Chapter 1700: Chapter 1700
"Brother, if you think you can defeat me, then come and kill me now."
Dolores said, biting her lip. Just then, a brilliant golden light erupted once more from the hilltop behind them—likely a demigod from the Church wielding divine power. The glow cast their profiles in a stark, golden hue.
A dagger was hardly the ideal weapon for a duel, a fact Sarrot was forced to accept after his second attack failed. He realized that overpowering her with this blade would be no easy task.
He kept his weapon raised with one hand, murmuring persuasions for Dolores to surrender. But then he lunged, not with the dagger in his right hand, but with his wooden prosthetic. In a flash, his artificial hand drew another blade—the symbolic dagger King Salsi II had imbued with "extreme sharpness"—and with a sharp upward flick, it sliced Dolores's own dagger in two.
Clutching the broken half of her blade, Dolores immediately fell back, her feet stumbling in the thick snow. Sarrot didn't press his advantage, however, and instead took two steps back himself.
Dolores stared in astonishment, watching the wooden hand grip the dagger as if it were flesh and blood. Her gaze shifted to her father, but King Salsi II showed no sign of protest, neither at Sarrot's use of a second weapon nor at the hand that wielded it.
Dolores began to understand why her father had been untroubled by the prospect of her dueling a disabled brother. He must have known all along...
Supported by his attendants, the King stood under the eaves of a streetside apartment, his eyes wide as he watched his two children fight to the death in the snow. The sight brought sorrow to the younger Stuarts, but this duel for the throne was not one to end so easily.
"See? I'm not entirely powerless,"
"Are you still not going to use your Enchanter abilities?"
He tossed the ordinary dagger into the snow and shifted the empowered one to his left hand. In the snowy night, the prosthesis took on a metallic sheen, its hazy glow looking utterly uncanny.
Dolores clutched the hilt of her broken blade, her expression sorrowful as she gazed at the snow-covered ground.
Suddenly, the smooth expanse of snow began to shift, as if a giant worm were writhing just beneath the surface. Sarrot reacted instantly, taking two quick steps back, but the ground only trembled, with no further action.
It was then he noticed the snowflakes swirling in a regular orbit around his sister. The dancing snow formed a protective vortex, like a great dragon coiling around her. But just as quickly, Dolores dissolved into a fit of painful coughing, and the restless snow scattered, once again flying chaotically on the wind.
Sarrot abandoned his attempts at persuasion. He knew that the longer he waited, the worse things would get. This was hardly a safe location; at any moment, those terrifying snowmen could breach the Church's defenses and swarm the nearby streets.
He moved. With thoughts of the supreme throne fueling him, he gripped the unstoppable dagger with deadly resolve and lunged, aiming straight for Dolores's heart.
Bent over and still racked by painful coughs, Dolores was unable to move. The onlookers on the street could only watch, transfixed, as the dagger glinted in the dark, snowy night.
Then, a man's hand shot out from the side, cutting through the falling snow to seize Sarrot's wooden left hand in a grip like iron pincers.
Sarrot turned his head. The young man who had grabbed him wore a calm expression, his other hand hanging loosely at his side. A cat perched on his shoulder. Both man and cat, the former dressed in nothing more than a thin shirt, had appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the blizzard.
Both man and cat were staring at him. He made no move, yet as Sarrot looked at this man who seemed to glow in the darkness, a primal fear gripped him. Just meeting those eyes, which flickered with an inner purple light, was like staring into the most terrifying depths of a bottomless abyss...
Under the influence of this aura of fear, Sarrot began to tremble. He tried to tear his gaze away, to break the terrifying eye contact, but his eyes refused to obey:
He heard his own voice tremble and quickly blamed it on the biting cold.
"This is a Stuart affair."
The eldest prince snarled, trying to wrench his trembling, dagger-wielding hand from Jenkins's grip, but he had clearly overestimated his own strength.
Jenkins sighed, the falling snow attempting to dust his golden hair white. With a sudden clench of his right hand, Sarrot Stuart cried out in agony. Though it was only his prosthetic limb being crushed, the prince's screams were more painful than if his own hand had been broken.
The sound seemed to pierce the silent night, sending a shiver through the onlookers on the street.
"So you came after all."
At the sound of that voice, Jenkins turned to face King Salsi II.
"Yes, I came. You orchestrated this whole affair, this ridiculous duel in the snow, for the sole purpose of making me appear in Ruen, didn't you?"
As he spoke, he snatched the dagger from Sarrot Stuart's hand and, with a casual flick of his wrist, sent it soaring into the sky. The blade transformed into a streak of light, vanishing high above the distant hill.
"Father, this was a duel of honor between myself and Dolores."
Jenkins had already released the eldest prince. The latter crumpled to his knees, clutching his mangled left hand with his right. His face was a mask of agony as he screamed at his father, but King Salsi II paid him no heed.
"Save Ruen, and I will let Dolores inherit the throne."
The king's expression remained impassive, his eyes fixed intently on Jenkins's face.
Jenkins ignored him, striding over to Dolores and pulling her into an embrace. A green light swirled in his palm, healing the internal injuries she'd suffered when her powers had been broken.
He reached into the dark, snowy air beside him and, with a gentle tug, seemed to pull a white woolen cloak right out of the night. After a light shake, he draped it over Dolores's shoulders. The princess leaned gently against him, noticing that at some point, the falling snow had begun to actively avoid the man and his cat. Now that she stood with them, she couldn't feel a single flake land on her.
"Have you made up your mind?"
Only then did he turn back to King Salsi II. The old king roughly shoved away his attendants, refusing the support of his other sons. He stepped out into the snow, trudging unsteadily into the street and leaving a trail of deep footprints in the white expanse.
"Ahem... made up my mind..." he coughed, "Did I ever truly have a choice?"
He reached Jenkins and broke into a violent fit of coughing. Jenkins steadied him, and the middle-aged king, who stood nearly as tall as he, stared directly into his eyes. He reminded Jenkins of a dying lion.
"I knew from the very beginning. Even if I hadn't chosen Dolores, you would have found a way to make me."
"What exactly do you know?"
Jenkins asked. He had expected the furious king to lash out at him with harsher words, not this display of surprising composure.
"You, Jenkins Williams... you are more than just an Enchanter for the Church..."
He leaned close to Jenkins's ear, his body tilting forward slightly against the raging blizzard, and spoke in a hushed, conspiratorial whisper:
"You are a man chosen by fate." ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ novel_fіre.net
His tone was stark. As he straightened up, his brown eyes burned with resentment and fury—the true emotions he had been suppressing all along.