After all, creating life was a privilege reserved for deities during the age of creation. Even now, the gods themselves no longer do it. What Sulpharlo did was an affront to the gods, and a blasphemy against life itself.
Charles's expression twisted as well, his whole mind feeling numb. This was already far beyond anything he'd ever encountered, even as someone from the distant, futuristic 21st century. He had no clue how to handle this.
Clones—sure, he understood the concept. But in his previous life's world, the very act of cloning was so fraught with ethical issues that it was simply outlawed across the board.
But this was a fantasy world. Here, anything was possible. Empowered by boundless magic, Sulpharlo had created a hundred fully-grown adult clones by herself!
And their bodies weren't just copied—they'd been remade and could even self-replicate, serving as weapons of war and, at the same time, baby-making machines!
Charles felt an ocean of sympathy for these girls but had no idea how to plan out their futures. He couldn't even pretend they were a bunch of lost girls from some far-off land—everyone could see instantly that they were all identical!
What a headache…
But since he'd already decided to take responsibility for the Dark Angels, Charles wasn't about to back out. He just shook his head, pushed the problem aside for the moment, and looked at Malena. "Have you given them names yet?"
Malena replied, "Oh, for the very first Dark Angel, I did come up with one."
She gazed gently at the girl in question, reaching out to softly caress her hair. "I named her Nigel Sona, taking your last name. What do you think?"
Charles rubbed his temples, feeling another twinge of nerves. After all, "Nigel" wasn't even his surname—it was his real first name!
But after all this time, it was too late to correct it. He steeled himself and nodded. "That's fine."
Malena smiled at him, then glanced softly over the rest of the girls. "But these girls—all the others—only matured last night. I haven't had a chance to name them yet."
"Priest, you're the educated one here. Why don't you name them?"
Charles swallowed hard, breaking out in a cold sweat as he looked at the hundred identical faces around him.
A hundred names? All up to me?!
No way—!
He felt his scalp go numb, then, struck with inspiration, whispered inwardly, "System, is there an auto-naming feature? Quick, pull me up a Western girls' name list!"
A faint blue screen only he could see began to flash, scrolling through entry after entry. Charles started to gain confidence, stood, and walked to the nearest Dark Angel, saying solemnly, "In the name of the Goddess of Life, I bless you to grow into a helpful young woman. Therefore, as the Goddess's agent, I bestow upon you the name ' Nigel Alexia '…"
The girl blinked her gentle, water-like eyes, a spark of light gleaming in those dark pupils.
"Yes, Priest." She parted her lips, voice ethereal, almost childlike, and repeated, "My name is Nigel Alexia…"
Charles suddenly felt a strange bond form between himself and the girl. The sensation faded quickly; he couldn't tell if he was just imagining it.
But he didn't waste any time. He went to the next girl and repeated the process: "In the name of the Goddess of Life, I bless you to grow into a wise and long-lived lady. Therefore, as the Goddess's agent, I bestow upon you the name 'Nigel Belinda'…"
…
So it went, hour after hour, as everyone around looked on in awe: Charles gave every one of the hundred Dark Angels her own name.
Nearly everyone marveled at the encyclopedic knowledge in Charles's head. None realized he was glancing at his system the entire time, scrolling with his fingertip to make sure all the girls' names started with different letters so no one caught on to the trick.
But in any case, he managed to get by. When he finished naming the last of them, Charles let out a long sigh and sat heavily back in his seat, gazing at the throng of excited and curious girls, all chatting and comparing their new names. He managed a faint smile. "That should just about do it."
Looking closer at their weird mix of too-small and too-big clothing—shirt collars tight on some, pant legs flopping over others, some outfits choking, some baring their ankles—he frowned. "Yeah… we'll still need to get everybody a proper set of clothes eventually."
He sighed again. That would have to wait until they reached the marketplace on the other side of Darklake. Who knew if any vendor would even have that many matching outfits in stock?
Oh, right—he'd need to buy visors too, to cover their faces. A hundred identical faces were bound to send the locals into a panic.
Lost in thought, Charles was startled as Hattie suddenly spoke up beside him. "Wait, Charles, didn't we just loot a hundred sets of plate armor—plus helmets, boots, and weapons?"
"They might be kind of heavy, but the gear fits them, and at the very least, it'll keep them warm. Since we're short on clothes, why don't they just wear the armor? It's perfect, right?"
As she suggested this, Charles nodded: "Yeah, that's probably the best plan right now."
Suddenly, a realization struck him; he slapped his forehead. "Wait… isn't this all too convenient? Let's get those suits of plate out here. Something's up with this…"
Without delay, most of the group headed below deck—Shapiro stayed to help keep Malena, with her pregnant belly, company—and started hauling out the crates and unpacking the sets of plate armor.
Sona hesitantly stepped forward. Following the group's instructions, she slipped out of her outerwear, revealing smooth, pale shoulders and a black bra pressed snugly against her chest. Her lean, muscular midriff looked incredibly alluring.
She had almost no sense of modesty, so she didn't even try to avoid Charles's gaze. She simply unfastened her straps and removed the bra before reaching for the armor's inner lining.
Finding it awkward, Charles retreated topside, leaving the other girls to help Sona suit up. Five minutes later, with Sona armored, the group returned to the upper deck.
Seeing all the armor fit them perfectly—no matter their build, even those extra-full chests fit comfortably, without restricting breath or leaving a weak spot—Charles couldn't help but marvel, "It's as if this gear was made just for them!"
His mood improved. Wearing the suits and donning their helmets, their identical faces would all be hidden—no need to buy visors after all.
Malena's lips curved into a smile. She kept eyeing the armored Dark Angels, growing more and more fond of their imposing look.
"Turn around. Let me check the back." She requested, and the girl turned, revealing two vertical slits in the armor—like openings for something to come out.
Malena's smile froze.
"Sona," she called softly, "spread your wings for me."
The Dark Angel blinked, then two dark-red wings spread from her back, perfectly poking through the slits—an exact fit.
Seeing that, even Charles finally understood: "Wait a minute…"
It wasn't just the perfect fit. Even the wing slots were made for the Dark Angels to shed their armor and unfurl their wings! This couldn't be a coincidence—they really were made to order!
He scratched his head, then shouted: "Theresa, when you and Sophia were looting Sulpharlo's old lair, did you find any documents, invoices, or anything like that?"
"My suspicion is, Sulpharlo bought these plate armors."
Everyone had been too exhausted last night, so only now did Charles have the energy to ask.
Theresa shook her head. "No, I didn't really look for paperwork, just focused on grabbing whatever spoils I could find."
Her voice turned apologetic. "And to be honest, there weren't that many spoils—just a bunch of strange magical materials, likely used in her evil experiments."
"In terms of magical items, there wasn't much, but I did find a sealed chest full of ten thousand gold dragonborn coins."
Charles's eyes lit up.
Dragon crowns!
Gold dragonborn-minted dragon crowns trade at a pretty stable rate—about ten to one compared to coins blessed by the Goddess of Wealth.
So, just from Sulpharlo's old lair, they'd scored close to a hundred thousand gold pieces!
But if it was exactly a hundred thousand…
"Mr. Lotuen!" Charles called up, beckoning the beholder lookout from the deck. "What's the going price for custom plate armor from the Duergar?"
The disabled beholder drifted over, his huge central eye drifting down for a look, thinking for a moment. "To my knowledge, a set of plate like this runs about fifteen hundred gold. Special tailoring runs extra, and with the matching weapons, helmets, boots… hmm…"
He calculated. "For one hundred sets, call it two hundred thousand gold. For a big order like that, the Duergar would want half as a deposit, half on delivery."
Charles nodded—now everything made sense!
The ten thousand dragon crowns from Sulpharlo's lair was almost certainly the balance she planned to pay the Duergar!
Heh, what a fortunate coincidence… well, not even that. Sulpharlo was their original target, and the Duergar were just making a delivery. With their greedy minds eyeing Charles's small crew, they'd hopped right into losing all their gear to him!
Charles's lips curled into a smile as he watched Sona, suited in plate armor yet moving freely—even able to swing a sword and wield a shield. Clearly, it was all perfectly tailored.
Too bad for Sulpharlo! All her scheming only to hand everything to him!
He'd have to mock her for that… but not just yet. He'd let her stew for now, deal with business, and then go pay her a visit.
He turned to Hattie. "Since we're out of clothes, go get the rest of the plate armor and fit out all the girls."
Hattie obeyed, leading the girls below to gear up. Charles stayed up above, but the sounds of getting dressed—and the girls' excited little gasps—kept him amused.
About half an hour later, over a hundred Dark Angels marched out onto the foredeck, clad from head to toe in plate armor, wings spread at Hattie's signal.
They stood in formation, silent, glittering blades and armor flashing—intimidating and awe-inspiring all at once. No wonder Sulpharlo wanted a full squad of these angels.
Damn, they look good…
Charles was impressed. He checked with them and found that, for the Dark Angels, plate armor was surprisingly comfortable—it barely weighed them down at all.
These suits would serve while they waited to buy other clothes at the next port. After that, the armor could be put aside—at least for a while.
And so, breakfast—really, lunch—wrapped up, and the group went off to their tasks. Charles cleared out the ship's main hold. Then, Sophia—the most scholarly witch—began teaching the girls basic knowledge about the surface world.
Malena returned to her quarters to rest. Hattie worked her magic to keep the ship moving. Theresa went to the bow to watch for threats. Shapiro kept an eye on the Duergar rowers down below.
Willo and Adele, with Lotuen, worked on improving their maps. And Charles himself? He went back to the captain's cabin to continue his studies in warlock Eldritch Invocations.
There was still one ability he hadn't mastered—one unique to warlocks.
This particular invocation was powerful—it could deal huge damage and knock foes prone, all for the low cost of two spell slots. It was on par with a paladin's Divine Smite.
While it was a little weaker against undead and fiends, in regular fights it could match Divine Smite shot for shot.
And, because it could knock enemies down, sometimes it was even stronger!
The invocation's name was "Eldritch Smite."
Charles wanted this power badly. Now that he'd hit level twelve and had plenty of spell slots, with most other business handled, he threw himself into studying and mastering it.
But as Charles was lost in his studies, a knock sounded at his cabin door.
He frowned and called out, "Come in." The door opened, and Keisha entered with Hanni, both sneaking in with shifty looks.
Seeing Charles's frown, the moon elf flashed an awkward grin. "Good morning, Priest Charles! You look great today—hahaha…"
Hanni grinned as well, laying it on thick. Charles relaxed, smiled gently, and said, "If you have something to say, just say it. I'm busy."
Nymeria glanced at Hanni. Hanni looked back at Nymeria; the latter clenched her fists as if for courage.
So Nymeria took a deep breath, "I'll be honest, Priest. Actually, it's me—I'm really curious about Sulpharlo's research notes, so I was hoping to ask if I could take a look at them…"
As she said this she lost her nerve, eyes shifting, her posture uncertain.
Charles narrowed his eyes, immediately thinking of Nymeria's demonic sword Eilinel. He asked, "Tell me the truth, Nymeria—do you really want the research, or is it Eilinel?"
Demons were always dangerous to trust—even if he relied on their knowledge, Charles hated the thought of putting his girls at risk.
Apparently not this time, though—Nymeria slumped at once, turning to Hanni. "See? I told you, no way we could fool Priest Charles."
"Hanni, just tell him yourself. I'll vouch for you."
So it wasn't Eilinel, after all?
Charles turned to Hanni, eyeing her, and the dark elf scratched her head with a sheepish grin. "Okay, I admit it—I'm really curious! Can I just flip through and have a look?"
She begged, "Please, Priest! I'm begging you…"
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