Witch Monastery-Chapter 330: The Beholder’s World

Xanathar had gone mad.

It dreamed of roaming endlessly through the infinite expanse of Limbo, freely manipulating the raw, all-encompassing Chaos Energy that flowed beyond the boundaries of reality itself.

From this, it realized that such energy could serve as the foundation for building an entirely new world—so a wild, audacious idea took hold: Xanathar would use this power to shape a plane of its very own!

Just like the Demon Lords ruled their own layers in the Infinite Abyss, or the gods of Mount Celestia presided over their divine realms, now Xanathar wanted to fashion a realm of Chaos—its own domain, a world for the beholder alone!

If it succeeded, it could write every rule, create life, religion, belief, harvest power from the devotion of worshipers, and in time...

Transcend and become a god.

The thought of that future sent Xanathar into a fit of trembling excitement. It couldn’t wait to launch its grand design—its subordinates had already sensed surges of Chaos Energy, which was simply its world-in-the-making under construction!

It was so thoroughly consumed by madness that even when parts of the Chaos Energy clung to and polluted its being, it didn’t care at all. The only thing on its mind was its glorious plan.

Now, its little world was beginning to take shape. Unfortunately, no creature could survive within it—no one, except for those bizarre lifeforms from its dreams, animals with grotesquely stretched limbs. Outside of those, nothing could last in that world.

Of course, Xanathar had no idea these were proto-demons—it simply believed its world was not yet perfect enough for "normal" life.

With no other choice, Xanathar summoned more of these odd beings, set them loose in its new realm, and observed their behavior—tracking the differences between them and creatures from the material plane, hoping to refine its world based on the results.

It demanded fresh, greatly weakened blood from its followers—all to fuel and assist this experiment.

But something went wrong. A rupture tore open in its pocket dimension. Pent-up chaotic energy erupted, obliterating the room it occupied. Countless proto-demons, previously locked inside Xanathar’s realm, escaped like rabid dogs, vanishing into the sewers in an instant!

This would slowly pollute the entire sewer system, but Xanathar had no clue about the scale of disaster it had just unleashed.

Instead, it raged—venting its fury, screaming at its underlings to hunt down and reclaim its "precious creations!"

Its nervous followers could only grit their teeth, force down their dread, and obey. They began rounding up their own henchmen, taking people out to try and wrangle the escaped proto-demons back.

But barely had they left Xanathar’s chamber before they glanced at each other, sharing a look of deep resentment.

They’d had enough. Up till now, they’d put on a brave face and followed Xanathar only because they were sure the beholder would bring them wealth.

But now, with their boss slipping deeper into madness, even dealing with demons, everyone’s soul was in grave danger.

Unacceptable. So, rather than follow Xanathar into the abyss and risk a fate worse than death, it was time to bail—and take care of themselves!

"Xanathar’s lost it!" the Halfling Wanderer blurted out first. Lately, his sway with the group had only grown. "If we keep slaving for him, we’ll all end up demon chow!"

The tall male Dark Elf nodded grimly. "We can’t keep this up. When we head back, we round up our own crew, and then we split. Good luck to everyone—see you on the other side."

But the others hesitated—their faces flashing with calculation, as if a hundred unspoken schemes were brewing.

"Maybe so, but..." someone else started, picking his words, "we can’t just walk away, can we? Think about it—all those years of dirty work for Xanathar, the loot we’ve saved up? It’s all stashed in his secret warehouses."

Another’s eyes lit up. "Exactly! All those years of gold, silver, jewelry, enchanted weapons, armor, potions... That’s ours. We gotta grab our share first!"

Nods all around. The Dark Elf suddenly understood—these guys were still thinking about money.

Xanathar never bothered with the guild’s everyday business. Aside from a handful of treasures it absolutely cherished, it left most valuables to be managed by underlings.

But to keep anyone from growing too powerful or ambitious, it always split the loot across separate warehouses, assigning each stash to different, sometimes even antagonistic, handlers.

This way, the underlings had to rely on each other, but could never unite against Xanathar—letting it remain untouchable at the top for decades. If it weren’t for its latest madness finally pushing these "Eye Hands" to unite, its throne would’ve been safe for years more.

"I agree!" another Eye Hand piped up. "Let’s take what we’re owed. We’ve been through a lot together—let’s end it on good terms, and no more hidden stash games!"

"Sounds good!" the Halfling Wanderer volunteered. "I’m in charge of the potion warehouse—one’s right under Old Martin’s Bakery, and there’s another stashed elsewhere. I’ll lead the way. With those potions, we’ll be set, whatever happens."

He sounded selfless and righteous. The others praised his leadership and wisdom with a few too many compliments, when—

In the next instant, a beam of light shot across the room.

A young man’s voice followed: "Well, well, all the minibosses in one place!"

Faces blanched in panic. "Who’s there?!"

This was Xanathar’s secret maze—top secret territory. Aside from themselves and the mind flayer, no one should know how to get here!

And yet, here were strangers—apparently, coming straight for them.

They spun towards the voice, and saw: a striking young man, draped in jet-black priest’s robes, white hair spilling over his shoulders, wielding a twin-bladed polearm. He stared at them with surprise and wariness.

Behind him, several women in nun’s habits, each clutching a staff or a crystal orb, readying spells.

The halfling recognized him instantly: "Nigel Charles! Damn it, how did he find this place?!"

The rest paled. They knew Charles well enough—in fact, they’d spent considerable effort trying to ruin his name, and knew all too well he was on close terms with Blackstaff Tower!

Whatever angle you approached it from, they were sworn enemies.

"Kill them!" The Dark Elf whipped out a longsword, whispering an incantation—her body fading into invisibility.

Elves are born spellcasters; even without formal training, they can manipulate magical energy and cast spells to aid themselves. She vanished in a heartbeat.

The other Eye Hands drew weapons and prepared to fight—battle was about to explode!

On the other side, Charles’s expression turned subtly amused. It had been over half a year, but he could still vaguely recall these minibosses and elite mobs from the game.

All of them were Xanathar’s underlings—key figures you had to beat as guides for the beholder or as milestones in side quests.

Back in the game, they always holed up in their lairs, flanked by minions, waiting for players to come and challenge them. Unless you triggered specific quest lines, they’d never leave their spot.

But reality didn’t follow game logic. Here, they all ran around, scheming, plotting smuggling rings, kidnappings, robberies, and murders—anything for cash, muscle, and to satisfy Xanathar’s bizarre demands. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

Now, with the proto-demons rampaging free, it made sense they’d all gather here.

But now that fate had thrown them together, there was only one thing to do—

Fight!

These goons had ambushed him before and smeared his reputation. They were enemies—a grudge that could only be settled one way.

Mask off, no more worrying about sewer stench. Charles ripped the mask away, gulped in fresh air, and lunged forward, hurling himself at the nearest Eye Hand leader with the blade of his icy polearm.

That one—a huge, powerfully built human—was already drawing twin handaxes, clearly a dual-wielding warrior.

He tried to meet Charles’s blow head-on, but a massive wave of danger slammed into him. He backpedaled a full five feet, narrowly evading the strike.

Seeing the chilling energy around Charles’s weapon, he yelled, "Watch out—his weapon’s not normal! Don’t try to block it!"

The rest drew back instantly. Even the ones who knew his fighting style realized this weapon was a cut above the rest.

Retreating toward Xanathar’s main room, the halfling knocked an arrow on his light crossbow, took aim at Charles’s head, and fired—

Swish—

The bolt bounced off Charles’s cheek without so much as breaking the skin. The crossbow wasn’t magical—it couldn’t pierce his Supernatural Gift, much less his Mage Armor or other magical protections!

Charles ignored attacks that couldn’t threaten his life—his only target was that invisible Dark Elf!

"Willo! Adele!" he shouted. "Find that invisible Dark Elf and finish him!"

He’d forgotten the names of most game minibosses, but not this drow.

Narl Xybrindas, a noble from the drow capital, a deadly Elite Warrior. He’d fled the Underdark for the surface to escape the oppression of female-run society.

He was a Level 11 Battle Master, blindingly fast, master of staggeringly complex combat arts—a serious threat.

In the game, he was a dreaded, poisoned weapon–wielding foe. One hit could drop your HP to zero!

Now in the real world, Charles didn’t fear venom thanks to Sephera’s power, but he still had to respect one thing:

As an elf, Narl’s longsword was a magical weapon.

That meant it could break through Charles’s defenses and legitimately kill him.

Absolute caution was required.

Behind him, Willo and Adele were about to cast Entangle—but changed plans instantly, and cast Faerie Fire instead.

Blue, green, and violet sparks danced in the air, swarming over every living thing they touched. Thanks to the cramped tunnels, the spell quickly filled the space, outlining the invisible drow right beside Charles.

Faerie Fire—a druid spell that marked enemies with brilliant color, exposing them no matter how well they hid.

Spotting his target, Charles cast Shield for defense, then brought his blade down hard.

Narl, caught out, panicked and dodged back. But with Longstrider active, Charles was just as fast, chasing his adversary down. It would be kill or be killed.

The other Eye Hands leapt in, trying to block Charles’s path—but suddenly, a roiling cloud of poison mist filled their ranks. In one breath, their lungs burned; in another, their throats seared, sending them into unstoppable coughing fits.

Behind them, Sephera grinned. Most of these weakened foes had no resistance to toxins—making this her time to shine.

Charles was nearly immune, so she could unleash her poison freely, knowing only enemies would be hit.

The coughing Eye Hands tumbled and stumbled, spending all their energy saving themselves, unable to cover Narl’s retreat.

Charles kept up the chase, hounding the invisible drow, dead set on taking him out.

"Damn it!" Narl swore under his breath. Why was Charles so dead-set on him? Sure, he was the strongest, but it’s not like he was the only threat here.

Did this guy have some personal grudge against the drow?

Irritation built in his chest. He almost wanted to turn around and duel Charles for real, but then, recalling Charles’s achievements against demon lords, he paused. Even if some of the stories were exaggerated, Charles was on a level Narl had never reached.

Gritting his teeth, Narl swallowed his pride—an incantation whispered silently, and he triggered another spell:

Misty Step.

His body dissolved into a vaporous cloud, the Faerie Fire flickering as he zipped through the tunnels—gone around the corner in a flash.

"Whew..."

With his target vanished, Charles slowed, gaze scanning the gloom as he exhaled slowly.

Gone...

Well, let him go.

As a player, Charles knew Narl was one of the hardest bosses, but also that he hid multiple secret quest lines, only triggerable by clever players or those following guides.

In short, Narl wasn’t a truly loyal minion—he was an undercover agent, part of a small drow male resistance, planted inside Xanathar’s crew.

Most of the time, his job was to leak Xanathar’s plans and minimize conflict. After all, no one wanted to antagonize the city’s oldest, most powerful crime lord unless they had to.

Narl, and his faction, even had missions leading all the way back to the Underdark, with generous rewards.

If players weren’t forced to kill him for loot, most would let him live for the side quests.

But the game is rigid—a real world is flexible. Since he fled, Charles had no problem letting him escape.

He was thinking this when a strong surge of danger slammed him. No hesitation, no worries about dirt, he dove to the side—

An instant later, an ink-green beam shot past, sizzling into the stone floor.

Bzzz—

A low, unsettling vibration filled the air as the ground beneath the beam dissolved to dust. Charles rolled, covered in muck, his heart pounding as he saw the result.

He whipped around—and saw it.

Hovering in the air, as big as a bull, was a monstrous, central eye, eight long eyestalks writhing from its head—nine eyes in total, all glaring murderously at him!

Charles’s heart nearly stopped.

Xanathar had arrived!

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