Chapter 104 (Part I): The Weight of Legacy
A Sword's Hollow Promise
The blade refused to budge.
Bennett gripped the rust-eaten hilt with mounting frustration, his boots crunching ice as he braced himself. This was the legendary Stormqueller? This corroded relic, its edges blunted by centuries, its once-proud steel reduced to flaking orange scales? The absurdity clawed at him. A thousand-year-old blade? Even Qin Shi Huang's bronze toys would outclass this junk.
"Hrk—haah!"
With a warrior's roar, he wrenched upward. A brittle crack split the air.
Silence.
The sword slid free—or rather, its crumbling hilt surrendered. Bennett stared at the disintegrating weapon, its fractured blade dangling like a broken promise. Around him, the party gaped. Hussein's bandaged face twitched. Gandorff's ghost might as well have cackled from the grave.
"So this," Bennett rasped, shaking the corroded scrap, "is the Kingmaker?"
The old mage mopped his brow. Only QQ, perched atop Grimgrin's singed fur, chirped cheerfully: "Told you! Not a sword—a storm anchor!"
Bennett's palm throbbed. Blood seeped from a shallow cut where the hilt's rotten wood had splintered. Cold numbed the pain, but not the humiliation. Aragorn, you bastard. A chatty penguin and a museum piece? This is your grand inheritance?
Secrets in the Blood
As Bennett wrapped his hand, a glint caught his eye—a sliver of glass-like stone lodged in the hilt's ruins. Prying it free, he uncovered a slender, prismatic crystal, its core veined with crimson. His blood, drawn by the shard's needle-sharp edge, now snaked through the gem like living thread.
The party crowded close. Even Hussein leaned in, his ruined eye narrowing.
Inside the crystal lay a scroll no larger than a palm, its parchment miraculously preserved. Unfurling it, Bennett watched as his blood bloomed across the page, summoning ghostly ink to the surface.
Aragorn's voice from the grave:
"If these words bleed for you, child, then fate has not yet abandoned us.
Cherish QQ—he is more than he seems.
Guard this stone; its power will awaken.
Retrieve my heart from Cristof's grasp.
As for the storm… Remember: No spell feeds itself. The circle devours those who dare breach it."
Bennett's jaw tightened. Cryptic riddles, not solutions. Yet the final line prickled his mind. The storm-circle consumes intruders… and their magic.
The Storm's Maw Revisited
Three days earlier, trapped in the blizzard's wrath, they'd huddled around Aragorn's chest. Bennett recalled QQ's insistence: "Draw the Stormqueller! Only the worthy can wield it!"
Worthiness. What a joke. The "sword" had shattered like driftwood. Now, clutching Aragorn's cryptic scroll, Bennett glared at the howling tempest beyond their crumbling ice shelter.
Hussein coughed blood. "Your legacy," he spat, "is a dead man's prank."
"Maybe." Bennett turned the prismatic stone in his hand. It hummed faintly, resonating with the storm's fury. No spell feeds itself…
Suddenly, he stood. "The circle—it's not powered by ancient magic. It's us. Every step we take here, every spell cast… we're feeding it."
The old mage's eyes widened. "A self-sustaining loop! Break the cycle, and—"
"—the storm dies." Bennett strode toward the gale, the stone glowing hotter in his grip. "QQ! How do I 'anchor' a storm?"
The penguin's beak clacked. "Throw the anchor, of course!"
Bennett hurled the crystal into the maelstrom.
For a heartbeat, nothing.
Then—
Lightning bent. The winds recoiled as if snared by invisible chains. The prism flared, its blood-infused core pulsing like a heartbeat.
The storm stilled.
Not dissipated. Contained.
Above them, the blizzard raged on—but in a perfect sphere around the party, calm reigned.
QQ waddled to the crystal, now embedded in the ice. "Stormqueller," he chirped. "Told you."
Bennett stared at the humming stone. Aragorn, you madman. You turned a sword into a lightning rod.
The True Inheritance
Back in the present, Bennett pocketed the scroll. The storm's sudden quiet had bought them time, but the Dragon Patriarch's hunters would soon close in.
Hussein limped forward, his voice gravel. "Your ancestor's tricks won't save us twice."
"No." Bennett eyed the prism, now dormant. "But his enemies might."
He knelt, pressing the crystal to the ice. "QQ, how do I wake this thing up?"
"Blood," the penguin said simply. "Lots of blood."
Bennett unsheathed his dagger. Hussein's hand clamped his wrist. "You'll bleed out before it stirs."
"Not mine." Bennett's gaze swept the frozen wastes. Somewhere, the Dragon Patriarch's brood stalked closer.
"The storm feeds on magic," he murmured. "Let's give it a feast."
Chapter 104 (Part II): The Eye of the Storm
The Cannibal Circle
Magic circles, Bennett realized, were parasites.
They fed on their victims' desperation. Every spark of resistance, every wisp of protective energy—all of it siphoned back into the storm. A self-sustaining predator, he thought grimly. The harder you fight, the hungrier it grows.
"We've been fueling it ourselves," he shouted over the gale, his words swallowed by the roaring wind. "This thing—it's using our magic against us!"
The old mage's face paled. "A feedback loop… Aragorn's work?"
"Does it matter?" Hussein snarled, his cloak shredded by icy gusts. "How do we kill it?"
"We don't." Bennett clenched his frostbitten hands. "We starve it."
A Delicate Dance
The plan was madness: gradually lower their defenses, letting the storm weaken step by step. But one misjudgment would see them flayed alive.
Grimgrin, now a shivering mouse peeking from Bennett's collar, squeaked protests. "This is how heroes die! Crushed by narrative irony!"
Yet the old mage complied. His gnarled hands trembled as he dialed back the shield's intensity. The protective dome shrank, its glow dimming like a dying star.
The storm lunged.
Winds howled, talons of ice scoring the barrier. Bennett's teeth rattled as the shield buckled—but held. Minutes stretched into lifetimes. Then, imperceptibly, the gale's fury ebbed.
"Again," Bennett urged.
Each reduction was a gamble. The shield flickered, its radius halved, then quartered. The party huddled like shipwreck survivors, battered but alive. By dawn, the tempest had dulled to a relentless blizzard—still punishing, but survivable.
"No more magic," Bennett declared, stomping snow from his boots. "We walk through it."
Hussein barked a laugh. "Walk? In this?"
"Or crawl." Bennett met his glare. "Your choice, knight."
The Burden of Flesh
Without magic, vulnerability became their armor.
Hussein led, his broad frame cleaving the wind like a warship's prow. Bennett marveled at the knight's endurance—muscles corded, breath steaming in ragged bursts, yet never faltering. Behind him, the old mage stumbled, his scholar's body ill-suited for such trials. Without a word, Hussein hoisted the frail wizard onto his back.
"Pride won't fill your lungs," the knight growled when Bennett raised an eyebrow. "Move."
They inched forward, a chain of shadows in the white void. Grimgrin, snug in Bennett's coat, chirped morbid encouragement. "If we die, promise to let me gnaw your corpse first! Frost preserves meat wonderfully."
By the second day, Bennett's legs screamed with every step. The cold had long since numbed his toes; he feared they'd snap off like icicles. Yet progress came—glacial, but tangible. The old mage's calculations hinted they'd crossed halfway.
Hope, brittle and fleeting, began to thaw.
Then the sky split.
The Calm Before
It started with an unnatural stillness.
The winds died mid-scream. Snowflakes hung suspended, as if time itself had frozen. Bennett's ears rang in the sudden silence.
"What's happening?" Grimgrin whispered.
The old mage pointed north. A black tsunami of clouds churned on the horizon, lightning fracturing its depths. "The Dragon Patriarch… It's tearing through the storm!"
"But that's suicide!" Bennett hissed. "Feeding the circle more power—"
"Desperation breeds stupidity," Hussein spat. "Run. Now."
They ran.
The ice plain blurred beneath them. Adrenaline burned through exhaustion. Ahead, the jagged silhouette of the Frostspire Forest pierced the sky—their sanctuary.
A roar sundered the world.
Gold and Fury
The Dragon Patriarch descended like a falling sun.
Its scales blazed with molten brilliance, each plate a mirror to the heavens. Wings spanning half the horizon cast the party into shadow. Bennett's knees buckled—not from fear, but from the raw, oppressive weight of its presence. This was no mere dragon. This was a force of nature incarnate.
"黄金龙…" The old mage choked. "A Goldscale… They're extinct!"
"Not extinct," Grimgrin whimpered. "Just very, very angry!"
The dragon's voice shook the earth, ancient and venomous. "Thieves. Defilers. You dare wake the storm?"
Hussein drew his shattered longsword, its edge notched and dull. "I'll distract it. Get to the trees."
Bennett grabbed his arm. "You'll die!"
"Better me than all." The knight grinned, bloody and wild. "Tell the bards I died standing."
The Goldscale inhaled—a sound like continents colliding. Fire and lightning coiled in its maw.
Then the storm remembered.
The Circle's Bite
Aragorn's enchantment struck back.
The northern tempest, amplified by the dragon's reckless magic, erupted. Hurricane winds swallowed the Goldscale's flames, hurling them skyward in a spiraling inferno. Ice meteors materialized from the void, hammering the beast's gilded hide.
"Tricks!" the dragon thundered, raking claws through the maelstrom. "Mortal worms! Your spells cannot—"
A jagged spire of ice speared its wing, pinning it to the ground. The Goldscale's roar of pain became the storm's new heartbeat.
"Now!" Bennett dragged the stunned party toward the forest. "While it's trapped!"
They staggered the final miles, the dragon's thrashing buying precious minutes. As the first frost-rimed pines loomed close, Bennett glanced back.
The Goldscale had broken free.
One eye glowed crimson through the blizzard—a promise of vengeance.
But the Frostspire's border lay steps away. Ancient wards hummed beneath the snow, their magic untouched by the storm.
"Cross!" The old mage shoved Bennett forward. "The circle can't reach us here!"
They fell into the forest's embrace as the dragon's fire engulfed the tree line.
Sanctuary's Price
Safe.
For now.
Bennett collapsed against a petrified oak, lungs ablaze. The Frostspire's eerie quiet pressed against his ears. No wind. No thunder. Just the creak of frozen branches and the Goldscale's distant wrath.
Hussein slumped beside him, armor scorched, face a mask of exhaustion. "Your ancestor's traps… They've a cruel wit."
"Cruelty's the point." Bennett stared at his raw, bleeding palms. "Aragorn didn't want his heirs to be weak."
Grimgrin scurried up a trunk, sniffing the air. "No time for philosophy! The dragon's regrouping. And…" He froze. "Why is the snow… moving?"
A low tremor rippled through the ground. Ice cracked. From the forest's depths, shapes emerged—pale, jagged, and endless.
Bennett's stomach dropped.
The Frostspire's guardians had awakened.
Chapter 104 (Part III): The Dragon's Gambit
A Desperate Stand
The Goldscale's wrath eclipsed reason.
It tore through the storm's resurgence, its golden scales blazing like a fallen star. Every stride shook the earth, every roar cracked the sky. Ahead, the Frostspire Forest mocked them—close enough to taunt, too far to save.
"Go!" the old mage roared, planting his staff into the ice. "I'll hold it!"
His voice cracked with finality. Bennett hesitated, but Hussein seized his arm, dragging him onward. "Honor his choice, fool!"
The mage's staff erupted, its runes igniting. Ice split and soared, jagged monoliths spiraling skyward to form a glacial labyrinth. The Goldscale barreled through, its flames melting walls as fast as they rose. Yet each collision cost it momentum.
"Flee faster!" Grimgrin shrieked from Bennett's shoulder. "The forest! The forest!"
But the dragon was learning.
The Price of Stars
The old mage's lips moved in a silent hymn. Above, the storm clouds parted, revealing a tapestry of constellations long forgotten. Starlight bathed his weathered face, etching his resolve in silver.
"Stellar Bind!"
The heavens groaned. Invisible chains of cosmic force clamped around the Goldscale, rooting it mid-stride. Its wings strained, muscles quaking, but the stars held firm.
"Aragorn's trick…" The dragon's voice dripped venom. "You lack his teeth, old man!"
Crimson light erupted from its scales, warping the air. The mage's staff splintered, its gem shattering. Blood flecked his lips as the Bind unraveled.
"No!" Bennett stumbled, watching the Goldscale break free. Its talons descended—
Hussein struck first.
Knight's Gambit
The paladin's blade pierced dragonflesh.
Golden blood sprayed, sizzling against ice. Hussein twisted the sword, his holy aura flaring. "For the Order!"
The Goldscale recoiled, shock flashing in its molten eyes. Then fury took over. A claw swiped, hurling Hussein into the tundra. He cratered the ice, armor smoking, but rose with a warrior's grin.
"Is that all?" he spat.
The dragon's answer was a breath of primordial fire. Hussein crossed his arms, shield-runes blazing, but the inferno drove him to his knees. His skin blistered, his sword glowed white-hot—yet he held.
"Comet Strike!"
The paladin's final gambit. His body became light, his sword a falling star. The impact blinded all, ice vaporizing for miles.
When the glare faded, the Goldscale stood—cracked but unbroken.
Hussein collapsed, his armor fused to charred flesh. "Damn… dragon…"
The Aegis of Gods
"Pathetic."
The Goldscale's scales rippled, molten gold solidifying into armor. Ethereal sigils shimmered across its body—the Dragon God's Aegis, impervious, eternal.
The old mage staggered to Hussein's side, pouring a vial of liquid moonlight over his burns. "Fool… glorious fool…"
"Enough!" The dragon loomed, its shadow swallowing them. "Your bones will fertilize this waste."
Then Medusa spoke.
Eyes of Stone
She stood between titans, fragile as glass.
"I dislike you," she said, tilting her head. Her veil fluttered, revealing eyes shut tight. "You hurt my… companions."
The Goldscale laughed, a sound like breaking mountains. "Insect. Your gaze cannot pierce—"
"Look at me."
Her lids lifted.
The world stilled.
Petrification crawled up the dragon's leg, gray tendrils consuming gold. It roared, flames lashing, but stone spread inexorably.
"What… sorcery…"
Medusa swayed, blood trickling from her nose. "Even gods… fear my curse."
The Goldscale thrashed, half-statue now, its wing snapping under its weight. "You… will… BURN!"
A final breath of fire erupted—
Bennett tackled Medusa aside as the blast seared past.
Sanctuary's Edge
The Frostspire's border loomed.
Hussein dragged himself forward, the old mage leaning on Bennett. Behind, the Goldscale's roars grew distant, its petrified limbs anchoring it to the ice.
"Did we… win?" Grimgrin peeked from Bennett's collar.
"No." The mage coughed blood. "We survived."
The forest swallowed them, its ancient wards humming. Silence fell—heavy, unnatural.
Medusa touched her trembling eyelids. "It resisted. More than any… before."
Bennett glanced back. Through the trees, a golden glare pierced the blizzard.
The Dragon Patriarch lived.
And it would not forget.