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Chapter 56 - Thrall of the Frost
🕑 Added 2021-10-23 22:16:51 +0000 UTCChapter 56
Thrall of the Frost
Sylas’ world remained still and calm for a moment—he had done it. Ten stabs… in five seconds. He’d pulled it off—the impossible. His fingers were twitchy, excitement getting to them. He’d done it. Something that seemed beyond reach… he’d done it. All the pain, all the struggle, all the nights and days spent in the frigid cold, this one act had validated them all. At least to himself.
“W-WHAT WAS THAT?!!” Ryne exploded as she jumped over, staring at him like an awestruck girl meeting a celebrity. “THAT WAS AWESOME!! I’VE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE IT!”
“Ha ha ha, didn’t I tell ya’? Badassery.”
“Yes, badassery, yes!!” Wow… “Seriously, what was that?!”
“… my goal,” Sylas replied with a smile. “Was it fast?”
“It was super fast!”
“Did you follow it?”
“Couldn’t follow it at all!”
“Well, that doesn’t say much…”
“Hey!” she rapped him gently at his shoulder, pouting, while Sylas laughed. It was then that he saw the window, the one he was expecting, perched in front of him.
Congratulations on completing the entry quest of the Heartseeker Mantra!
Your reward: Heartseeker Ripple Stance. You will be transferred the Stance the next time you are asleep.
…
New task: superimpose 10 stabs within 5 seconds into 1, final stab.
Rewards: Heart Puncture
Sighing in reprive, Sylas completely ignored the new tasks since he knew if he so much as took a second to think about it, he'd get depressed once again. For the time being, he chose to live in the excitement and pride of having accomplished something. He hadn't cheated to get it, hadn't taken a shortcut or anything of the sorts—he'd done with his own hands, putting all the effort he could into it. He wanted to fall asleep immediately, but he knew that the excitement wouldn't let him.
“Hello? Are you okay?”
“Hm? What?”
“I kept calling you but you didn’t hear,” Ryne said.
“Ah, yes, sorry. Fell into thought,” Sylas smiled gently, but something quickly caught his attention—the window… was still there. That was strange. Usually, the windows would disappear the moment he read through them. Glancing at it, he realized it was a different window.
Additional reward: Forewarning
Forewarning: on the night of 15th of Maroon, Castle Ethwar shall be invaded by the Thrall of the Frost.
That was it. The system dropped a foreboding warning… and puff. Nothing. Sylas grumbled inwardly, sighing yet again.
“Oi! You’re doing it again!” Ryne’s voice was angry at this point as she felt Sylas was doing it on purpose.
“When’s the 15th of Maroon?” he asked. He had absolutely no idea what Maroon was—he suspected it was a month, but couldn’t confirm it.
“Maroon? Ah, you mean December?”
“… I… do?” Wait, what?
“Maroon is used in Old Texts,” Ryne said. “To refer to December. 15th you say? Hmm… in about a month, I suppose? Less than that. Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” Sylas shook his head. He’d live another month at least, he mused. Considering that a forewarning was a reward, Sylas was somewhat afraid. The system never warned him about anything before, and he’d experienced a lot of dreadful things—including the figure in the sky. Though he suspected the Thrall or whatever was nowhere near that terrifying, it will still likely be a pain in the ass to defeat. “Let’s go inside.”
“I—Inside? You… you mean the castle?”
“Yup.”
“Yes! Yes, let’s go!” Ryne shouted excitedly, grabbing his arm and dragging him forward. “You finally listened to reason.”
“You mean listened to you,” Sylas said.
“I am the reason between the two of us,” she spoke proudly, glancing at him.
“… that may as well be true, actually,” Sylas chuckled. “How goes your talisman research, by the way?”
“Great!” Ryne exclaimed. “V-Valen’s resources were a huge help. I can experiment without fear of running out.”
“Oh. It’s Valen now, is it?”
“… shut up.”
"What is it about girls and the Princes anyway?" Sylas sighed. "I mean, yes, he's admittedly handsome. And well-spoken. And—why do I keep hurting myself?"
“Cheer up. You’re… you’re not too bad either,” Ryne said. “You’re just… old—er. Older. You’re just older.”
“You said old.”
“Older! Older!”
“Older than the first people, maybe…” Sylas mumbled.
“O-old for me, you know?” Ryne thought she really hurt him so hastily tried to fix it. “I—I am young and stupid so what do I know? I’m sure women far more amazing than me would be beyond taken with you!”
“Yes, admittedly, you are young and stupid,” Sylas played along, stiffening a smile. Ryne’s eyebrows twitched for a moment as they entered the castle, but she said nothing. “What? Nothing?”
“…”
“You know, I once heard Valen say he liked girls who could cook…”
“What, really?!”
“I dunno, I made it up.”
“You—you are… ugh! Whatever. No woman wants you not because you’re old, but because you’re mean. Bearded and mean!”
“Oi, leave my glorious beard out of this!” Sylas exclaimed. “Where are you taking me, anyway?”
“Valen and others are all having a meeting,” Ryne replied. “I figured you’d want to be there.”
“… but why?” Sylas sighed. “Have you been to their meetings? I get less bored staring at the wall.”
“Yeah,” Ryne nodded. “Every time I go, I just fall asleep.”
“Right? I mean, not only are they boring, but they drag on. Did you know they once spent three hours debating which kind of grain to get?”
“Holy—really?! That’s… insane.”
“Insane, yes, that’s the right word,” Sylas was quite passionate, having finally found a kindred spirit. A friend in hate, so to say. “And, for some reason, every time they make a decision, they look at me. Like, I haven’t understood fuck all of what you just spent five hours discussing, why are you looking at me?! So, I just nod. I nod. And I nod. While all I want to do is nod off…”
"Well, here we are, so go nod away," Ryne said as she let go. Before he realized it, they reached the designated 'War Room', where almost all meetings were held. Ryne, cheekily smiling, stepped away.
“…” without an iota of hesitation, Sylas reached out and firmly grasped her shoulder.
“L-let go,” Ryne said.
“No,” Sylas replied. “If I suffer, you suffer.”
“No, please, I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have—”
“We shall be bonded in pain,” Sylas said, pulling her closer and opening the doors. “And become even better friends.”
“But I don’t wanna be better friends…”
“You jest. Everyone wants to be better friends with this guy.”
“…”
The two's entrance didn't do much outside of a few glances of acknowledgment. Sylas immediately realized that the reason was the heated discussion over something—well, 'heated' was pushing it a bit. It really meant that two people interrupted each other every once in a while. Looking around, Sylas saw that one person was missing—Tebek. Supposedly, he died during the night of the battle, but his body was never found. Heh, you piece of garbage. You’ll get your comeuppance soon enough…
Sylas and Ryne sat in the rear, away from the table itself. On the small desk between them, there were some fruits, and they both quickly dipped their fingers as they began curiously listening to the debate.
“We must do it!” it was Cyrs who exclaimed abruptly. “The risks are necessary!”
“No, what we must do is bunker in for the winter! There’s almost six feet of snow all along the road! Even if we sent someone, they’d never get there!”
“But the situation—”
“The situation is miserable, yes,” the one who was debating with Cyrs was actually one of the Captains—Edgar was his name, Sylas recalled. Not unlike the others, he was a man in his early fifties, sporting a bushy, but well-kept beard, and a perpetually stoic face. “And I feel for all of them… but we can’t risk more people for a mission that is clearly suicidal.”
“Prince—”
“How many are sick, again?” Valen asked.
“Fourteen, Your Highness,” Cyrs replied.
“… possible survivors?”
“Your Highness—”
“Survivors, Baron?” Valen asked again, this time sternly.
“… none,” Cyrs said. “According to Master Aldin, anyway.”
“Huuuh,” Valen sighed, shaking his head. “I can’t in good conscience send anyone in this weather. I am grief-stricken for the fourteen and I will let Master Aldin know that the warehouse is open completely and that even if there’s the tiniest chance to save a life, he is allowed to take anything. But that’s the extent of it, I’m afraid.”
“… yes, Your Highness,” Cyrs sat down, though reluctantly.
“What’s going on?” Sylas asked Ryne since he was out of the loop.
“About a week ago, some of the servants fell ill,” Ryne explained. “The sickness spread to fourteen of them before they were isolated. From the sounds of it, Baron Cyrs wanted to send someone to the nearest city for medicine.”
“Fell ill? With what?” Sylas asked curiously.
“I’m not sure myself,” Ryne replied. “From what I heard, they all have chills, a high fever, and are delirious.” Sylas nodded knowingly, though he knew nothing. For him, it sounded like flu, but anything involving a fever to him was the flu, so he was hardly the best candidate to ask.
“Moving onto the next topic of discussion,” Cyrs, recovering, stood up once again when he saw that the discussion had died down. “What should we do with the bandit leader?” With who now? Sylas nearly spat out the bite of the fruit he just took, standing up.
“Bandit leader?” he quizzed, drawing attention to himself.
“Hm,” Cyrs nodded. “What’s wrong, Mr. Sylas?”
“This bandit leader, did he give you his name?”
“He gave us everything,” Cyrs replied. “Turned himself in about a week ago. Said his name was Dyn, and that he was behind the invasion. He proved it by showing us the original plans he drew up, including the gates being opened from the inside.”
“…” Sylas’ mind spun for a moment. He didn’t—not for a second—consider Dyn had a change of heart and suddenly decided he wanted to be a better man. Recalling what the phantom in the mirror said, his heart sank and a bad feeling surged. Just as it did, he sensed something—a tiny trembling from below. “Oh, you fucking—”
BOOM!
