Witch Monastery

Blackstaff District, in the café Anno often frequented.

Charles was seated by the window, reading detailed reports about the undead crisis in Bharata as he waited for Anno to arrive.

The more he read, the deeper his confusion grew—this whole thing didn’t seem as straightforward as the headlines suggested. Although Bharata declared its “great victory,” the truth was, they’d only managed to block the undead horde from advancing further inland toward their core cities. They were utterly powerless to stop the devastation along the coast and in the countryside.

Across those regions, far from the urban strongholds, villages and small towns continued to suffer at the hands of the undead. The graves of loved ones and ancestors were torn open, their corpses twisted into blasphemous thralls;

Every day, another small city fell to the fallen prince’s main army. Anyone who failed to escape quickly enough was inevitably transformed, joining the ever-growing undead horde.

Bharata understood their situation far better than anyone else. So, while they fed the public with endless headlines about turning the tide, internationally, they sent out unreserved cries for aid, hoping the world’s strongest would field a full team of reinforcements to help them.

All of this weighed heavily on Charles’s heart. He wasn’t exactly fond of Bharata, but his basic sense of compassion made it impossible for him to just sit by and do nothing.

Of course, he was also motivated in part by the prospect of earning more Purification Points.

Yet he knew he couldn’t do this alone. Against millions of undead, his power was still a drop in the bucket.

He needed to find out—if he headed there to exterminate undead, how much backup and support could he expect.

He didn’t have to wait long. Outside, a dazzling silhouette hurried over—it was Anno in civilian clothes, looking stunning in a white turtleneck sweater that perfectly hugged her figure, even this late into autumn.

Charles couldn’t help but notice that Anno still hadn’t finished growing—she’d become more charming by the day over the past year, thanks in no small part to his continual “nurturing.”

Seeing him, Anno’s lips curved into a smile. She sat down across from him, where her usual coffee was already served. After a sip, she got straight to the point. “You want to go to Bharata?”

Charles nodded lightly. “People there are suffering from the undead. I can’t just stand by and watch.”

He flipped the report around and pushed it over. Anno’s eyes landed immediately on the key points, which Charles had marked in red.

“See, Bharata loves to brag,” he said. “But look at the facts—disaster zones are still expanding, the undead army is growing, and… damn, it’s a densely populated country. I don’t even want to think about the consequences.”

He concluded, “I’m planning to go myself, but there’s a limit to what I can do alone.”

He glanced at Anno, hopeful. “So, does Blackstaff Tower have any plans regarding this?”

Anno’s face turned awkward. She shook her head. “Sorry, but you might be disappointed.”

“Blackstaff Tower has discussed the crisis. But the decision is clear—and disappointing. They think since the crisis is in Bharata, it should be handled by an international relief coalition. Blackstaff Tower is only meant for protecting Liberl Port; we shouldn’t interfere in foreign affairs.”

She sighed. “Even as an excuse, I couldn’t get approval for a long-term personal leave.”

Bharata was so far that even in the best-case scenario, round trip would eat up over a month.

And that’s not accounting for time to actually resolve the crisis—if things got complicated, she could be away for half a year or more. Without approval from the Tower’s highest-ups, there was no way Anno could get such a long leave—unless she quit.

Though he’d half-expected it, Charles was still disappointed. “Yeah, I figured. Guess that’s reality.”

He looked visibly deflated, and seeing him like that, Anno’s guilt was plain as day. She bit her lip, clearly upset.

“How about I mention it to the Open Lord?” she offered softly. “It’s a worldwide crisis—even if Blackstaff Tower can’t help, Liberl Port’s city government is sure to send some assistance.”

“Though honestly, there’s still no way they’ll free up Blackstaff Tower’s staff. I probably can’t go…”

She trailed off, sounding a bit helpless. It wasn’t just about Charles—she was eager for the chance to explore, too.

Liberl Port might be the world’s economic heart, but some powers never traded here: the desert kingdoms of the distant Blacksoil Continent, the Red Dragon-run Crimson Sand Empire of the far north—Anno had never encountered any of them.

But this time, they’d all converge on Bharata. She wanted to see the greater world with her own eyes.

Charles got up, moved to her side, and wrapped an arm around her waist, whispering, “It’s okay, love. I’ll handle it.”

Anno relaxed into his chest, sniffling adorably. “I know you’ll be fine. But at a moment like this, not being by your side… ugh…”

She pouted, irresistibly cute. Charles stroked her hair, hugging her tight, knowing that once they parted, it’d likely be months before they reunited.

Eventually, they broke apart—Charles kissed her deeply, then watched her return to Blackstaff Tower, before climbing into a carriage headed for the central district.

The sun was already setting—he and Anno had lingered too long and lost track of time.

Half an hour later, at Blue Dragon Bank, ground floor.

Charles and Rahman sat across from one another at a giant round sandalwood table, snacking on steaming platters of roast meat as they chatted about what came next.

“How’s your prep work going?”

Swallowing a bite of unseasoned camel meat, Rahman spoke up. His golden eyes lacked the aggression most dragons possessed—there was only friendly warmth.

Every major faction in Liberl Port was organizing for Bharata relief, but the gold dragonborn were by far the most enthusiastic. As self-proclaimed world leaders, it was only natural they’d leap to the forefront.

Not to be outdone, the blue dragons—ever eager to challenge the gold dragonborn’s authority—wanted to participate just as actively. Unfortunately, their influence was nowhere near as strong, so if they went through official channels, they’d never be able to compete at the same scale.

That’s why Rahman wanted to leverage Charles’s connections, hoping he could rally a reliable team to help resolve the undead crisis.

Charles sipped sour red wine to cut the richness, then frowned. He shook his head and responded, not very optimistically: “Not great. I’ve hit some snags.”

~~~

Get early access to 380+ advanced Chapters on Patreon!

https://patreon.com/TransFic

~~~