Witch Monastery

Reading the text on his system interface, Charles nodded in satisfaction.

With this ability, as long as he didn’t get knocked unconscious, it was practically equivalent to having unlimited uses of Hexblade’s Curse—he could slap it on any foe he planned to focus-fire, never again needing to ration his one-per-rest restriction!

It didn’t affect his burst damage all that much, but his sustained DPS just got a massive upgrade!

Doing a quick calculation based on the in-game data, Charles estimated his current combat strength and felt very pleased.

Then, closing the system, he got up and left his room.

Now that he was back, daily life should return to normal.

...

Inside the Cavendish Family Estate.

A tall but boyish young man—he couldn’t have been more than nineteen—strode briskly across the castle’s red-carpeted great hall.

He wore a round cap adorned with a red tassel and small pearls, a short white silk shirt, lips red and teeth white, his whole aura fresh and charismatic.

This was Morn Cavendish, the Cavendish family’s rising star, just nineteen years old this year.

Currently, he was studying history at the College of Lorehold at Strixhaven University, and had smoothly advanced to become a mage, already able to cast spells up to the third tier with skill.

Now, he was preparing for the next stage of his studies, weighing which of the eight university schools to specialize in next.

Normally, for the sake of networking with powerful upperclassmen and not missing out on vital info, he lived on campus, just like the other students.

Everyone at home knew: in decades, he was the only spellcaster their family had produced—and with such visible promise, naturally they left him alone to focus on his magic and exams, free from household concerns.

Calling him home unexpectedly during the school term was almost unheard of.

Morn wasn’t really suspicious—he’d already figured it out. His grandfather’s health was failing, and the real reason for this recall was probably to attend the old man’s funeral soon...

But for some reason, as he stepped into the entrance hall, a strong sense of unease came over him.

He frowned, sniffed the air—a subtle tang of blood seemed to hang everywhere.

Had the family slaughtered an animal recently? Blood for some ritual or feast?

He wasn’t sure, but he glanced around at the castle’s windows, every curtain was tightly drawn.

Normally, the curtains were left open, with sunlight blazing through the rooms.

Why were they all closed today?

The whole place felt cold and eerie...

He shifted uneasily. Just then, a voice called from up the stairs: "Morn, come up."

Morn straightened at once and hurried upstairs. Not far along, he saw an old but still vigorous man—short, silver-haired, wearing a tailored black butler’s uniform—standing silently at the landing.

Morn instinctively felt intimidated. This man was even older than his grandfather, and had once saved the old lord’s life.

Most importantly, the butler had never married, dedicating his entire life to the Cavendish family, earning the highest respect in the household. Even Grandfather deferred to him.

So did Morn. He’d been caned often enough for childhood misbehavior—the psychological scar lingered.

But today, something about the butler seemed off.

Why did his face look so pale?

The years of sun and wind should have left him ruddy and weathered, not so unnaturally white.

Had he gotten sick too?

Morn couldn’t say. He looked at the butler, hesitant. "Sir, where are my parents? Why was I called home out of the blue?"

The butler spoke slowly, his voice hoarse and oddly unsettling. "There aren’t many in the family who understand magic. There’s a question only you can answer."

He ignored Morn’s first question, launching right into the second: "That Mr. Nigel Charles—just how powerful is he?"

Morn’s eyes lit up, all his previous worries instantly forgotten as he launched into detail: "Oh, it’s tough to explain to someone who doesn’t know magic. Let’s put it this way: if I’m a drop of water, my professor is a pond, then Mr. Charles is like a vast lake..."

"I’ve practiced Quickened Spell myself, and the more I try it, the more I realize how insane Mr. Charles is. He can cast Eldritch Blast twenty times in half a minute! He can wipe out demon lords as big as mountains in seconds! Just imagine—the raw power!"

"When it comes to strength rankings in this city, I think the Open Lord is clearly the strongest, Madam Blackstaff is second... and Mr. Charles is probably right after them in third place."

The butler listened quietly, then asked, "But aside from Madam Blackstaff, aren’t there other mages at Blackstaff Tower—ones with their own floors—who can also cast ninth-level spells?"

"I heard that many of them were busy with Cthonians back then, so they couldn’t spare the time to deal with that Abyssal Lord. Doesn’t mean they don’t have strength, right?"

Morn hesitated, wanting to retort but also not wanting to disrespect his elder. He forced himself to answer politely, "True, he hasn’t shown off ninth-level spellcasting. But let me say this: paladins, before reaching legendary, can only cast up to fifth-level spells, right?"

The butler nodded thoughtfully. Morn felt emboldened. "Besides, even ninth-level spellcasters—could they be sure of killing a demon lord?"

"You may not know, but high-circle spells aren’t as godlike as people think. Most of them have huge area effects, impressive visuals, but..."

"Take the classic example—Fire Storm, a seventh-level spell. It can ignite an entire forest or a small mountain in one go. But is the temperature really that high? Not really. Even I can mutter the incantation for ’Absorb Elements’—a first-level spell—and walk out perfectly fine!"

The butler nodded, "Oh, so that’s how it is."

Encouraged, Morn puffed out his chest. "We’ve studied it. High-tier magic is a tool for mages to reshape the world, but its direct lethality is actually very limited—and casters only get a few uses per day."

"So, back to the real point: if those ninth-level spellcasters actually went up against Montport, could they really kill the Abyssal Lord?"

"If they can’t, then they have to rank behind Mr. Charles! Mr. Charles may not be able to burn down a city in a single spell, but he’s got enough power to wipe out all those ’high and mighty’ folks if it really comes down to a fight!"

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