The next day, at noon.
The torrential rain had vanished before dawn, chased away by the howling gale that lasted through the night. The mages of Blackstaff Tower had clearly realized that, in addition to the aftermath of the earthquake, this relentless rainstorm also posed a dire threat to the city.
So, with spells, they conjured fierce winds and swept all the storm clouds back over the southern sea.
Thanks to their efforts, the massive bank of clouds gathered to the city's northwest barely brushed the city's edge before dropping its burden into the ocean.
Over ninety percent of the water vapor fell directly above the sea, not over Liberl Port itself.
Otherwise, the disaster here would have been far graver.
Even so, the fringe of those clouds still crossed several places—like the South Harbor District and other western wards—which suffered severe flooding.
The difference was, the other districts were comparatively wealthy, able to absorb the impact of both earthquake and rain. Only the impoverished South Harbor District truly faced utter annihilation.
If Charles hadn't worked desperately to coordinate rescue on all sides, the casualties would no doubt have been tragic.
After the rain stopped, Charles, exhausted from a night of toil, returned to the monastery. He didn't even finish his hot bath before dozing off in the baths, sinking into deep slumber.
It was Hattie and Theresa who finally fished him out, dried him off, and carried him back to his bedroom—allowing him a proper rest.
When he awoke from his dreams, it was already afternoon. After the storm, the sky was a pure blue, the sun hanging high and bright, as if nothing had happened at all.
But all those collapsed homes in the slums, the ground scoured clean by flood, and the trembling residents still sheltered in the safe rooms he had constructed—none of it could be ignored.
The disaster had passed, yes, but the work of rebuilding had only just begun. And now that winter had arrived, it would not be easy for the refugees to start new lives.
"At least, it's all over now."
Gazing out at the sky, Charles let out a sigh, then opened his system window—checking his attributes, his current state, and the monastery's resources as usual.
The monastery's area remained about seventy thousand square meters; but with so many houses destroyed in the storm, he figured the process of acquiring more land would go smoothly, and reaching a hundred thousand soon was likely.
Prestige, to his slight surprise, hadn't changed much. But on second thought, that made sense—word of his and the nuns' heroic rescues likely hadn't spread widely enough yet, so the prestige score didn't show much movement.
The greatest surprise, though, was something else—a dramatic surge in another value.
His Purification Points had now skyrocketed to twelve thousand.
Seeing that number, Charles raised a brow in surprise.
How had this happened?
With some confusion, he hurried to check the detailed income records for Purification Points. And there it was: over ten thousand points, all credited to one item from last night.
Purifying human hearts.
Seeing this, Charles scratched his head, baffled.
Purifying human hearts? What does that even mean?
Is there something, apart from aberrations, undead, and fiends, that can be purified by the force of purification?
And besides...
I don't remember using the system's purified function even once last night.
So how was anything purified?
No, wait...
After a long while, the old, likely unanswerable questions returned to his mind.
What exactly is the true nature of Purification Points?
And what is this system, really?
He didn't know. He frowned deeply, as countless hypotheses swirled through his mind, none with enough evidence to settle the matter.
Charles opened his mouth and swallowed, enjoying being fed. Meanwhile, he slipped his hand under her nun's habit, caressing her soft skin. "Are things at the refugees' camp alright?"
A lovely blush spread across Sephera's cheeks. Enduring his teasing, her breath quickened as she answered, "Master, there's both plenty of good news, and some bad news... Which would you prefer first?"
Charles felt a sudden pang of anxiety. "Uh... the good news first."
As he spoke, his hands had already found her breasts. Was it his imagination, or did the witch feel a little fuller than before?
"First off, since so many landslides happened in the slums, a lot of residents are now planning to abandon their houses." Sephera, panting, continued to feed him while enduring the stimulation to her fully aroused nipples.
"Our monastery's area should easily surpass one hundred thousand square meters—maybe two or three hundred thousand soon, and it will cost very little."
"Then, word of what we did is already spreading. The District Office will probably only give us a bit of lip-service praise, but our reputation in the slums, hmm... it doesn't seem to have changed much." As she spoke, she suddenly realized, the monastery's fame had already been strong before this.
So she quickly changed the subject: "Finally, after all this, quite a few of the refugees you saved are planning to put their faith in the Goddess of Life. Some of the girls are even thinking of joining the church as nuns."
Her voice took on a sour note: "They're all young, pretty, come from decent backgrounds. Give them a little time, and they'll turn into beautiful young women—little girls, every one of them."
Charles could immediately sense what she meant, and an awkward look crossed his face. "Uh, I'm not that kind of person…"
Clearly, with the monastery's ranks constantly swelling, the ever-jealous Sephera could hold back her feelings no longer, letting a bit of mockery slip toward her own master.
Noticing that this girl had the audacity to tease him, Charles found himself a bit flustered and annoyed. He gently squeezed the tip of her nipple in retaliation.
At once, Sephera's waist tensed, her legs clamping together as a sharp shiver coursed through her.
He did not linger on the topic. While kneading her tender body, Charles weighed—it was true, the monastery's area, prestige, and Purification Points were all ready for the next stage.
With a Level 3 monastery, he could construct advanced troop buildings and train the recruited nuns as specialized units—war Pastors, Light Pastors, Arcane Pastors, and Life Pastors, and more.
It was true that the first- and second-level monasteries could build some basic units; for instance, Level 1 could produce ordinary nuns, and Level 2 could create generic Pastors. But Charles, ever the seasoned player, had always dismissed the "trash units" as a waste of precious resources. Plus, he'd never really needed an army—his adventures had been small-scale.
But now, with the monastery about to reach Level 3 and Liberl Port on the verge of chaos, he couldn't put off troop-building any longer.
It was time to expand, recruiting more nuns into the fold.
With these thoughts, he changed the subject. "So then? What about the bad news? Let's hear it."
Sephera lifted his quilt, revealing his bare skin beneath. He'd nearly collapsed unconscious in the baths last night; once the nuns had cleaned him up, of course, there was no need to dress him—he'd simply slept naked.
She climbed onto the bed herself, tugging at her clothes as she continued, "The bad news is, first, a lot of people have lost their homes and now seem determined to camp in the shelter you constructed—they won't leave."
"Also, many have lost their fishing gear and boats. In the coming days, food will likely run short in the slums, and it's doubtful the District Office will offer much aid."
As she spoke, her eyes narrowed, reptilian pupils flashing with a venomous glint.
Charles thought carefully for a moment, then looked up. "Actually, these might also be good news for us."
The rescue was over and his sense of conscience satisfied. From here, cold pragmatism needed to shape the monastery's development.
The most expedient path, he knew, would have been to skip the rescue altogether—let people drown and homes collapse, then hand out porridge to gain prestige, and buy up the land for next to nothing or even free.
After all, with so many driven away by flood and frost or outright drowned, a few simple formalities would let him claim all that property at no cost.
But he couldn't bear to do that.
So, he had to settle for the next-best approach.
"Go find Alan, lend him some money, and have him set up loans for the refugees," he instructed. "Get them to pay thirty percent up front on the houses—let them buy them all."
"As for food, we start offering porridge. This is a perfect opportunity to boost our prestige."
Sephera nodded lightly, then suddenly ducked down, her small mouth open, her forked tongue coiling around his already swollen member.
"Mmm…" Charles folded his arms behind his head, letting out a deep, satisfied gasp.
Soon the room was filled with a symphony of flesh and splashing water, Sephera's plaintive murmurs weaving through the air.
...
Word of the Great Old One, Shudde M'ell, awakening atop the rooftops of the Plateau, destroying mountains in the Rubble District, and then being jointly banished by Lady Blackstaff Vajra Safahr and the Open Lord of Liberl Port, Laeral Silverhand, spread rapidly through every intelligence network, shocking the entire world.
Most rejoiced, relieved that such a threat had been eliminated and their homes survived. A bitter few cursed that those accursed beings did not perish together. The major conglomerates, outwardly praising Lady Blackstaff and the Open Lord's strength, inwardly fostered a thousand, ten thousand suspicions and doubts…
Thereafter, City Hall used every channel to call upon adventurers to enter the Rubble District's deep mountains, rooting out the demons entrenched within, especially the Demon Lord called "Montport." Great rewards were promised for success.
In response, adventurers, mercenary bands, and other armed organizations of every kind flocked to purchase magical items, eager to make their mark and turn this opportunity into legend.
But only Charles knew, after this battle, that both Lady Blackstaff and Laeral Silverhand had thoroughly exposed their weakness.
Appeal to adventurers to destroy that Demon Lord?
What a joke! With Laeral Silverhand's supposed might, having dealt with Shudde M'ell, she ought to have stormed the mountains herself and shredded Montport!
Instead, with Lady Blackstaff's help, she barely managed to banish Shudde M'ell, at no small cost. Now, she was too spent to deal with Montport, forced to post a bounty and call upon common adventurers to destroy an Abyssal Lord.
Her weakness stood nakedly revealed.
All can see what's coming—the international conglomerates will do all they can to probe her true strength and condition, even as they further infiltrate Liberl Port's administration, judiciary, and legislature…
Frankly, Laeral Silverhand's management had never been up to the task. This reward notice was a prime example—a way to save resources and preserve the Blackstaff Tower's might, perhaps, but in truth it just gave away her real condition, a long-term loss for short-term gain.
Since her appointment, she had largely left affairs to others, relying on her own power and status to intimidate the conglomerates into restraint.
But now, with that awe gone, Liberl Port was set to become a puppet city for the rich and powerful to toy with at will.
Realizing all this, Charles was unavoidably melancholic. As a veteran player, he knew the deeper consequences.
Factions once at odds with the Goddess of Magic, or simply malevolent and greedy, would use these events to deduce her weakened condition—then pour out their hatred and wrath upon Liberl Port...
The shadow of the drow, the schemes of mind flayers, and the gaze of notorious Demon Lords…
All events that should have come later in the game, now arriving prematurely.
He was only eighth level now—he hadn't even mastered fifth-level spells, let alone ninth...
Yet here it was: mid-game events unfolding ahead of schedule. Liberl Port on the brink of chaos. What he had to do now was gather strength, as quickly as he could, to protect himself.
He yearned desperately for a stable environment to quietly grow. But, alas, time waits for no one…
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