Witch Monastery

Chapter 411: Shapiro’s Repentance

Nymeria hurriedly patted Hanni’s back and handed her a waterskin. The little one gulped down several mouthfuls, finally washing the food down her throat, then looked up with an exhausted sigh. "Ah, thank you!"

Charles looked down critically at the little girl, a faint suspicion in his mind. Something just seemed unreliable about her.

Hmm... Whatever, she’s an elf, after all. As long as we keep an eye on her, nothing major should go wrong.

Thinking this, he didn’t show any impatience, just instructed Nymeria to look after the little sister, then went back to fiddling with his own tent.

At the back, Hattie and Theresa had been silently watching all along, but hadn’t stepped in.

Now, seeing Charles finish dealing with the issue, Hattie leaned in, whispering in his ear, "Master, are you really planning on keeping that Dark Elf here in camp with us?"

Charles turned and glanced again at Hanni, who was chatting with Nymeria, and frowned a little.

"It’s fine. The difference in strength is obvious. With Nymeria around, keeping tabs on her won’t be difficult."

"Don’t worry about it. Let’s get some rest."

With that, he officially left Hanni to Nymeria’s watch and pitched his tent, lit the fire, threw together a simple dinner, and distributed it to the refugees. Once it was all hurriedly settled, he pulled out his everflowing water bottle and took turns with the others to wash up a ways off.

Only when everything was finally handled did he crawl into his tent to rest.

The others started getting ready to sleep too. Adele was about to head into her own tent when Willo called out to her, "Adele!"

She turned, seeing her mother’s calm face. "Still not feeling well? Why don’t you sleep with me tonight?"

Adele stared, not knowing what to make of her mother’s expression—it gave nothing away. She remembered how, all this time, her mother had maintained that calm and sincere druidic serenity. It made her deeply, painfully aware that everything she’d seen and heard that night had come from her mother’s pure, honest heart.

But she couldn’t help recalling just half an hour ago, when Charles, bathed in radiant light, had walked forward to save the mountain people who’d been enslaved by the orcs. Adele couldn’t help but wonder—when demons roamed the hills, had her mother also felt the same despair as those prisoners?

And in that moment, had Charles’s presence felt to her mother like a beam of light, shattering the darkness and hopelessness?

Putting herself in that position, Adele grudgingly admitted—even she would have melted at the warmth of such a rescue.

It almost made it impossible to resent anyone.

Right then, facing Willo’s tranquil gaze, Adele dropped her own eyes, unable to meet her mother’s look. She sniffled softly, took a deep breath, and suddenly felt a hint of relief.

"It’s okay, Mom," she smiled. "I really am fine. I’ll sleep alone tonight."

...

South Harbor District, main monastery, beneath the bath chambers in the dungeon.

Shapiro sat alone in his cell, knees crossed on a straw mat, eyes closed as if meditating.

On the surface, he looked peaceful, as if he’d gotten used to life without freedom, but inside, he was anything but calm.

He was wrestling with a painfully tough choice: should he beg Charles for mercy and ask to be let go—just to get out of this damned prison?

By rights, with his personality, this thought never should have even crossed his mind.

Normally, he’d never surrender, never quit—even if his face was shoved down in the gutter, he’d grit his teeth, wait for an opening, then turn the tables with a sudden, ruthless strike.

But this time, he realized every scheme for a comeback was hopeless.

At first, he planned to wait out Sephera’s toxins and, once his body and magic were restored, scheme escape and freedom.

But that was shot down quickly: whatever Charles built this cell from, it completely cut off all magical energy!

This discovery shocked Shapiro. He’d never seen anything like it—an environment totally nullifying magic. Before, he’d only heard of Antimagic Fields, never expected to land smack in one.

Now, he was stuck awkwardly: unable to restore any of his power, he was no stronger than a normal man—maybe a little sturdier, but hardly an advantage.

His very first plan was dead before it even started.

He didn’t give up easily, though—on that prison island, he’d broken out as a completely powerless mortal before. He could just tunnel his way out!

But this new dungeon was nothing like that. Here, he was all alone—just himself, and the nun who delivered meals. Charles didn’t care about his mental health, provided no walks, nothing for him to do but sit in this tiny cell, no chance to check for weaknesses.

He’d searched the cell over and over—not a single flaw. Even the sewer was so narrow he’d never fit.

Digging out would take far too long—too long when his sister was still missing.

He tried a third idea: hinting to the meal-delivering nun that he had priceless intel and staging a hunger strike to force Charles into a meeting.

After three days of starving himself, he found—no luck. Charles simply wasn’t at the monastery right now.

And the nuns? For followers of the gentle, compassionate Goddess of Life, they were utterly cold. No matter how much he starved, they brought his food and walked away, uncaring if he dared eat or not. They never even glanced at him, never responded to his questions—no sympathy, no mockery, just utter indifference, as if he were a stone rather than a living person.

It was soul-crushing. His hunger strike faltered, and to be fair, the monastery’s meals did smell amazing. After starving for three days, he couldn’t endure—he caved and ate.

So the hunger strike failed too.

All three plans in ruins, he was now out of ideas. Yet his sister’s fate remained unknown, Charles was missing, the world outside was changing fast, and he, locked away, was powerless.

The frustration ate at him, fueling an anxious need to break free. He was out of aggressive options and had to seriously consider what he’d once thought unthinkable: begging Charles’ mercy.

Heroes of legend flex when needed, never wasting their lives on pride—they take humiliation if necessary for greater purpose.

The ancient Empire of Sein had a legendary general who crawled through an enemy thug’s crotch to avert a bloodbath...

If he could do that, what’s a little groveling on my part? Pride is worthless—wasting time here is the real stupidity.

Thinking thus, he convinced himself. He decided—tonight, when the nun brought his food, no matter how humiliating it might be, he’d do whatever it took to plead for release!

Evening came quickly. Shapiro sat cross-legged in the center of his cell, eyes closed, practicing his pitch.

Soon, a familiar noise sounded: the door above opened, and a nun descended with a tray. "Shapiro, dinner."

She was black-haired, black-eyed, less voluptuous than some, but dignified. Shapiro remembered her name, Sophia.

The monastery’s nuns rotated meal duty. He’d learned all their names, but none treated him differently—everyone was just as cold.

Now was his chance.

He took a deep breath, ignoring the food, rushed to the bars and bowed deeply. "I know I was wrong, Miss Nun! Please, allow me to atone for my sins."

He’d picked up some negotiation tricks in prison—never demand your freedom directly. Instead, plead humbly to atone for your deeds, stress your piety, wait for the right moment.

It worked—Sophia paused, surprised for the first time on her otherwise placid face. "You? Atone?"

"Yes!" Shapiro saw hope and pressed hard. "After hearing Priest Charles’s news, I worried for my sister and niece, lost my sense and tried to infiltrate your monastery—that was a sin. I want to make things right, however I can!"

Seeing him bow low, his voice trembling, Sophia hesitated. "Get up. Priest Charles doesn’t think you’re much of a sinner. He only put you here because you’re dangerous—rash, troublesome."

"Don’t worry, once Priest Charles rescues your sister, he’ll most likely set you free. After all, you’re Malena’s brother. For her sake, he’d never keep you locked up forever."

At that, Shapiro’s hopes soared. "But Miss Nun, I want to help save them too!"

"I’m willing to follow Lord Charles. Please, grant me this chance!"

Sophia studied him, jet-black eyes flickering, weighing his sincerity.

Finally, she nodded. "If you’re willing to accept some restraints, I’ll request it from Priest Charles—get you to his side."

"The real question is... on the battlefield, are you trustworthy?"

Shapiro stood, eyes firm. "I swear it, as long as you let me help save my sister!"

Sophia held his gaze for a long moment. "Alright. I’ll go ask him."

...

Next morning.

Charles slowly woke from his sleep, feeling an unusual pleasure coming from his lower body. He gradually opened his eyes to see Hattie crouched between his legs, using her small mouth to service his body, waking him up.

It was still early, and aroused to the point of distraction by Hattie’s ministrations, Charles decided not to hold back anymore. He sat up, leaned forward, and slipped his hands beneath the witch’s nun’s habit, immediately grasping the full but firm breasts on her chest.

Her clothing habits remained exactly as they’d always been, unchanged in the slightest. When she walked around the monastery during the day, Charles sometimes worried for her—whether the nipples at the peaks of her chest, rubbing against the rough fabric of her nun’s habit, might constantly become engorged and erect from the stimulation.

But he was probably the only one who worried about her comfort—after all, no one else knew about this little quirk of hers. When the dignified and saintly Sister Hattie moved through crowds, no one would ever know that beneath her nun’s habit, pressed directly against her skin, was actually her naked body.

Only Charles and a few of the witch sisters knew this secret, and because of it, even when Hattie wore her nun’s habit, every time he saw her, he couldn’t help but feel his body heat up.

He slipped both hands inside her clothes, caressing her body intimately. The obedient Hattie matched his movements, releasing his thick cock from her lower body, then actively straddling him.

"Mm..." With an extremely suppressed moan, their two bodies became entwined.

Since everyone would be waking soon anyway, Charles didn’t deliberately drag things out. After quickly releasing inside Hattie’s body once, he hurriedly got up to wash.

Just then, his Sending Stone vibrated with magic. He picked it up, and after answering, Sophia’s familiar voice rang directly in his mind. "Master, there’s a matter that requires your decision."

She then briefly explained what had happened last night, which shocked Charles considerably. He never would have imagined that Shapiro—that guy who by all accounts should be a stubborn, hard-headed character who’d die before admitting defeat—would do this!

Yet after less than a week, he’d already softened, admitted his mistakes, and begged for mercy on his knees?

His first reaction was immediate suspicion—there must be a trick to this. The guy was definitely brewing an escape conspiracy. He was about to refuse, but when the words reached his lips, he suddenly had another thought and swallowed them back.

He didn’t rush to reply to Sophia’s message, but first had a conversation with Montport in his mind. "Montport, if someone activates the connection to that fallen angel’s magic circle, can you use the magical power link to directly pinpoint their exact location?"

Inside the Pact Weapon’s space, Montport perked up. He was about to take the opportunity to ask for some benefits, but suddenly remembered his competitor hadn’t been eliminated yet, so he reluctantly changed his tune. "I can! But the prerequisite is that the person must cooperate with us fully, and they need to do sufficient camouflage to ensure they can fool the other party."

"The other party’s skill level is very high—an ordinary mage would very likely be exposed. Fortunately, you’ve got me, Master. Heh heh, this kind of thing can only be handled by Demon Lords like us..."

Charles nodded slightly. "Good, alright, I understand."

This guy was becoming increasingly reliable. He’d originally prepared the line "Since you can’t do it, I’ll just go ask Mr. Eilinel," but it seemed that line wouldn’t be needed now.

Cutting off the psychic link with Montport, Charles picked up the Sending Stone again. Just as he was about to send a message, he reconsidered and reorganized his words. "Sophia, take this guy Shapiro to meet Lisa. Let his niece tell him personally what really happened that night."

"Then, lock him up with magical shackles and personally bring him to find me. You should be able to locate my position, and when the time comes, I can have Theresa come meet you."

"Make it quick. This matter relates to our next plan."

After sending the message, he let out a long breath. Shapiro’s sudden surrender was a variable that might bring many new troubles, but if used well, it could make their upcoming plan go much more smoothly...

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