Chapter 93 (Part 1): The Veil of Prophecy
The Crawling Colossus
The Venomspinner Queen tore through the frozen forest like a living siege engine. Her spiked forelimbs—scythes forged of chitin and malice—sliced through ancient pines as if they were stalks of wheat. Snow cascaded from shattered trunks, the air thick with the stench of sap and decay. Unlike the swift, wolf-like mounts Bennett had ridden before, this monstrous arachnid cared nothing for stealth. It carved a brutal path northward, crushing ice and timber beneath its bulk.
"These creatures burrow through glaciers," Bennett muttered, gripping the spider's shuddering carapace. "A forest might as well be tissue paper to them."
The old druid stood motionless atop the beast, his face ashen. The wind clawed at his robes, but he seemed oblivious—lost in memories darker than the forest's shadows.
The Serpent's Curiosity
It was Medusa who shattered the silence.
"What happened next?"
Her voice, colder than the frost-laden air, carried an edge Bennett had never heard. The snake queen's obsidian scales rippled as she leaned forward, golden eyes fixed on the druid. "Your tale of Semel and the Vatican—how did it end?"
Bennett raised an eyebrow. Medusa had barely spoken since they'd crossed the Serpent's Pass.
"Curiosity?" The druid turned slowly, his smile brittle. "Careful, Your Majesty. Some truths bite harder than your pets."
Medusa's forked tongue flickered. "I owe no fealty to gods or temples. Speak."
The druid's laughter rattled like bones in a crypt. "As you wish… though you'll find your role in this play soon enough." He gestured northward, where the trees thinned into endless white. "By dusk tomorrow, we'll breach the forest's edge. Few have walked where we tread—save Semel and I, two centuries past."
Bennett stiffened. "Az the Explorer reached the Blackridge Gorge twenty years ago. His journals—"
"Az was a fool chasing glory!" The druid spat. "Semel and I ventured farther. To the true north—where even stars fear to shine."
Bloodlines and Betrayals
From his robes, the druid withdrew a fragment of vellum so ancient its edges crumbled at his touch. The firelight revealed jagged symbols scrawled in rust-red—letters that pulsed faintly, as though alive.
"Aragorn's final testament," the druid whispered. "Written in his own blood, hidden in the tomb of a forgotten noble."
Hussein frowned, whetstone pausing on his sword. "Why would a king's last words lie with some… minor lord?"
Bennett answered before the druid could. "The Roland bloodline fractured centuries ago." His voice took on the cadence of a scholar—a persona honed during lonely nights in the Rowling archives. "Aragorn's direct descendants died out in the 'Withering of the Thorn.' The crown passed to his brother's line, then to distant cousins. The current 'Augustine Dynasty' claims ties through a great-great-grandmother who carried a drop of Aragorn's blood. It's political theater—like the Han Dynasty's revival in Bennett's old world."
Medusa's snakes hissed in unison. "So the parchment's keeper was a relic. A weed in the royal garden."
"Precisely." The druid unrolled the vellum with reverent care. "But Aragorn's words transcend mortal crowns. This… is a prophecy."
The God-King's Whisper
Key Excerpts from Aragorn's Testament (Translated from Old Rolandic):
"To those who walk the frozen path—
When twin thrones crack and false stars fall,
Seek the heart where shadows crawl.
Beneath the spire where gods once bled,
My heir shall wake what demons fled.
Beware the cost, oh child of storm—
The spark you claim must first transform.
Let not the vessel break or bend,
Lest dawn's last light meet timeless end."
The druid's finger trembled over the final line. "Aragorn didn't just master magic. He glimpsed time itself. This 'Grand Divination'—long considered a myth—was his true legacy. And Semel…" His voice broke. "She realized too late what we'd unleashed."
Chapter 93 (Part 2): The Weight of Crowns and Teeth of Rats
The Divine Jest
Bennett's fingers trembled as he clutched the bloodstained parchment. The wind tore at its frayed edges, as though the gods themselves sought to snatch away its blasphemies.
"Grand Divination…" he whispered, the words ash on his tongue.
Medusa leaned closer, her serpents hissing in unison. "Your legends claim gods shaped reality with mere words. Yet you dismiss their power as priestly lies?"
"Not lies," Bennett snapped, though his voice lacked conviction. "Just… metaphors. Stories to—"
"To what? Comfort fools?" The old druid's laughter cut like a saw through bone. "Read it, boy. Let the dead king mock your arrogance."
Prophecy in Scarlet
Aragorn's Testament (Translated Excerpts):
"My blood shall wither, my brother's line rise—
Fools draped in borrowed glory,
Until the plains birth eastern light.
He bears my mantle, guards my throne,
Yet destiny's true child remains unknown.
The chosen walks from turtle's shell,
Crowned by demon's horn, sworn by last knight's vow.
Northward he treads where shadows dwell,
Gains serpent's fealty, beast-king's brow.
At world's edge, my blade awaits—
Let he who wields it ** [text severed] *"
The final line ended in jagged teeth marks.
Bennett's pulse roared. Turtle's shell… He'd emerged from the enchanted tortoise-carriage during the Frostwolf ambush. Demon's horn… The cursed antler fused to his skull after the Blackmarsh ritual. Last knight… His gaze flicked to Hussein, whose scarred face had gone corpse-pale.
"Coincidence," Bennett croaked. "Lucky guesses by a dying madman."
The druid snatched the parchment back. "Madman? This 'madman' named the Augustines centuries before their rise! Their ancestral seat lay in the Eastern Plains, exactly as written!"
Hussein's sword hissed free. "If this is true… if Roland's throne was always meant for…"
"For me?" Bennett's laugh bordered on hysterical. "I'm a Rowling! A disgraced noble playing mercenary! Do I look like some prophesied god-king to you?!"
Fangs of Fate
Medusa's claw closed around Bennett's wrist, her touch colder than the grave. "Denial suits you poorly, little liar. The turtle. The horn. The knight." Her golden eyes narrowed. "Even I stand here, bound to your quest. How many coincidences until they become design?"
Bennett wrenched free. "And the rat-gnawed ending? Did your precious prophecy foresee that?!"
From within his cloak, a squeaky voice protested: "Not all rats are villains!"
The druid's pet mouse, Gurgle, peeked out timidly—only to retreat as Bennett and Hussein glared.
"A rodent ate destiny," Medusa mused, her lips twitching. "Poetic. Even oracles cannot outwit hunger."
Chapter 94 (Part 1): The Reluctant Heir
A Crown of Thorns
Bennett seethed in silence as the Venomspinner Queen's labored breaths fogged the air. Every crunch of ice beneath the spider's legs felt like fate's teeth gnawing at his freedom. Prophecies. Legacies. Screw that. He glared at the druid's hunched back, resentment simmering hotter than the magic keeping frostbite at bay.
Medusa's scales clicked like a ticking clock beside him. "Your pulse quickens," she observed, her serpentine crown swaying. "Does destiny frighten or anger you?"
"Both," Bennett snapped, yanking his fur collar higher. "And neither. I just… refuse."
The snake queen's laughter held winter's bite. "Refusal is a luxury for those who outrun consequences."
The Runaway Prince
Bennett's Inner Monologue (Excerpt):
Let's review, shall I?
1. Transmigrated into noble house — check.
2. Faked idiocy to dodge inheritance — check.
3. Got exiled to peaceful backwater — check.
Perfect plan! Until…
Some fossil digs up a dead king's rantings.
Now I'm supposed to what? Charge the Vatican with a toothpick?
Even Aragorn — the original "Chosen One" — got his ass handed to him!
And Hussein… poor bastard. "Greatest Knight" my ass. Look at him — twitchier than a meth-head in confession.
He shot a glare at the paladin, whose gauntleted hand hadn't left his sword hilt since dawn.
Trapped. Outgunned. Screwed.
Glacier's Gambit
The druid halted at a jagged ice spire, its surface swirling with unnatural indigo veins. "We camp here."
"Camp?" Bennett kicked a chunk of frost. "In this frozen hellscape? Why not keep—"
A thunderous crack drowned his words. The spider collapsed, its eight eyes dimming to smoke-gray. Rivulets of black ichor seeped from joints frozen solid.
"Even hellspawn have limits," the druid murmured, placing a withered hand on the dying beast's head. "Rest, old friend."
As the creature dissolved into shadow, Medusa traced a claw through the residue. "Sacrificial magic. How… practical."
Bennett's stomach churned. That spider carried us 300 leagues. And he just…
"Sentiment slows steps," the druid said, answering his unspoken revulsion. "You'll learn that soon."
Frostbound Truths
Nightfall brought horrors no fire could thaw.
The promised winds came — not mere gusts, but shrieking entities with claws of rime. They circled the party's makeshift barrier, a dome of flickering green light fueled by the druid's waning magic.
"Your shield's cracking," Hussein growled, frost coating his beard.
"Observant as ever," the druid croaked, veins bulging blue-black beneath his skin. "Medusa? A little help?"
The snake queen yawned, fangs glinting. "My magic answers only me."
"Selfish wench!" Bennett lunged toward her before logic intervened. Right. Snake goddess. Poison breath. Bad idea.
Medusa's smile could've frozen lava. "Admire the fire, little martyr. It'll be extinguished soon enough."
Key Revelations:
The Spider's Fate: Foreshadows the druid's willingness to sacrifice allies for the mission.
Medusa's Neutrality: Her refusal to assist hints at a larger agenda — possibly tied to her mysterious past with Aragorn.
Cracking Barrier: Symbolizes Bennett's crumbling facade of indifference as stakes escalate.
Beneath the Aurora
Dawn revealed the truth behind the druid's "forgotten ice."
Not mere glacier — but a graveyard.
Frozen warriors in archaic armor stood entombed mid-charge. A mammoth skeleton wore Vatican regalia, its ivory tusks carved with heresies even Hussein crossed himself to see. Worst of all, the ice itself bled — viscous crimson pooling beneath fractures that healed as quickly as they formed.
"The Godswound," the druid whispered, reverent and terrified. "Where deities fell during the Sundering Wars."
Bennett's boot dislodged a frozen hand clutching a rusted blade. The moment metal touched air, it dissolved into ash.
"Careful," Medusa purred. "The dead here… remember."
The Choice
At midday, the druid collapsed.
Hussein caught him before he hit the ice. "His heart's slower than a dying clock!"
"Magic exhaustion," Medusa diagnosed without interest. "Feed him to the winds or leave him — either way, we're stranded."
Bennett stared at the old man's ashen face. This fossil dragged me here. Ruined my life. I should…
His hands moved before his mind decided.
The Crux:
Bennett's Action: Begins channeling forbidden stellar magic (learned in Ch. 34) to reignite the barrier.
Consequence: His left hand blackens as corrupted energy surges — a visual echo of Aragorn's prophesied "vessel's corruption."
Hussein's Reaction: The paladin draws his sword, torn between protecting Bennett or stopping the heresy.
Echoes of the Damned
As Bennett's magic flared, the glacier screamed.
Shadows of long-dead gods writhed beneath the ice. The Vatican mammoth's skeleton reassembled itself, eye sockets blazing with hellfire. Somewhere in the maelstrom, Medusa laughed like a mad symphony.
"Stop!" the druid rasped, clawing at Bennett's leg. "You'll wake—"
The ice split.
A obsidian spire erupted skyward, its surface crawling with runes that hurt to perceive. At its base gaped a doorway older than language.
From the abyss came a voice that bypassed ears to stab directly into minds:
"Welcome home, little spark."
Bennett's bitter laugh echoed across eons. Home? This tomb?
Yet his feet moved forward.
Damn prophecies.