Chapter 1710: Chapter 1710

As the sun climbed toward its zenith, Jenkins paused his ascent up the slope, resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath. When he looked up, he finally spotted a blurry, low-lying structure in the distance—what he presumed was the "sacrificial site" the woman who had guided them to the mountain's base had spoken of.

He quickened his pace, soon discovering that the upward path had vanished. A few more steps brought the sacrificial site into full view. It was a whitish-gray structure, seemingly pieced together entirely from colossal blocks of stone.

The immense stones showed no signs of being cut or polished; their surfaces were pockmarked and uneven from ages of weathering. The crooked, slanted building inspired little confidence in its stability. Yet, as he drew closer, he saw that the long megaliths seemed to merge with the mountain itself, giving him the sense that the sacrificial site was an innate part of this place, exactly where it was meant to be.

The adherents of Destiny favored structures of stone. They believed that while wood and metal possessed their own fates, stone alone was devoid of destiny, and thus would not interfere with their attempts to touch the threads of fate.

The roof was also formed of giant stone slabs, and the entire structure exuded an indescribable air of ancient, weathered solemnity. Stepping onto the crooked, uneven flagstones and entering the interior, the sun was instantly blocked out. A cool, almost chilling air washed over Jenkins, and he couldn't help but let out a long sigh of relief.

There were no light sources within, and surprisingly, the masterfully joined stones left no cracks for sunlight to penetrate. Jenkins had no choice but to take out his candle and cup it in his palm. As he advanced into the depths, its flickering light played across colossal stone statues that loomed at the edges of the vast space.

The interior space was far larger than its external appearance suggested. When he finally reached the far end and glanced back, the light from the entrance had shrunk to a speck, no larger than a grain of rice.

At the far end of the chamber stood a high dais, also carved from stone, visible in the candle's faint glow. Upon the dais rested a simple stand, and atop that lay an immense, closed book. Just measuring its length and width, it was longer than a dozen of Chocolate's tails laid end to end.

"So it's not the mirror Audrey described after all,"

He circled around the dais, found steps carved into its side, and ascended. Standing before the stone stand, candle in hand, he reached out to open the book. But his hand froze just before touching the cover. He tilted his head, studying the book's blank, textless surface in the warm, yellow candlelight. For some unknown reason, a powerful, inexplicable feeling washed over him: he absolutely must not open it.

He snatched his hand back and retreated two steps, a hundred different speculations swirling in his mind. Then, like a bolt of lightning, the most impossible of all possibilities struck him:

"This couldn't be the Millstone of Fate, could it?"

It was an utterly illogical leap, yet the moment the thought occurred to him, it felt like the only possible answer.

His hand jerked, and he quickly pulled it behind his back as if recoiling from the book on the stand.

Jenkins had heard of the infamous *Millstone of Fate* from various sources and numerous people. Without exception, most of those who had spoken of the book—and later died—believed that to glimpse the traces of destiny within its pages was to become shackled by that very destiny.

The clearest example was the puppet sealed beneath the mountain villa, which had struggled with all its might to escape its fate. In the end, it had self-destructed, but not before leaving Jenkins a crucial part—its leg—which had enabled him to forge a particular sword during the battle in the Evergreen Forest.

"No, I can't open it," he told himself. "The chances of this actually being the *Millstone of Fate* are low, but I can't take the risk. Besides... I have no desire to read it anyway."

He repeated the words in his mind, his eyes fixed on the tome as he backed away step by step, as if fearing the book might suddenly leap up and bite him if he turned his back.

He hadn't even made it off the dais when a sigh echoed from directly behind him. Jenkins felt a wave of goosebumps prickle the back of his neck, and he nearly leaped out of his skin.

The chamber was utterly silent, so much so that even his own soft footfalls had seemed loud. The sudden sigh, therefore, had been jarring enough to make his heart pound. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ NoveI★Fire.net

Before he had time to turn, he felt a pair of icy hands cup his head. He tried to wrench himself free, but the hands possessed an ineffable strength that held him completely rigid. The greatest movement he could manage was a blink. While he was paralyzed, the cold hands on either side of his skull began to slide forward over his face, slowly, deliberately, until they joined together, covering his eyes.

The hands were chillingly cold, yet he felt no calluses; their touch was as smooth and delicate as silk.

Jenkins's Eye of Reality could pierce physical forms to see the spiritual light beyond, but that didn't mean he could see the back of his own head. He had no way of knowing what—or who—was behind him.

Whatever stood behind him now was undoubtedly a terrifying being—if it was even a being at all. It had been a long, long time since Jenkins had found himself so utterly unable to control his own body.

He heard the soft sound of breathing, impossibly faint, right behind his head. The sound drew closer, closer, until it stopped right beside his ear. Then, a voice spoke, like a whisper from a half-remembered dream. It was androgynous, devoid of all emotion, its pitch never wavering:

"Is there something wrong with you?"

That was Jenkins's immediate thought, but since his mouth refused to obey him, he couldn't voice it.

"Don't open that book,"

the voice continued, its owner's nature still impossible to discern:

"You are not yet ready to gaze upon the *Millstone of Fate*. Even though your very essence draws it to you, the person you are now... you cannot."

The tone was soft, and with each word, a puff of air tickled Jenkins's ear. He had no idea what the being behind him wanted, nor could he imagine who he could possibly encounter in this era that would be .

"But you must remember this: your essence is neither life nor death. Do not be deceived by appearances. Your essence is your original state."

The first half of the statement startled Jenkins, but the second half immediately brought Salsi II to mind. The northern king had said something remarkably similar not long ago. The difference was, he had merely been relaying a message from a great being beyond their world.

The power of his soul finally managed to exert some influence over his physical form; with immense effort, he forced a single word from his lips. But then the hands covering his eyes moved. One remained where it was, while the other began a slow, gentle caress down his face, sliding over his nose until its palm came to rest over his mouth, silencing him.

"Do not speak with me," the voice commanded softly. "Do not contemplate my existence. And do not try to perceive my form."