After nearly half an hour of waiting in the biting wind, there was finally movement at the edge of the excavated pit. Amid a chorus of exclamations, Theresa supported a bedraggled, dust-covered Charles as they rose up from the pit, landing gently on solid ground. She announced, "He's safe."
"Charles!"
Anno let out a sudden cry. Ignoring her weakened state, she tried to dash toward him. But her legs were still too weak—she nearly stumbled and fell after only two steps.
Charles quickly stepped forward and caught her by the arm, concern in his voice. "I'm fine, Anno. Are you okay? How's your body holding up?"
Anno collapsed into his embrace. All the worry and fear she'd bottled up finally burst free, and tears streamed uncontrollably onto his chest. "I'm fine… Charles, as long as you're alright, that's all that matters… as long as you're safe…"
She'd been terrified—waiting for him to resurface had been one of the hardest moments of her life. She couldn't bear to think about what she'd do if word came that he was dead; she had no idea how she'd go on.
Thankfully, the worst didn't happen. He made it back to the surface safe and sound—he even looked better off than she did.
For now, Anno wanted nothing except to stay in his arms, soaking up his warmth and letting her emotions run dry.
Charles gently stroked her hair, holding her without a word—simply comforting her as best he could.
They stayed like that for a while, until Sophia, Ekta, and Nidalee came over, gazing at the pair.
Charles released Anno but still held her delicate hand, his other arm around her shoulders. Turning, he asked Nidalee, "What's the casualty count among the battle nuns?"
He honestly couldn't care less about the Mountain People refugees—he'd only risked everything to save his own nuns.
They were the ones who'd fought at his side day and night, the ones he'd personally trained—a force of barely twenty. Any major casualties, and he'd be heartbroken.
Nidalee answered immediately, "We lost one storm nun. Seven more were wounded—two gravely, and still unconscious. I can guarantee their lives, but nothing more."
She added with a trace of guilt, "My mana was limited. I'm sorry I couldn't save her."
Charles's heart wrenched, but he forced himself to stay strong. "It's alright. War always demands sacrifice. We… did our best."
He let out a long sigh.
The game and reality really were nothing alike.
In the game, aside from witches and a handful of named nuns, every other nun recruited by the monastery was just a number on your screen—easy to mass-recruit, train, or switch classes with a click or two.
Players could turn them into whatever they wanted—battle pastors, life pastors, logistics workers—just a few panel tap and they'd change roles, easy as pie.
But in reality, every nun had her own name, her own history, her own family and private ambitions.
Even though Charles had saved so many, even though the monastery was famous in the slums, he couldn't just call out and have every ordinary girl from a dirt-poor family up and grab a weapon to fight for him until their last breath.
That any chose to change faith, join the monastery, and work for his cause at all was already a minor miracle.
And even among those willing to fight, their natural talents, baseline stats, and personalities were all over the place—not everyone was suited for the same class. Experience didn't magically transfer, and switching classes was basically starting over. It hammered morale—not like the game where you could click a menu and be done.
It was the hard-earned experience of building a real, reliable force that made his twenty battle nuns so precious—he couldn't bear to lose even one.
That's why, hearing one nun had died, pain twisted deep in his heart. "Bring her body. Make sure it's well-preserved. Take her back to the monastery for a proper burial."
"And make sure her family is looked after—with enough compensation."
Sophia replied, "We've already gathered her remains. She'll receive a hero's funeral."
Charles nodded, but suddenly, the sound of crying erupted nearby. The group turned and saw a cluster of minotaurs circle around the edge of the pit, sobbing with heart-rending grief.
There, laid out before them, was Torun's corpse—riddled with fatal wounds left by Montport.
Shortly after Charles emerged from the pit, Torun's body was unearthed too. Everyone had known his odds were slim—he'd already been gravely wounded by Montport, and still made a desperate charge at the Abyssal Lord. The result had been all but certain, but his kin still couldn't help clinging to one last shred of hope.
Now, with his body before them in the daylight, that hope was finally crushed. Grief tore through them—an eruption of raw, guttural wailing.
But the minotaurs' mourning didn't buy them time. Others, especially the demons, weren't about to pause and let them process.
In the distance, a cluster of Dretches drifted closer. Not all demons were consumed by infighting—some were still preying upon the mortals, hungry for flesh and souls.
There was no time left for tears. The survivors quickly cut down the Dretches, then turned and moved on.
Their next destination: the dwarven mines.
Above, dwarven Griffon Knights circled and landed on the nearby hills. Their griffons rested, eating and hydrating, regaining their strength.
Charles led his people to meet with one of the unit's leaders—a longtime friend, the Griffon Knights' second lieutenant.
He explained the situation and pleaded for a pass, just so his group could take shelter in a dwarven mine.
The dwarves recognized the Mountain People at once as the culprits behind the Rockseeker's Outpost raid and were far from happy. But with the demon crisis looming, all grudges came second; the refugees were victims of the ongoing abyssal disaster.
With word passed up the chain, the second lieutenant grimly issued a pass, warning Charles that supplies were tight—the dwarves could sponsor a little shelter for the Mountain People, but not their food and daily needs.
But shelter alone was already a huge relief for the Mountain People.
After a long afternoon hiking four or five dozen li, they reached the magnetite mine the second lieutenant had designated. Though called "magnetite," the lodes had been exhausted and the mine mostly evacuated—an abandoned site, now.
The dwarves hadn't found a new purpose for it yet and left a few gatekeepers on watch.
When two or three thousand Mountain People arrived in a massive tide, the old dwarves at the gate nearly died of fright and refused entry point-blank.
It took Charles, flashing several badges and calmly explaining their plight, to finally convince the suspicious guards to open up and let the Mountain People rest inside.
As with all dwarven settlements, their homes were built underground, right beside the mine tunnels. Sometimes, the tunnels themselves doubled as residences—after a long day's mining, the dwarves would drink, sleep wherever they fell, and get up ready to work again, barely missing a beat.
This led to an underground environment most other races would never tolerate—but at least it made the mines massive, big enough for everyone to squeeze in and keep warm together, using the mountain itself to insulate against the cold.
Charles's party, after making sure the mine was available for the Mountain People, set up their own camp outside in a sheltered spot, pitching tents.
Winter tents with real insulation were pricey, but Charles never skimped on his nuns. Everyone got one, ensuring a good night's rest.
They even set aside an extra tent as a makeshift bathhouse, using Create Water to provide hot washes so the nuns could clean up before sleeping—true luxury out in the wild.
Once everyone was settled and night had fallen, Charles, exhausted from the day, crawled into his own tent to rest.
He'd barely started to doze when he heard cautious rustling—someone sneaking in, carrying a large bundle.
Charles blinked, waking up just in time to see a familiar, blushing figure slipping under the covers beside him.
It was Anno.