xanathar’s Guild thugs. The adrenaline of the chase couldn’t fight the fatigue any longer.
Charles’ spell was the final straw.
Almost instantly, the reinforcements at the far end of the alley collapsed mid-stride, arrows still nocked.
Torches and weapons clattered to the ground, forgotten. All they wanted now was to sink into the dirt and sleep.
Good. One side cleared.
Charles exhaled—but the remaining gangsters were already upon him. As he turned, crossbow bolts whizzed toward his back!
At this range, the shots were precise—but futile. The first bolt splintered against Blade Ward’s shimmer. The second grazed his Mage Armor, losing momentum before harmlessly dropping.
False Life had already soaked the damage. A 1st-level spell, but enough to shrug off the attack.
The thugs faltered. "He’s warded! Chel, loose another volley!"
"Wait—why isn’t Chel’s group advancing?!"
Then, peering around the corner, they froze.
The scream shattered their courage. Ice flooded their veins.
Six—no, seven men. Slaughtered without a sound.
In their stunned hesitation, Charles acted. His spellbook thumped to the ground as he yanked another from his pack—"Lorehold Primer."
He had practiced this many times in the monastery, and was already very familiar with changing spellbooks. And the book contained another powerful offensive spell, Burning Hands!
A sixty-degree arc of searing flames, extending six meters in a deadly fan that ignited everything combustible in its path.
"Burn in hell, scum!"
Charles whirled around, extending his right hand. Without needing an incantation, a torrent of blazing fire erupted from his palm—
The narrow alley offered no escape. Except for one exceptionally cautious crossbowman who had kept his distance, the inferno engulfed them all.
Instantly, the gangsters’ clothes and hair burst into flames. The excruciating pain tore horrific screams from their throats: "Aaaargh—!"
Terror shattered what remained of their morale. Blazing like human torches, they fled in panic, abandoning all thought of combat.
The lone surviving crossbowman, seeing his companions routed, lost all will to fight. He threw down his light crossbow and joined the frantic retreat.
Just like that, the battle ended.
Charles exhaled in relief, choosing not to pursue the fleeing gangsters who would bear severe burns if they survived. Leaning against the wooden planks of the shack, he gasped for air.
Time to move. Who knew when Ruth might come after him again...
Supporting himself against the wall, he walked past the slumbering men, studying their identities. His eyebrows shot up when he spotted a familiar massive eye tattoo.
Hmm... Xanathar’s Guild again?
Tch. Talk about bad luck crossing paths with them.
Well, they were just cannon fodder in the game anyway. With all those treasures in the beholder’s lair, he’d have to clear it out eventually. No harm done starting the conflict now.
Losing interest in the thugs, he took another step forward when his body suddenly froze. His brow furrowed.
Wait. Where was Ruth?
Turning around, he was shocked to find no sign of the witch behind him.
Had she given up the chase?
Had she found new prey in these Xanathar’s Guild thugs, her bloodlust driving her after easier targets?
Hiss... Did that mean he was safe for now?
But... he couldn’t just leave Ruth unchecked.
An out-of-control witch could cause catastrophic damage. Her earlier feat of instantly killing seven or eight gangsters and decapitating them proved that much.
Even in these lawless slums, too many deaths at once would shake all of Liberl Port - enough to draw attention from major churches, Blackstaff Tower, even the Open Lord himself!
When that happened, the monastery’s secret of harboring witches would be exposed, and he’d be implicated for sure!
The monastery was his stronghold. Without it, his advantage would be gone. In this world teeming with monsters, what chance did a physically weak average human like him have to survive?
So he had to go after Ruth.
Especially since he’d already purified her halfway - no reason to abandon the effort now.
One Shield, one False Life, and one Sleep - three 1st-level spells totaling six Spell Slots. He was completely drained.
For the next hour, he’d have no combat strength whatsoever - couldn’t even cast Longstrider on himself.
In this state, how could he hope to catch up to Ruth, let alone tame her?
Wait an hour for his Spell Slots to replenish?
Who knew what might happen in that time, or where Ruth might have gone by then.
Powerless yet unable to wait, Charles’ mood darkened as he considered his predicament.
Was he really reduced to waiting here helplessly?
Refusing to accept this, he pulled up his system interface, desperately searching for a solution.
But when the attributes panel appeared, his pupils suddenly contracted.
Current Spell Slots: 3/6.
Shock flooded his mind.
He’d clearly cast three spells, and 1st-level spells always consumed two Spell Slots each - he’d tested this repeatedly! How could three remain?
Confused, he stared at the panel, his breathing ragged.
Then, before his eyes, the number "3" flickered... and became "4."
Another Spell Slot restored?
What’s going on? Why?
He didn’t understand. Frantically scrolling through the panel, he finally spotted a new line of fine text in the status bar:
Magic Power Plentiful: Due to the influence of the Night of the Witches, your soul-bound ally and Pact patron, Hattie, is channeling her excess magic power to you. Until the Night of the Witches ends, you regain 1 Spell Slot per minute.
Charles suddenly understood.
So that’s it. Damn, something actually exists?!
Does that mean tonight, my mana pool is infinite? I can go wild without a care?
At this realization, Charles couldn’t help but burst into laughter.
So that’s it. That means tonight is my absolute domain!
Well then, I’ve got nothing to worry about!
Overjoyed, he watched as his "Current Spell Slots" ticked up once more—now 5.
Without another second of delay, he cast Blade Ward and False Life on himself, then pulled out his spellbook to add Armor of Agathys and Longstrider.
With everything in place, he turned back with blazing determination.
All he had to do was follow the corpses and bloodstains—he would find Ruth’s trail!