Chapter 139: The Void of Eternal Hunger
Roots of Vengeance
Bennett's treants roared as they wrestled the bone dragon to the ground. Four towering treekin pinned its wings, their bark cracking under the dragon's thrashing fury. A jet of molten fire incinerated one guardian, reducing its ancient form to ash—but the remaining treants hammered the beast's skull with fists of knotted wood. Crunch. The dragon's spine splintered, its hollow howls swallowed by the forest.
The necromancer hovered above, his face twisted with rage. "Insects!" he shrieked, watching his prized creation crumble. Years of labor—forged in graveyards and blood rituals—now lay shattered.
On the ground, Bennett sat cross-legged within his Guardian's Barrier, its silver glow flickering like a defiant star. The treants' victory came at a cost: four lay charred or dismembered. Yet the necromancer's horde fared worse. Black knights, once fearsome in their deathly splendor, were trampled into the mud. Skeletons crunched underfoot like autumn leaves.
"Enough!" The necromancer's voice tore through the sky. Black mist erupted from his robes, coalescing into a churning vortex above Bennett. Purple lightning snaked through the gloom, and the air itself seemed to rot.
Feast of Shadows
The first tendril of darkness brushed a treant. Instantly, its vibrant green flesh withered to ash. Leaves turned to dust; roots shriveled into brittle threads. Void of Eternal Hunger—a forbidden spell that devoured life itself.
Bennett's breath caught. "You madman… Even the Magic Guild would hunt you for this!"
The necromancer laughed, his eyes hollow with desperation. "Let them come! Your corpse will feed my next creation!"
The black mist descended like a living storm. Treants collapsed one by one, their essence siphoned into the void. Bennett's barrier dimmed, its silver light straining against the hunger.
Duel of Saints
Miles away, Prince Chen-Augustine watched the clash of legends.
Rodriguez's Moonlit Enchantress clashed against the Guardian of Saint Roland, their golden auras illuminating the ruined battlefield. Every strike carved craters into the earth; every parry sent shockwaves flattening ancient oaks.
The prince's fingers tightened around the Saint Roland Pendant. Its magic shielded him, but doubt gnawed at his resolve. Can a summoned spirit truly best a living saint?
Rodriguez, his silver armor now frosted with glacial fury, leaped backward. "Enough games," he growled. Moonlit Enchantress hummed as he channeled his aura into its blade. The air thickened with cold, ice crystals blooming like deadly flowers.
"Frostmoon's Lament."
The ground froze. A blizzard erupted, swallowing the guardian in a maelstrom of ice. Yet when the storm cleared, the spectral knight stood unscathed, its golden flames melting frost to steam.
Rodriguez's composure cracked. How? Even saints bled. Even legends fell.
Sacred Flames, Frozen Hearts
Chen-Augustine's lips curved into a thin smile. "You forget, Sir Rodriguez. This guardian is no mere construct. It is the cumulative will of twelve Roland emperors—each a warrior-king who carved their name in blood and fire."
The guardian raised its sword, and the earth trembled. Flames erupted—not gold, but crimson, the hue of Roland's ancient battle standards.
Rodriguez parried the strike, but his boots skidded across ice. For the first time, fatigue lined his movements. "A pretty trick," he spat. "But tricks cannot sustain a throne."
The prince's smile faded. "Nor can frost sustain a traitor's honor."
The Necromancer's Folly
Back in the forest, Bennett's barrier cracked. The Void of Eternal Hunger gnawed at its edges, purple lightning licking closer.
"Run, you fool!" the necromancer screamed, his voice raw with madness. "Your bones will adorn my next—"
A thunderous boom interrupted him. The horizon flashed—golden light clashing against argent frost. Even miles apart, the shockwave rattled the necromancer's concentration.
Bennett seized the moment. With a roar, he shattered his last mana crystal, flooding the Guardian's Barrier with raw power. The silver sphere blazed, repelling the void's tendrils.
The necromancer faltered. "No… No!" His spell wavered, the vortex dissipating into harmless smoke.
Rodriguez's Epiphany
Rodriguez felt it too—the surge of dark magic, then its abrupt silence. His jaw clenched. Idiot. Using forbidden spells so close to the capital…
The guardian's flames pressed closer, its strikes growing fiercer. Rodriguez blocked mechanically, his mind racing. If the Magic Guild investigates… If they trace his magic to me…
His golden aura flickered. Doubt, that most human of frailties, had found its mark.
Retreat of Kings
Chen-Augustine rose, the Saint Roland Pendant cold against his palm. "Yield, Rodriguez. Your ally has failed. Your schemes unravel."
The knight's blade faltered. For a heartbeat, his icy resolve thawed—then hardened anew. "This is not over, princeling."
With a sweep of Moonlit Enchantress, Rodriguez vanished into a blizzard of his own making. The guardian's flames chased his shadow, but the knight was gone.
Aftermath
Bennett emerged from his battered barrier, the forest around him a graveyard of splintered trees and ash. The necromancer had fled, his bone dragon's carcass the only testament to their battle.
Chen-Augustine approached, his robes singed but regal. "You live. Convenient."
"Convenient?" Bennett glared. "Your 'guardian' nearly got us both killed."
The prince tossed him a charmed amulet—a lion devouring its own tail. "For your next suicide attempt. Try not to wake ancient forests inside city borders again."
Above them, carrion birds circled lower.
Chapter 140 (Part 1): Shadows of Judgment
Retreat of the Frost Saint
Rodriguez's silver armor gleamed under the pale moonlight as he withdrew, his golden aura flickering like a dying star. He cast one last glance at the Saint Roland Guardian—its spectral flames still roaring defiantly. A worthy foe, he conceded bitterly. Yet the distant pulse of forbidden magic gnawed at his resolve.
"Your Highness," Rodriguez called coldly, his voice slicing through the battlefield's eerie silence. "Today's dance ends here. But mark my words: your brother's ambition will summon me again."
Prince Chen-Augustine stood motionless, the Saint Roland Pendant's glow dimming as the guardian's form began to dissolve. "Run then, Frost Saint," he murmured. "But know this—no throne was ever won by fleeing shadows."
Rodriguez's lips twitched. Without another word, he vanished into the night, a silver comet streaking toward Bennett's dire struggle.
The Devourer's Cage
Bennett's world had shrunk to a fragile bubble of light. The Guardian's Barrier trembled under the necromancer's Void of Eternal Hunger, its silver walls paper-thin. Outside, black tendrils slithered like serpents, their purple lightning hissing against the shield.
"Your pathetic trinket cracks, boy!" The necromancer's laughter echoed from the swirling void. "That Life Horn will make fine compensation for my—"
A golden blade split the darkness.
Rodriguez erupted through the smothering fog, his Moonlit Enchantress carving a path of frost. The black mist recoiled—not from cold, but from the raw authority in his roar: "Fool! The Magic Guild's hounds are upon us!"
The necromancer froze. Through an Eagle Eye spell, he glimpsed four obsidian-clad figures streaking across the horizon—their pointed hats and skeletal insignia unmistakable. Magic Guild Inquisitors.
"No… No!" The black mist convulsed as the necromancer clawed at the air, desperately recalling his spell. "This cannot—!"
Rodriguez seized his arm, ice spreading across the necromancer's robes. "Move. Or become their next experiment."
Inquisitors' Gaze
The void dissipated just as the Inquisitors descended. Bennett collapsed inside his barrier, drenched in sweat, as four shadowed figures circled above. Their robes billowed like funeral shrouds, and their faces—if they had faces—remained hidden beneath hoods deeper than midnight.
Four waves of psychic cold lashed outward, probing Bennett's shield. He shuddered, memories of past encounters flooding back: The Guild's cells. Chains that siphoned magic. Questions without end.
The lead Inquisitor tilted its head, a hollow voice scraping Bennett's mind: "...Irrelevant... Primary target escaped..."
As swiftly as they came, the four phantoms veered westward, hunting the necromancer's fading trail.
Dawn's Unseen Hunger
Sunrise painted the battlefield in cruel clarity. Bennett staggered from his barrier, boots crunching on desiccated earth. Every tree within a half-mile radius stood leafless and gray, their life-force devoured by the necromancer's spell. Even the soil felt dead—a graveyard of ash and splintered bark.
Yet amidst the ruin, something stirred.
Tendrils of residual black mist writhed where sunlight struck, hissing like wounded beasts. To Bennett's astonishment, they slithered toward him—not to attack, but to cling to his Guardian's Barrier.
"What in the Nine Hells…?" He watched, transfixed, as the smoke coalesced into shrieking wisps that clawed at his shield. Acting on impulse, he retrieved the obsidian crystal sphere he'd bought months ago—a dark artifact even the Guild's merchants had warned against.
The result was instantaneous.
The black mist screamed, surging into the crystal with violent urgency. Within seconds, the sphere's surface transformed—no longer opaque, but swirling with liquid shadow, its depths pulsating like a trapped heart.
Prince of Ashes
"Collecting souvenirs, Bennett?"
Chen-Augustine's dry voice startled him. The prince approached with a dozen royal guards, their armor scorched but unbroken. His gaze lingered on the now-ebony crystal. "I trust you've not joined the necromancer's fanclub."
Bennett pocketed the sphere hastily. "It… absorbed remnants of the spell. I don't—"
"Save your excuses." The prince tossed him a waterskin. "Drink. You look like a corpse."
As Bennett gulped the bitter elixir (likely laced with restorative potions), Chen-Augustine surveyed the wasteland. "A costly victory. But informative."
"Informative?" Bennett croaked.
The prince's smile held no warmth. "Rodriguez fled toward you, not away. My brother's Frost Saint has… conflicting loyalties." He turned, robes flaring. "Come. Dawn brings more than light. It brings witnesses."
Chapter 140 (Part 2): The Weight of Dawn
Procession of Scars
The dawn caravan crawled toward the capital, flanked by hundreds of Imperial Guards in battered armor. At its center rode Prince Chen-Augustine, his face pale but regal, while the wounded Kik lay swathed in bloodied bandages inside a carriage. Beside him, the four sorceress apprentices huddled in silence, their earlier bravado extinguished by the night's horrors.
Bennett walked alongside the prince's mount, the newly acquired Eclipse Bow slung across his back. Its crescent frame shimmered faintly, as though still thirsting for the lifeblood of its last master.
"Bennett!" The prince disclaimed with a weary smile, clasping the young mage's shoulder. "I knew the great Gandolf's disciple wouldn't fall to some back-alley necromancer. You've honored your master's legacy."
Kik, propped against the carriage window, coughed weakly. His eyes locked onto the bow. "Eclipse…" he rasped. "That's Deniro's weapon. You killed Deniro?"
Bennett shrugged. "He attacked me. I defended myself."
The prince's laughter rang hollow. "My brother must be gnashing his teeth. Losing both his prized archer and that cursed bow in one night? Divine irony."
Kik's bandaged hand trembled. "That bow felled countless mages. Now it serves one? Absurd…"
Chen-Augustine cut him off. "Enough. The sun rises, and courtiers gossip. We return now."
Homecoming of Shadows
The capital's gates loomed like a gilded cage. Guards bowed as the prince's entourage passed, their eyes lingering on Bennett and his weapon. At the crossroads, Chen-Augustine leaned close to the young mage. "Visit the palace tomorrow. We'll discuss… opportunities."
Bennett forced a nod, his mind churning. The prince's favor felt less like an honor and more like a leash.
At the Earl's estate, Captain Alfar awaited, his stoic mask cracking briefly at the sight of the Eclipse Bow. "The Earl demands your presence," he muttered, avoiding Bennett's gaze. "Immediately."
Father's Gambit
The Earl's study reeked of oiled steel and sleepless nights. The aging lord stood by the hearth, polishing his ancestral blade—a relic from his naval conquests. Moonlight glinted off its edge as he turned to Bennett.
"You've entangled yourself in dangerous tides, boy." He tossed a scroll onto the desk. "Read. Then speak."
The document bore Emperor Augustus VI's seal and the joint signatures of the Imperial Treasury and Military Command. Bennett's blood chilled at its contents:
"Imperial Decree on the Establishment of the Royal Arcane Academy"
Fifteen names dominated the inaugural council list. Bennett's glared among them like a spark in tinder.
"Seven seats to the Magic Guild. Seven to the Crown. You—" the Earl's voice sharpened, "—are the fulcrum. The Guild despises this academy. They see it as theft of their birthright. The Crown sees it as a weapon. And you? You're Gandolf's heir. The compromise."
Bennett's fist clenched. "Why me? Gandolf had other apprentices!"
"Dead. Disgraced. Or," the Earl's gaze hardened, "lacking a noble father to anchor them between two vipers' nests. The Guild tolerates you because of Gandolf. The Crown trusts you because of me."
Silence hung like a blade.
"You hid this," Bennett accused. "You planned to spring it at the Summer Solstice."
The Earl's laughter held no mirth. "Plans shattered when you saved the prince. Now the wolves circle. The Guild's assassins, my political rivals—even your dear prince sees you as a pawn."
He gripped Bennett's shoulder, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Listen well. This academy isn't about teaching spells. It's about control. The Guild hoards knowledge; the Crown craves power. Whichever side you tilt, the other will burn you."
Eclipse's Whisper
Alone in his chambers, Bennett traced the Eclipse Bow's runes. Moonlight bled through the window, casting the weapon's shadow across the wall—a hooked scythe, hungry and silent.
"You've become interesting, little mage."
The voice slithered from the bow. Bennett froze.
"Fear not. I've no taste for kin. But heed this: power shifts where shadows converge. The prince, your father, even that frostbitten knight—all dance to strings they cannot see."
The runes pulsed crimson.
"Ask yourself… why did Gandolf truly die?"