Witch Monastery
Chapter 389: The New Changes in South Harbor District
As the days went by, life seemed to settle back into a lull. Shapiro hadn’t shown up again since that day, and Charles wasn’t in any hurry to track him down either, instead focusing intently on his own affairs.
He was patient; he knew the circle of top-tier combatants in Liberl Port was extremely small. As long as he remained in the city, sooner or later, they would cross paths again.
Today, inside the monastery, in the scriptorium.
Closing his spellbook, Charles shut his eyes, massaging his temples with two fingers, trying to work out some of the fatigue. It helped a little, and he let out a long exhale.
Man... Sixth-level spells are on a whole different tier when it comes to difficulty!
The spell he was currently learning was "Tasha’s Otherworldly Guise," a transmutation created by the legendary witch Tasha—the same spellcaster infamous for penning the vile artifact "The Demonomicon."
The gist of this spell was simple: draw a spark of arcane power from either an upper plane (like Mount Celestia) or a lower one (like the Infinite Layers of the Abyss) and unleash it in battle. For one minute, you gain a cascade of enhancements.
And the benefits? All kinds of resistances, immunity to disabling effects, solid protective force, a nice bump to damage, but two things mattered above all: insane flying speed... and attack speed!
Yup, it was yet another spell that boosted attack speed. With a twin-bladed polearm and the "Thirsting Blade" Eldritch Invocation, this buff would put Charles’s DPS toe-to-toe with heavy weapon fighters at the same level!
But what Charles cared about most wasn’t even that. What he truly craved was this spell’s flying speed.
That fight with Regolas had really drilled it into him how miserable it was not being able to fly. Facing Mephistopheles, he’d even needed Theresa to teleport him in just to get a single strike on the archdevil—totally reactive, not proactive.
He was level eleven now, but still grounded? That was a serious disadvantage in top-level fights. Learning the concentration-requiring, lower-level "Fly" spell didn’t seem worth it, so after some thought, he settled on this one.
For low-tier battles, he could just keep Eldritch Blasting while moving around; he’d handled Regolas just fine like that. For truly high-end fights, he was only ever going all-in once anyway—this spell would be enough.
With that in mind, full of drive, he launched into studying. Yet even in the triple-empowered scriptorium, this spell proved brutally challenging.
Seriously, this was just too hard!
It wasn’t just the mountain of information in a sixth-level spell; there was an even bigger obstacle: nobody else in the monastery knew this spell.
There was no one who could cast it for him to use as a reference!
The only high-level spellcaster he could lean on was Vajra, but whether she even knew the spell was an open question—and even if she did, Madam Blackstaff wasn’t going to take time out of her packed schedule just to tutor him.
So, he had no choice but to do what most spellcasters did: grind through it brute-force with his own spell slots, conducting painstaking experiments, and slowly, through sheer repetition and study, master the spell.
The only reasons this was even feasible were that his mana pool was huge—and regeneration was equally fast. That meant he could experiment recklessly, using up his mana to fumble around until he found the right casting path.
Combined with the scriptorium’s innate boosts, his study speed was already several times what the average mage could manage.
Still, sixth-level was just that difficult. Mastering it would definitely take a long time.
Creak—
The library door behind him swung open. Holding a steaming cup of wake-up tea, Sephera slinked in, her waist swaying like a striking serpent.
With a flick of magic, she shut the door behind her. Depositing the cup before him, she caught the frustration on his face.
No words necessary; skilled as ever, she knelt beneath the desk, undid his belt, and fished out his already-bristling, oversized "dragon." She clearly meant to relax him with her mouth.
But just then, a tiny flying bug zipped up beside Charles’s ear. Andny’s voice came through: "Master, that blue dragon’s secretary is here again, he’s already entered South Harbor District!"
Charles closed his eyes; by now, Sephera had taken his full length deep into her mouth. He could feel her forked, bifurcated tongue—just like a snake’s—deftly swirling over him. Still, he said, "No rush, he won’t get here for a while yet... whew..."
...
At the monastery entrance, after knocking, a sharply dressed blue dragonborn waited patiently. Maybe Charles was really busy today, because it took a while before the gates opened and Charles showed up, looking refreshed and apologetic at the doorway, "Sorry to keep you waiting."
The blue dragonborn nodded slightly. "Not at all, Lord Charles."
No wasting time—he got right to it. "As for the bank franchise and the mortgage loans, Lord Rahman originally wasn’t going to agree. But because this was your suggestion, he decided to trust you—he approved it."
"Now, it’s down to us to come up with a concrete strategy for implementation."
Charles nodded, raising a hand. "Please, after you, let’s discuss this further in the private dining room." 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮
The two of them went east, heading to the private room on the top floor of the only seafood restaurant in South Harbor District—Hattie had already made the reservation and arranged the full spread.
With platters of seafood already on the table, they sat. The blue dragonborn cut into his meal with graceful knife and fork and calmly explained the situation on the blue dragon bank’s side: "Prince Rahman thinks thirty percent down, four percent interest, and a thirty-year term is a bit low. The risk is considerable, since the people of South Harbor District likely won’t have the income to repay."
"So he wants to further negotiate those specific numbers."
Charles stayed unruffled. "Then they can initiate foreclosure—it’s all legal. Frankly, the new bus lines for South Harbor District are underway. Looking long-term, the property values here will probably go up tenfold, maybe even more."
"So as long as the loans go out, there’s basically no way to lose money in the long run."
The blue dragonborn paused his cutting. "See, that’s what puzzles me, Lord Charles—why are you so eager to sell your houses off?"
That was the crux of the mistrust shared by this blue dragonborn and his master, Blue Dragon Rahman.
Why not make more profit—why sell to the poor at a low price?
What was Charles really after?
And not knowing the answer made them nervous, which was exactly what drove the blue dragonborn’s pointed question: "You clearly don’t need quick cash. And even if you did, you could just borrow from Prince Rahman—he’d lend without hesitation."
"So why hurry to sell your properties and cash out? If you’d wait to sell at the peak, you’d make so much more profit."
What he left unsaid: Are you trying to liquidate quickly, pay off your loan to Rahman, and sever all ties with our blue dragon bank?
This was his biggest concern. Blue dragons, after all—at least by public reputation—are chromatic and thus "evil." Anyone on the rise tends to break away from them at the first chance. The dragons knew this well.
And Charles, with his obvious, boundless potential, was a partner they couldn’t afford to lose.
He bit his tongue, and Charles—seeing right through him—smiled lightly. "Of course I need funds. I’m planning to partner with the Voulet family to open a new shipyard. I’ll need to borrow a big chunk from Prince Rahman for that."
"But since it’s such a massive investment, I figured I’d go see him at the bank in person in a few days, and hash out the details with him directly."
That was all it took for the blue dragonborn to relax. With that explanation, he had no reason to push for more: "Then, since you have your plans, I won’t pry any further."
Charles kept smiling. "Thanks for your understanding."
In truth, he had his own calculus. What mattered was whether his move might actually improve the lives—and level up the demographics—of South Harbor District residents.
Once the new rail line opened, prosperity here was inevitable. But without action, it was all too likely that none of that prosperity would trickle down to the local residents.
Investors from the Golden Dragon Bank and others, as the blue dragonborn outlined, would use "fair" free trade and snatch up the land from the natives at a low price—just to sit and wait for prices to skyrocket.
Then, when prices hit the stratosphere, they’d develop the land and sell expensive homes to upwardly mobile newcomers.
Exactly what happened previously in Field District.
Charles didn’t want the same fate for South Harbor. He truly hoped these struggling locals could catch the wealth train and live decent, dignified lives—instead of ending up dispossessed and scattered by distant tycoons.
Of course, he did have his own motives—but his ambitions were of a higher order.
As a gamer—a player who’d cleared every "pure love route" and could burn through hundreds of millions in late-game funds with a flick of his hand—money was an afterthought.
What he really cared about was something that can’t be trained, tracked, or measured with numbers—hearts, belief, and loyalty.
He wanted these people to rally to him, to be willing to fight for him. Otherwise, come late-game—during some world-shaking catastrophe with the fate of everything on the line—he’d be left high and dry.
The price? What he called fairness: letting the locals ride the wave of the era’s prosperity, building better lives.
But there was no point trying to explain all that to a blue dragonborn financier. He just smiled and repeated, "I have my plans."
After a beat, the blue dragonborn continued. "One more thing, Lord Charles. I’ve heard that following the Cassalanter Grand Theater incident, you protected those girls involved in the case—refusing to let the media interview them, citing the demon investigation."
"But now that Ammalia Cassalanter’s been sentenced, there’s no more need to fear that family’s power. Why not let the girls speak up and kick the Cassalanters while they’re down?"
Of course, Charles knew his real intent. The blue dragon bank and their affiliates wanted to discredit the local nobility further so their own puppets could rise. But as soon as those dancers went public, they’d become fair game for retaliation.
They weren’t equipped to take on the wrath of the noble families—nor would the blue dragons lift a finger to help if things got ugly. In the end, those girls’ souls would fall to Mephistopheles.
Charles couldn’t let that happen, but he didn’t want to offend the blue dragons either. He needed a plausible excuse.
"You’re right," he agreed first, "but then the gold dragonborn get all the benefits."
The blue dragonborn’s expression shifted—clearly, Charles’s argument had struck home. Charles pressed the advantage. "I’m not disparaging Blue Dragon Prince’s capabilities—it’s just objective truth."
"If I let the girls out, I can’t control what they say. If they accidentally name-drop some rich or powerful family, the gold dragonborn-backed lawmakers in City Hall will jump at the chance."
Fact: blue dragons bore all the "evil chromatic dragon" baggage, while gold dragonborns stood for "justice and liberty." Every politician looking to climb the ranks wanted to break away from blue dragons and grab the golds’ endorsement.
Inside City Hall, that put the blues at a permanent disadvantage.
As an old hand, Charles could see right through this—and he was ruthless enough to spell it out. "Sure, if we all pile on and crush House Cassalanter, we’ll get some short-term gains. But to a huge bank, those crumbs are nothing."
"If the gold dragonborns use this moment to seize government power, that could cost us everything in the long run."
The blue dragonborn absorbed each word. "That... makes a lot of sense."
Seeing him nod, Charles knew he had this in the bag. He sipped his tea and added, "That’s why I locked down the girls—thinking long-term."
The blue dragonborn nodded. "As expected, your insight is truly impressive—I’m in awe."
Charles laughed amiably. "Just an outsider’s perspective. In your shoes, you’d probably see it even more clearly than I do."
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