Even when meeting his greatest advocate in Liberl Port, Regolas carefully hid his true form. With a raspy voice, he replied, "Hah! Even the mightiest gold dragonborns have failed. You understand what that signifies, don't you?"
"Unless something changes, this city will become mountains of corpses and seas of blood. And you... tsk tsk, I find it hard to be optimistic about its future."
Ammalia's expression instantly soured. Her plump, wrinkled face trembled, her heart shaking with dread.
She desperately wanted to deny this outcome, but when it came to supernatural forces, she couldn't help but trust this cambion.
As for City Hall's public proclamation that Justice would prevail?
Hah, true enough—but at what cost?
Ammalia absolutely refused to be part of that cost. So, if this place couldn't be held, relocating was the only option…
The thought filled her with bitter resentment. She'd built her empire here over years—abandoning it meant discarding her life's work…
How could she ever accept that?
She gritted her molars, her features briefly contorted. Then Regolas abruptly shifted his tone: "Honestly though, I do know someone. He's gained a powerful patron's favor. With his strength, he might be able to banish Montport."
"Better still, I could convince him to join the strike group under the Cassalanter Family banner. You'd become a hero—Liberl Port's savior…"
Liberl Port's major powers were organizing a new group to eliminate Montport, the Abyssal Lord responsible for this disaster.
If Cassalanter's representative played a pivotal role, it would be their chance to reclaim prestige.
Ammalia's eyes lit up—until Regolas sighed: "Problem is, he may not take the risk. After all... I've lost the Illusionist's Bracers I promised him."
Instantly, the woman narrowed her eyes, glaring at the cambion: "How much?"
Regolas shook his head. "He doesn't want gold. From what I know, he betrayed his faith for this patron for one purpose: to clear his family's name from a six-year-old false accusation, so he can reclaim his surname with pride…"
Ammalia paled: "He… he's a Sulpharlo?"
Regolas's voice turned sly: "Oh? Seems you know him better than I do. Tsk tsk, madam… could it be you were involved?"
Ammalia's face twisted horribly—of course she'd been involved. She even held decisive evidence to exonerate House Sulpharlo.
But exposing it would drag her and her allies into the abyss.
Seeing her hesitation, Regolas pressed: "Madam, you wouldn't want your life's work abandoned, would you?"
Ammalia's gaze flickered. Finally, resolved, she spoke: "Allow me to... handle that evidence. You persuade him first. House Sulpharlo has always been Cassalanter's ally. All these years, I've carefully gathered proof—now is the time to right this injustice!"
...
Late at night, deep on the Plateau's ridge.
Adele led the way, casting a 2nd-level Pass Without Trace to summon swathes of shadow, cloaking herself and the surroundings for optimal stealth.
Charles and others followed, tiptoeing silently after her into the tangled camp—now headquarters of the Alliance of the Mountain Purifiers.
Frankly, to Charles's eyes, the camp's layout…
…looked wretched.
Most constructions resembled shacks more than habitable shelters—flimsy, uninsulated.
Even South Harbor District's poorest lived better. Clearly, Montport's disaster had hit these people hardest.
Served them right, he thought.
As that notion crossed his mind, Adele stopped before a remote tent entrance. She lifted its flap and whispered, "In here! Stay hidden!"
Charles ducked inside first, scanning the space—a makeshift warehouse stacked with broken tools and scrap lumber.
Likely remnants from the Mountain People's rebuilding efforts, saved for later use due to poverty and bitter cold.
Tsk. Pitiful existence.
The others filed in. After securing the flap, Adele exhaled, dissolving her spell. "Everyone," she announced, "it's safe here."
"Rest here tonight. Tomorrow, I'll lure Ines over. Lady Anno can then perceive her true identity."
Anno nodded, unfazed by the clutter. "Understood. Notify us before moving her."
Adele acknowledged and slipped away. Anno glanced at the others. "Shall we rest now, or—?"
Her eyes sparkled with intent.
Charles smiled. "No delays. Theresa—locate Willo and bring her here."
Theresa nodded, lifted the flap, and stood at the warehouse entrance.
Magic flared in her pupils as she began spellcasting.
Her immense power warped the camp's light. She needed no physical search—from this spot, she perceived every room, corner, and resident.
Moments later, she blinked, smiling. "Found her! She's still awake. Heh…"
Her tone turned odd as she vanished in a flash of light without awaiting Charles's response.
Charles frowned. "This woman…"
Something felt off about Theresa. But with Anno present all day, he'd had no chance for a private word.
After this, I'll get answers from that archwitch, he vowed.
What Theresa saw truly wasn't shareable: alone in the frigid dark, Matriarch Willo used her fingertips to soothe her lonely flesh.
Adele wasn't wrong—with her druidic serenity shattered, she should've embraced mortal life: found a new husband, built a family, filled the emptiness with children.
Yet she hadn't. Buried in alliance duties, she clung to the hope of regaining her pure, desireless state once peace returned.
She'd rejected her daughter's suggestion to "find a man."
As for her bodily needs now?
Her fingers would suffice.
But this "solution" only fed the flames.
At that moment, she lay nude and uncovered on her bedroll, braced on one side.
One hand teased her full bosom, flicking stiffened, sensitive nipples.
The other pressed between plump thighs—her middle fingertip circling the garden's peak, stimulating the entire region's most sensitive spot.
Her depths were already slick from the relentless teasing. Yet she resisted probing deeper—as if crossing that threshold violated a sacred taboo.
The result? Shallow touches only starved her further. Breath ragged, body quivering, Willo trembled on despair's edge as desire consumed her reason.
"No…" Her throat moaned unbidden, eyes shut. "Give me… please…"
Her thighs clamped instinctively—blocking her own fingers, denying release.
A sigh floated through the air: "Ah…"
Willo snapped her eyes open. "Who's there?"
Panic seized her. As a conservative, shy druid, she couldn't bear anyone witnessing her desperate, lust-twisted vulnerability.
Social death awaited her.
Terror clenched her heart—until a warm, soft embrace enveloped her chilled body from behind.
A familiar voice, gentle and female, whispered in her ear: "Matriarch Willo... you'll never release desire this way."
Theresa!
Recognition eased Willo's dread. Though shamed by her exposure, Theresa was no awestruck outsider—she was a friend privy to her secret vulnerabilities.
Tension eased... but humiliation lingered.
She tried to protest, but Theresa continued: "Let me help unleash it again."
With that, her soft hands claimed Willo's lush curves.
She'd touch me... everywhere…
"No, Miss Theresa, I—" Flustered, Willo tried weakly to resist—but Theresa ignored her. One hand squeezed a nipple—
"Mmnh—!"
Pleasure lanced Willo's nerves. A throaty gasp escaped as Theresa's other hand swept downward. It slid past Willo's own, middle finger slick with nectar, thrusting deep—
"AH—!"
Willo's eyes flew wide, mouth agape. A whole night's tension exploded—desire unleashed in a spine-jolting rush that blanked her mind.
Uncontrollably, a rapturous cry tore from her throat!
Long-awaited ecstasy flooded her flesh. Every inch sang, trembled, and craved more.
Theresa felt it intensely: warm streams pulsed against her finger deep within Willo.
Much later, Willo gasped back to awareness. Theresa slowly withdrew, lifting her glistening finger. "Exhausting work, Matriarch."
Willo flushed crimson to her ears. Mortified, she wanted to bury herself in bedding.
She came from my touch... How depraved must I seem to this nun?
But duty shattered her shame. "Miss Theresa—why are you here?"
This wasn't just satyr territory; it was the Alliance's headquarters—the new shelter for five tribes!
A Liberl Port native—how did she know its location?
Had archmages tracked them? Was there a tribe traitor?
Willo's heart seized. As a leader, she had to know!
Theresa brushed past the topic. "We received intel. The Alliance harbors a demon spy—we came secretly."
She hastened—Charles and the others were waiting.
To Willo, the revelation hit like thunder: "A spy?!"
Instantly tense, she pressed: "What's your source? Is it reliable?"
Theresa remained vague. "Absolutely reliable—but Priest Charles and Lady Anno should explain."
"They're hiding nearby. Will you meet them?"
Willo brightened. "They're alive?"
Theresa chuckled. "Of course. Seems your colleagues withheld battle details?"
We stopped that rampaging earth elemental you unleashed. Charles nearly killed a Giant Bear totem barbarian.
Awkwardness flashed over Willo's face. I should've asked sooner…
Theresa helped her rise. "Come. Priest Charles will answer everything."
Willo reflexively stood—then gasped as cool air hit her bare skin. Red-faced, she crouched, covering herself. "Wait! At least let me dress!"
Theresa paused, amused. "Why be shy? I know your every... detail."
The comment made Willo wish to vanish.
In her eyes, I'm just a lustful whore!
Three minutes later—inside the warehouse.
Charles and the others were growing impatient when Willo finally arrived with Theresa, dressed simply in her winter robe of withered leaves.
She beamed seeing Charles—then guilt flashed over her face. "Priest... Lady Anno... I'm relieved you're safe."
"Forgive me... I returned too late to stop that pointless war."
Her sincerity was palpable. Charles, prepared, reassured her: "Do not fault yourself, Madam Willo. It's done—we aren't here to condemn."
Beside him, Anno nodded. "Uniting against the demons matters now."
"And the first step... must be eliminating your spy."
Willo focused. "I must ask—what's your source? How reliable is this spy intel?"
Anno glanced at Charles—who threw Adele under the carriage. "Adele told us."
Willo: "?!"
"Correct—your daughter," Charles confirmed bluntly, preferring her over the unreliable girl. "She traced the demon convert's trail and contacted Zhentarim for paladin aid."
"And here we are."
Willo's mouth hung open, stunned. "My daughter...? She never mentioned this..."
"She feared troubling you without proof," Anno added kindly. "The paladin was to gather evidence before acting."
Awe and remorse washed over Willo. She bore this burden alone?
I failed as a mother...
Self-reproach swelled again—until duty reasserted itself. "Who... is the spy?"
"Ines," Charles stated. "A high-ranking Alliance member—you know her."
Willo's pupils constricted a second time.
"It's her?!"
Willo couldn't believe her ears: "But how? She clearly... you all..."
She wanted to ask if they had proof, but then remembered it was her own daughter who had presented this situation, and precisely because they needed evidence that she'd brought Anno here.
Thus, the words died on her lips. Her expression turned deeply troubled: "Oh gods... I never would've guessed..."
She kept murmuring to herself, unable to understand why Ines would motivate the minotaurs to voluntarily work overtime to protect others from freezing to death if she were truly an evil demon spy.
If she were evil, shouldn't she incite the minotaurs to strike and halt work instead? Then when the storms came, countless would freeze…
Willo couldn't reconcile this. As a druid, her knowledge of nature was profound, but her understanding of demons was sorely lacking. She didn't realize souls not directly slain by demons couldn't be consumed.
Charles didn't explain either. He said: "Whether she's a cultist or a fiend—her true identity will reveal itself tomorrow."
"Adele will find a way to lure Ines here. Anno can then use her Perception to verify the creature's race and power. That will settle everything."
Willo collected herself and nodded, though worry still shadowed her face: "Feasible… but it's just that..."
Anno leaned forward: "Matriarch, what else concerns you?"
Willo spoke frankly, laying bare their predicament: "After the earthquakes, dwellings across the tribes suffered massive damage."
"This is high plateau terrain in deep winter. Once the glacial winds sweep in, the consequences will be catastrophic. Our rebuilding window is narrow. Only minotaurs can handle such grueling labor."
"Yet they'd never freely aid other tribes. Ines alone could rally them..."
Her leadership perspective saw beyond Ines' threat—she foresaw the fresh crisis her absence would trigger. Anxiety about the alliance surviving winter or perishing in the wilderness weighed on her.
Anno's expression tightened: "No one else could replace her?"
Willo grimaced: "It… seems not."
Behind them, Ekta raised a hand to suggest her furnace-building skills, recalling how her work had warmed shelters during the quake relief.
Theresa instantly grabbed Ekta's wrist, silencing her. The archwitch whispered only to Charles: "Master… what if you built your 'dorms' here?"
Charles' level 3 monastery could now construct "small chapels"—branch monasteries unrestricted by geography. To Theresa, this meant he could easily house all the satyrs and mountain folk.
Yet Charles ignored her suggestion, keeping his eyes on Willo as he offered token solutions: "Still, we can't leave the spy be. She may expose this camp's location for a demon assault."
"As for the labor shortage… I'll negotiate with the dwarven mining consortium and Liberl Port conglomerates."
His proposals rang hollow—both sides knew the dwarves would never assist the alliance that destroyed Rockseeker's Outpost. But his point stood: demon hunts couldn't wait for convenience. Willo reluctantly agreed before shifting focus: "Must everyone camp here tonight?"
Anno nodded: "Yes. It's isolated and quiet—perfect for ambushing Ines tomorrow."
Willo surveyed the clutter and frowned.
"Unacceptable. Guests deserve better." She declared. "Follow me. The camp has unused tents—clean and vacant—where you can stay temporarily."
Charles arched an eyebrow: "I thought you lacked manpower to build proper houses, hence relying on minotaurs?"
Willo sighed: "Those require sturdy, insulated walls. Simple tents we have in abundance."
...
Under Willo's guidance, they abandoned the cluttered storeroom for assigned tents: Charles alone, Anno with Ekta, Theresa paired with Nidalee.
Anno voiced no objections, but Theresa orchestrated this arrangement for one purpose: to facilitate her nocturnal mission. She sensed Charles's burning questions about Willo and intended to answer them—intimately.
Once the camp slept, Theresa dissolved into light, slipping into Charles's tent.
Charles lay naked beneath blankets, awaiting her arrival. As Theresa entered, he motioned her to join him, urgency tightening his voice: "What's your game with Willo? What have you done?"
Theresa obeyed, still robed but seizing his wrist. She guided his hand beneath her nun's habit, letting him grope her full breasts through the thin fabric. Her nipples hardened instantly as she whispered: "Nothing elaborate, Master. I simply wish to expand your monastery... with new initiates."
Charles wasted no time. Hands slid under her robe, tracing her silken abdomen before seizing her massive breasts. Five fingers sank into yielding flesh, kneading in rhythmic circles. Theresa's breath hitched, but she pressed on: "In the collapsed cave... I uncovered her hunger. So I sent Agatha into her dreams—stoked her lust till she awoke trembling. Added fuel to the fire..."
She moaned as his thumbs teased her nipples to stiff peaks. "My method worked. Tonight... I found her fingering her hairless pussy, desperate but unsatisfied. So I... ah!... relieved her myself before bringing her to you."
Charles ripped open her habit, baring her ample breasts to moonlight. He loomed over her, thick cock pressing against her thigh. "Why?" he growled. "I never said I wanted her."
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