Chapter 88: The Unraveling Compass
A Deceptive Dawn
The sky stretched clear and endless, a sapphire dome unblemished by clouds. Sunlight bathed the snow-laden forest in a deceptive warmth, its golden rays glinting off ice crystals like scattered diamonds. Bennett squinted at the horizon, his breath misting in the crisp air. Clear skies in this frozen hell? It felt like the world itself was mocking him.
Hussein stood rigid beside him, armor gleaming under the sun. "We press north."
Bennett's patience snapped. "North? For weeks, we've trudged through blizzards and monsters, and you still won't tell me where we're going? What if that old sorcerer's dead? What if we're marching to the fucking Arctic?"
The knight's jaw tightened. "I don't know the destination. Only the wizard did. My orders were to go north—nothing more."
Dadaniel, silent until now, stepped forward. His voice trembled with guilt. "I… must return. Lady Liszt's life hangs by a thread. I can't delay any longer."
Bennett's anger dissolved into understanding. He clasped the warrior's shoulders. "Go. Save her. That's why we came here, isn't it?"
Dadaniel's eyes glistened. "You risked everything for a stranger's cause. I'll never forget that."
The Weight of Loyalty
The logistics of Dadaniel's return loomed like a specter. Bennett scanned their ragged party: Hussein, bound by duty; Medusa, a queen who'd sooner petrify a man than converse; and himself—a self-taught alchemist with more curiosity than sense.
"You can't go alone," Bennett insisted. "Even a frostwolf pack would tear you apart."
Woodroot, the treant elder, rumbled forward, roots churning snow. "Let the forest guide him. Where trees stand, allies awaken."
Dadaniel nodded, gripping his bow. "I'll make it. For her."
As the warrior vanished into the pines, flanked by creaking treants, Bennett turned to Hussein. "Now. Talk. What's really driving us north?"
The Knight's Confession
Hussein sank onto a frost-rimed boulder, sunlight glinting off his silver pauldrons. His voice, usually ironclad, frayed at the edges.
"You know I served as a Temple Guardian. All knights do, before ascending to the Circle." He paused, staring at his gauntlets. "In the sanctum… I found something. A relic of Aragorn."
Bennett's pulse quickened. Aragorn—the mythic king who'd united the realms, then vanished into legend.
"Not just a relic," Hussein continued. "A message. Carved into a holy sigil, hidden for centuries. Aragorn's final words… and a warning."
The knight's gaze turned distant. "He didn't die in battle. He was hunted. By those who feared what he'd uncovered."
"About what?"
Hussein's smile was grim. "The gods."
Chapter 89: The Cursed Legacy
The Shadow of Aragon Roland
The name Aragon Roland carried the weight of myth. Founder of the Roland Empire, the first emperor to unite fractured kingdoms under a single banner, a warrior-mage whose legend eclipsed even the gods. History hailed him as the "Strongest Under the Stars"—a man who mastered both sword and spell, who bargained with demons and emerged unscathed. Yet for all his glory, his death remained shrouded in silence. Official records dismissed it with a sterile line: "In Year XXX, His Majesty Aragon Roland passed. The Second Emperor ascended." No fanfare. No elegy.
Hussein's voice cut through the cold like a blade. "The Sanctum holds every traitor's insignia. Even those who once wore the holy armor."
Bennett's throat tightened. "You mean… the Sanctum—the hallowed crypt of the Temple—keeps trophies of its own fallen? The heretics?"
"Not trophies," Hussein corrected. "Prisoners. Souls bound in eternal torment."
The Sanctum's Secret
The Sanctum, a vault guarded by divine law, permitted entry only to the Pope and his inner circle. Its outer chamber glowed with the emblems of martyrs, bathed in perpetual light. But the inner sanctum…
"Thirteen," Hussein whispered. "Thirteen knights who defied the Temple. Their crests locked in darkness, cursed by generations of Popes. Aragon Roland's name led the list."
Bennett's mind reeled. Aragon—the empire's revered founder—condemned as a heretic? The same man whose Order of Saint Roland had forged a continent? The knights who'd bled for unity, now labeled traitors?
Hussein's tale unfolded like a nightmare:
The Unseen Chains: Every knight swore a blood oath, their souls tethered to their insignia. Death offered no escape; the Temple's curse would torment their spirits eternally.
The Unlocked Door: Years ago, as Sanctum Guardian, Hussein had heard whispers from the inner chamber. The sealed gate—meant to open only for the Pope—had creaked ajar, luring him into a nest of revelations.
The Thirteen: Each cursed crest bore the name of a legend. Heroes turned pariahs. Aragon's sin? Not conquest, but truth.
A Web of Heresy
Bennett's voice shook. "The Order of Saint Roland… the thirteen founders of the empire—all branded heretics? How could the Temple hide this? How could the empire not know?"
Hussein's smile was bleak. "Who writes history? Victors. And the Temple has erased more than ink."
The implications crashed like tidal waves:
Imperial Betrayal: The Roland bloodline, unknowingly built on condemned souls. If the truth surfaced, faith in the crown would crumble.
Temple's Tyranny: The curse was no mere punishment—it was a weapon. By controlling the narrative, the Temple held empires hostage.
Aragon's Sin: What had the first emperor discovered? What truth warranted erasing him from sanctity?
Threads of Defiance
Bennett's Fury: His aristocratic composure fractured. "They cursed Aragon? The man who carved this empire from chaos? What godforsaken arrogance!"
Hussein's Resolve: The knight's icy demeanor thawed into grim resolve. "I walked into that chamber a loyal servant. I left… something else."
Medusa's Silence: Even the snake queen, lingering at the periphery, tilted her head. Humans, her expression sneered, enslaved by their own lies.
Symbolism:
The Sanctum's Divide: Light and dark chambers mirror the Temple's hypocrisy—virtue displayed, sins buried.
Thirteen Crests: A number of ill omen, echoing Judas' betrayal. The Temple's holy trinity inverted.
Aragon's Ghost: His spectral presence looms, a reminder that even legends rot when truth is shackled.
Foreshadowing:
The Pope's Fear: Why curse Aragon? What power did the emperor wield that still threatens the Temple centuries later?
Bennett's Path: His loyalty to empire clashes with his thirst for truth. Will he become the Temple's next "heretic"?
Medusa's Interest: Her fascination with human folly hints at alliances shifting. A queen's aid might demand a king's ransom.
A Storm Gathering
As the wind resumed its icy howl, Bennett stared northward. The path ahead no longer led to mere survival—it carved into the rotten heart of power. Aragon's ghost haunted every step, his voice a whisper in the gale: Unearth the lies. Burn them.
Hussein adjusted his sword. "You asked why we go north? Because they fear what lies there. The Temple's walls tremble at the thought of Aragon's final secret."
Bennett clenched his fists. "Then let's give them a reason to scream."
The snow began to fall again, veiling their trail—but not their purpose. Somewhere in the frozen wastes, a dead king's legacy waited… and with it, fire enough to melt the world.
Chapter 90 (Part I): The Crown of Heresy
The Weight of a Secret
Bennett's laughter was bitter, like frost cracking underfoot. "Now I understand why the Temple sent its entire arsenal to hunt you. Two Knight-Captains, a legion of high-ranking paladins, the Grand Inquisitor himself… They're not chasing a heretic. They're erasing history."
Hussein stood motionless, his armor dulled by the forest's gloom. Around them, the ice-laden trees seemed to lean closer, eavesdropping on treason.
The revelation was catastrophic:
A Betrayal of Kings: The Temple had spent centuries secretly cursing the soul of Aragon Roland—the empire's revered founder—and his legendary Order of Saint Roland.
A Nation's Blind Faith: Every child in Roland knew the tales—how Aragon united warring kingdoms, how his knights carved justice with blade and spell. To learn the Temple desecrated their legacy… It was akin to burning a saint's relics before his worshippers.
The Price of Truth: If exposed, the Temple's divine facade would crumble. The imperial family, whose bloodline traced back to Aragon, would wage holy war. Faith would drown in blood.
"And now," Hussein said coldly, "you carry this poison too. Congratulations, Bennett. You're now a ghost in their ledger."
The Three Edicts of Aragon
Hussein's voice dropped, each word a hammer strike:
1. The Bloodline Covenant
"Only descendants of the Thirteen—the original Saint Roland knights—could awaken Aragon's sigil. My family… we were paupers for generations. I never knew our veins carried his fire." The knight's gauntleted fist clenched. "Imagine learning your ancestors were giants—and that you'd spent your life serving their murderers."
2. The Starlit Path
"The exercises I taught you," Hussein's lips curled, "they're the foundation of Celestial Strikes—the same combat art that made Aragon untouchable. The Temple calls it heresy. I call it justice."
Bennett's throat went dry. Celestial Strikes—the martial myth whispered in taverns, the technique said to harness the cosmos itself. To think he'd been drilling its basics all along…
3. The Shattered Circle
"Aragon left one final command: Gather the Thirteen's heirs." Hussein's eyes glinted like unsheathed steel. "His knights didn't just wield swords. They mastered sorcery, diplomacy, espionage—each a pillar of his reign. The Temple slaughtered most, but bloodlines endure. And one of them…" He paused, staring at Bennett. "…is tied to you."
Chapter 90 (Part II): The Heart of Betrayal
The Old Sorcerer's Revelation
The forest sighed.
From behind a skeletal pine, a figure emerged—his gait steady, his boots leaving no mark on the snow. The old sorcerer, Vivian's enigmatic mentor and Bennett's reluctant kidnapper, stepped into the clearing. His white robes hung in tatters, singed by fire, pierced by unseen blades. Yet his eyes, sharp as winter's edge, held a quiet resolve.
"So. The true heir to Aragon's magic stands before you," he said, his voice frayed but steady. "And yes—it's me."
Hussein didn't flinch. "Took you long enough, old man."
Bennett's temper flared. "Care to explain why you dragged me into this frozen hell? I'm no knight, no sorcerer—just a minor noble who likes tinkering with fireworks! What use am I to your grand rebellion?"
The sorcerer ignored him, bowing deeply to Medusa. The serpent queen's golden eyes narrowed. "Eavesdropping is a human habit, I see."
"Humanity thrives on contradictions," the old man replied. "As do snakes, I'm told."
A Web of Shadows
The sorcerer's tale unfolded like a blade drawn slowly from its sheath:
The Hunt Intensifies: The Temple's长老团—the Council of Elders—had joined the fray. Three of their senior mages had ambushed him, forcing him to flee through cursed valleys and burning forests. "They've branded you a regicide, Hussein. The Pope himself declared you the continent's most wanted."
A Fragile Alliance: "I couldn't reveal my true power," the sorcerer admitted. "Not yet. The Temple must not know Aragon's legacy still breathes."
Bennett's Unseen Role: "Why him?" Hussein demanded. The old man's answer lay in Bennett's hair—or rather, beneath it.
With a flick of his wrist, the sorcerer's windblade sliced through Bennett's hat, exposing the twisted horn hidden beneath his curls.
Hussein recoiled. "What are you?"
"Human," Bennett snapped. "This… thing amplifies my magic. A souvenir from Demon Island."
The Demon's Bargain
The sorcerer's gaze darkened. "Aragon's power wasn't born of virtue. It was bought."
Bennett's voice grew taut as he recounted his encounter with Chris, the demon's ancient servant. How Aragon had traded his soul for strength, how Chris had gifted him the mastery of sword and spell—and how that pact now haunted them all.
"I sought Chris too," the sorcerer interrupted. "I demanded he return what Aragon surrendered: the King's Heart. The essence of his reign. His humanity."
Hussein's breath hitched. "And?"
"Chris refused." The old man's laughter was bitter. "He claimed the heart was 'forfeit.' But I suspect… he'd already promised it to another."
His eyes locked onto Bennett.
Medusa's Silent Judgment
The snake queen watched, her tail coiling like a noose. "Mortals," she murmured. "Always shackled by their own greed."
Bennett ignored her, his mind racing. The King's Heart. The phrase echoed—not as metaphor, but as literal truth. Aragon's physical heart, ripped from his chest as payment for power. A relic now lost… or waiting.
"Why me?" Bennett whispered.
The sorcerer stepped closer. "Because Chris chose you. The horn on your head isn't just a tool. It's a beacon. A compass."
Hussein's sword hissed from its scabbard. "You've led the Temple to us."
"No," the sorcerer said. "I've led you to the truth. North of here lies Aragon's final resting place—and the key to breaking the Temple's curse."