Chapter 137 (Part 1): The Phantom's Gambit
Retreat in Flames
The forest erupted in chaos. Three royal mages streaked toward the treeline, their robes billowing as they layered defensive barriers—glowing hexagons of amber and sapphire light. Yet their haste betrayed them. A shadow flickered among the pines.
Kik, the royal driver, fought like a cornered beast. Blood soaked his tunic, his whip reduced to a frayed cord. He swung his sword in desperate arcs, its blade blazing with battle-aura, holding back a tide of black-clad assailants. Each parried strike sent sparks cascading over the皇子's reinforced carriage.
"Fall back!" Bennett roared, dragging Prince Chen-Augustine from the splintered wreck. The prince's composure wavered for a heartbeat—a crack in the porcelain mask of royalty—before he nodded sharply.
They lunged for the carriage horses. Bennett's dagger flashed, severing harness straps. A kick to the stallion's flank sent it bolting down the moonlit road. Behind them, Kik's battle-cry turned to a gurgle as steel found flesh.
Inferno's Waltz
"Left flank!" Bennett hissed. Three ambushers materialized from the roadside ditch. Without breaking stride, he flung a fire scroll backward. The parchment unfurled midair, its sigils igniting into a roaring helix of flames. Men screamed as their armor melted into skin.
Chen-Augustine gripped his stolen mount's mane, eyes narrowed against the acrid smoke. "Your extravagance astounds," he shouted over the din. "Gandolf's legacy treated so cavalierly?"
Bennett didn't grace this with a reply. Another scroll—petrification this time—froze four charging swordsmen in grotesque poses. Their stone limbs shattered beneath panicked hooves.
A shadow detached from the night.
The archer came silent as owl's flight, his moon-curved bow humming with cursed intent. Bennett sensed rather than saw the danger—a prickle along his spine where Semele's ghostly fingers dug warning.
"Duck, you fool!"
Twenty fireballs erupted from Bennett's sleeves. No incantation, no finesse—just raw combustion fueled by Sorsky's smuggled black powder. The night exploded in orange hellfire.
Dance of Cinders
The assassin twisted like smoke through flame. His movements defied anatomy—shoulders dislocating to avoid a fireball, spine arching backward as another grazed his hood. Yet Bennett's second volley came laced with treachery: a yellowed slow-spell scroll unfurling midair.
"Cheap tricks," Semele sneered, her apparition flickering above the carnage. "But effective."
The archer staggered, his preternatural speed halved. A fireball caught his thigh. Then another. Then twelve more in chain detonation. When the smoke cleared, only the bow remained pristine—its moonlit curves glowing beneath charred flesh.
Bennett wheeled his mount, snatching the weapon as hooves crushed the dying man's ribs. The crunch echoed Semele's laughter.
"How poetic," she crooned. "The hunter trampled by prey."
Rider's Reckoning
Their escape turned farcical. Despite the royal steeds' pedigree, Bennett's amateur horsemanship had them listing like drunken sailors. Behind them, professional killers closed the gap—methodical, unhurried.
"They're herding us!" Chen-Augustine barked. True enough, the road narrowed ahead, flanked by granite outcrops perfect for ambush.
Crossbows clicked.
Bennett whirled, panic rising—only for silver filaments to bloom across the night. Semele materialized in a cascade of crimson silk, her fingers weaving air into glimmering nets. Bolts hung suspended like dragonfly wings.
"Must I do everything?" Her eyes burned colder than the snared projectiles. A flick of her wrist sent pursuing riders tumbling in entangling webs.
The reprieve lasted three breaths.
A whistle pierced the darkness—high, keening, wrong. The horses screamed, blood geysering from their nostrils. Bennett hit the dirt rolling, the prince's choked curse blending with Semele's roar:
"Sonic resonance! Sea-witch magic!"
Through ringing ears, Bennett glimpsed their attacker—a hooded figure etched against the moon, hands shaping liquid air into lethal harmonics.
The real hunt had begun.
Chapter 137 (Part 2): Shadows of the Bone Throne
The Eclipse
The road ahead vanished beneath a shroud of dread. A figure hovered above the earth, cloaked in shadows that writhed like living smoke. His bone-white staff—a grotesque amalgam of fused vertebrae and jagged talons—glistened under the moonlight. Every joint pulsed with necrotic energy, as though the weapon itself breathed.
A necromancer.
Bennett's throat tightened. Tales of bone-wielding sorcerers had haunted his childhood, whispered by firelight to terrify disobedient heirs. This one radiated menace like a corpse-flower's perfume: sweet, cloying, lethal.
Below the hovering specter stood two horses. One bore no rider, its saddle draped in black velvet. The other carried a knight clad in silver armor so intricately engraved it seemed spun from starlight. His blade, slender and serpentine, hummed with a cold that clawed at Bennett's magic. Just looking at it made his teeth ache.
"Rodriguez," Prince Chen-Augustine murmured, brushing dirt from his sleeves with forced nonchalance. "My brother must truly fear me to unleash you."
The silver knight inclined his head. A frost-kissed strand of hair slipped from his helmet. "A vow binds me, Highness. Three deeds for your brother's throne. Today marks the second."
Bennett's mind raced. Rodriguez. The name conjured Hussani's grudging admiration during their nights in Rollins Plains: "A man who turned mediocrity into mastery. With that blade… even I might bleed."
Symphony of Frost and Ash
The necromancer chuckled—a sound like beetles scuttling over slate. "Such delicious despair," he crooned, skeletal fingers caressing his staff. "Your soul will make a fine addition to my collection, boy."
Bennett barely registered the threat. His fingers dug into the pouch at his belt, counting scrolls by touch: Slow-spell. Petrification. Two firestorms. And… ah. The fifth was Semele's gift—a void-black parchment she'd pressed into his palm weeks ago. "For when death winks," she'd purred. "Pull the stars down with it."
Above, the necromancer's staff flared. White mist coalesced into a towering skeleton, its wingspan blotting out the moon. A bone dragon. Ribs arched like cathedral vaults; hollow eye sockets blazed with witchfire.
"Run!" Chen-Augustine barked, but Bennett stood rooted. Semele's spectral form materialized behind him, her lips brushing his ear:
"Cowardice suits you ill, little mage. Shall we dance?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he hurled the first scroll skyward.
Moonlit Enchantress
Rodriguez moved.
His blade—Moonlit Enchantress—sang. Frost spiraled from its tip, crystallizing the air itself. Chen-Augustine's counterstroke faltered as ice encased his sword arm.
"You misunderstand, Prince," the knight said softly. "This is not a duel. It is an execution."
The prince's reply came through gritted teeth. "Then… execute better."
A twist of his wrist shattered the ice. Chen-Augustine's blade flared gold—the royal sigil igniting along its edge. The clash that followed painted the night in sparks: argent frost against aureate fire.
Bone and Void
The dragon descended. Bennett leapt aside as talons gouged craters where he'd stood.
"Fleeing?" the necromancer mocked from his perch. "How mundane."
Not fleeing. Baiting.
Bennett sprinted toward a granite outcrop, the dragon's shadow licking at his heels. At the cliff's edge, he spun and unleashed Semele's scroll.
The world rippled.
Stars dimmed. The dragon's roar choked mid-screech as the parchment dissolved into a singularity—a pinprick of darkness that devoured light, sound, even the necromancer's smirk.
"Now!" Semele's voice cut through the void.
Bennett slammed a firestorm scroll into the collapsing vortex.
Inferno's Crown
The explosion tore night into day.
Dragon bones rained down in smoldering shards. The necromancer tumbled from his staff, robes aflame. Bennett staggered, ears ringing, but Semele's laughter anchored him:
"Crude… yet effective."
Across the field, Rodriguez froze mid-strike. His blade's frost retreated like a chastened hound.
Chen-Augustine pressed the advantage. "Your master's pawns falter, knight. Will you die for his ambition?"
For the first time, uncertainty flickered in Rodriguez's eyes. Then—
Hoofbeats. Dozens, hundreds, thundering from the east.
"The city guard," the prince breathed. "Finally."
Rodriguez sheathed his blade. "Another time, Highness."
He vanished into the smoke, the necromancer's curses trailing after.
Epilogue: Whispers at Dawn
Bennett collapsed against a boulder, fingers trembling. Semele hovered above the carnage, her form flickering.
"You owe me a soul," she teased. "That necromancer's would have sufficed."
"Next time," he rasped.
Chen-Augustine approached, limping but alive. "You mentioned backup plans earlier," Bennett growled. "Care to share before the next assassination attempt?"
The prince's smile held winter's edge. "Why spoil the surprise?"
As dawn bled across the horizon, Bennett glimpsed Semele's reflection in the prince's eyes—and the shadow of a crown upon her brow.
Chapter 138: Dawn of the Golden Flame
Wings of Desperation
Bennett soared above the battlefield, his flight cloak billowing like a storm-tossed sail. Below, the necromancer's bone dragon loomed, its hollow eyes blazing with malice.
"A duel between mages?" The necromancer's laughter slithered through the air, cold and serpentine. "Child, you mistake recklessness for courage."
A torrent of molten fire erupted from the dragon's maw. Bennett hurled his last Guardian's Barrier scroll, its silver light blooming into a shimmering dome. The flames recoiled, scattering into embers against the ancient magic.
Safe… for now.
But safety was fleeting. The dragon's skeletal wings cleaved the sky, talons slashing. Bennett veered wildly, dagger clenched in sweat-slick fingers. The barrier repelled spells, not steel.
"Flee all you wish," the necromancer crooned. "Your soul will still feed my horde."
Darkness pulsed. Cracks split the air around Bennett, vomiting black vortices that leeched his barrier's glow. Dark Devourers. His magic frayed like torn silk.
Then came the sting—a needle of ice piercing his mind. Soulfrost Curse. Bennett gagged, vision swimming. His lungs burned as though breathing glass.
Forest's Fury
He plummeted into the woods, crashing through branches. Above, the necromancer circled like a vulture.
"Trees cannot shield you, boy," the sorcerer sneered. His staff struck earth, and the ground screamed. Clawed hands erupted from soil—skeletons clad in rusted mail, swords dripping necrotic fog. Five black knights on flaming steeds closed in, their hollow gazes locked on Bennett.
"Now you see true power," the necromancer gloated. "Your barrier is useless against blades."
Bennett wiped blood from his lip. "You're right. So why fight fair?"
From his cloak, he drew a golden horn—its surface etched with leaves frozen in time. The Horn of Verdant Awakening.
The first note drained him. Magic surged from his core, leaving him gasping. But the forest answered.
Ancient oaks tore free from soil, roots writhing like serpents. Branches twisted into limbs; bark split to reveal eyes glowing with primal rage. Treekin.
"You speak of numbers?" Bennett spat as a colossal treant crushed three skeletons beneath its foot. "Meet my army."
Blade of Frozen Stars
Meanwhile, Prince Chen-Augustine faced death incarnate.
Rodriguez's blade, Moonlit Enchantress, hovered at the prince's throat. Frost crept across Chen's collar, numbing his pulse.
"A painless end," the knight intoned. "A courtesy for royalty."
Chen smiled. "Courtesy?" His hand closed around the relic at his chest—a cross-shaped pendant forged in fire and forgotten wars. "Allow me to repay it."
He shattered the pendant.
Flames erupted, birthing a warrior clad in spectral armor. The Guardian of Saint Roland. Its blade—a fractured shard of sunlight—clashed against Rodriguez's frost.
Inferno's Gambit
Rodriguez staggered. Ice met fire in a cataclysmic hymn.
"Impossible," he breathed. "A construct cannot wield golden flame!"
Yet the guardian's aura blazed brighter, its phantom armor reforging into gilded splendor. Chen-Augustine watched, breathless, as two titans clashed—one a knight perfected by decades of struggle, the other an echo of twelve saints bound by blood and sacrifice.
Trees ignited. Frost sublimated into steam. The guardian's roar shook the heavens, its every strike a requiem for empires lost.
Rodriguez's golden aura dimmed. For the first time in six years, doubt flickered in his eyes.
Echoes of the Ancients
Bennett's treants reduced the undead horde to splinters. The necromancer fled atop his dragon, curses dissolving into the night.
Yet victory tasted bitter. The Horn of Verdant Awakening lay cracked, its magic spent. Bennett slumped against a treant's roots, trembling.
What have I unleashed?
The treekin loomed, their loyalty fleeting. One by one, they returned to earth, roots burying secrets deeper than graves.
Far off, golden flames still dueled silver frost. Chen-Augustine's voice carried through the smoke:
"Run, Rodriguez! Tell my brother his crown is ashes."
The knight retreated, his blade sheathed but unbroken.
Epilogue: The Price of Dawn
At sunrise, Bennett found the prince kneeling beside the guardian's fading embers.
"Saint Roland's Sanctuary," Chen murmured. "A relic of my bloodline… and now lost."
"Worth it?" Bennett eyed the scorched earth.
"To humble a saint?" The prince's grin was wolfish. "Every flame has its cost."
Above them, carrion birds circled—waiting, always waiting.