Arc#4 Chapter 40: Bitter Chill (Patreon)

“Come with me. I can show you a whole new world.”

In response to the not-human’s words, the White King growled as he struggled to get up in spite of the agony wracking his entire body. His luscious white fur covered it all, but any part of his flesh that wasn’t already bruised was instead lacerated, slowly draining him of life in the form of imperceivable wisps of energy.

The type of injury hardly mattered though — everything was in pain.

“I know you can understand me. Stop trying to pretend otherwise.”

Still growling, the White King finally managed to put all four feet under him, standing tall once more. It was an insignificant achievement when faced with the reality of his pitiful state, but the White King felt like he’d regained a portion of the pride the not-human tore apart.

The not-human was right though.

Even if the White King couldn’t understand the words themselves, he could instinctively grasp what the not-human wanted to convey.

‘The world…’

The White King would have laughed at the not-human if it said that it could show him the world that he’d ruled for so many mating cycles.

But no.

The not-human didn’t mean this world, where the White King was born and raised. Absurd as it was, the not-human meant to show him the world where it came from — an entirely different world. A world that the White King had never seen before, filled with creatures he’d never encountered.

In his long search for worthy foes, the White King had frozen vast seas and boiling ponds of flaming water just so he could scour every inch of his world. He knew he had missed some spots in the depths of the ocean, but he had no way of exploring there, so he had given up despite feeling that there was something there.

Still, he knew the humans couldn’t possibly live there either.

And that brought up the question of where the humans came from.

The White King stared down at the not-human and pondered. He had already surmised that there were other worlds, but he never expected to receive confirmation while he was in such a pathetic state.

If there were others in that world as strong as the not-human, perhaps there was merit in coming along.

But still.

Even if that other world was brimming with worthy prey, the White King wondered if he should truly debase himself by submitting to the not-human. He was the king after all — standing above all as the most superior being in the world. Could he truly throw it all away just to be the not-human’s… slave?

Sure, the not-human had beaten him down fair and square, so much so that the White King couldn’t dispute anything at all. The law of nature dictated that he could not complain about what was done to him. He may have been superior to every other creature in the world, but the not-human — a being not of this world — was even more so.

Even that massive serpent followed the not-human.

‘Serpent…’

Thoughts of the gargantuan winged snake with seemingly unbreakable obsidian scales in the sky sent shivers down the White King’s spine. He had fought and slain many snakes of varying sizes, but none of them could ever come close to the being currently glaring down at him from the sky.

Or rather, they were so different that the White King was fairly certain that it wasn’t a snake at all, merely taking the shape of one.

Whatever that creature actually was hardly mattered. What mattered to the White King was the instinctive fear its presence awoke inside him — fear that the White King had never felt in his long life. If the White King ended up forced to follow the not-human, wouldn’t the White King be in constant close proximity to the snake-like entity?

That did not seem promising at all.

For the White King, strong creatures always elicited a desire to fight — a desire to use the enemy’s strength to sharpen his fangs. On the other hand, no matter how great the disparity between them became, the White King never wanted to fight that.

Somehow, his instincts screamed that he would lose without a fight, even though logic dictated otherwise.

“I don’t want to force you into this if I can.” The not-human spoke once again, gesturing at the shiny berry that lay abandoned at their feet. “And anyway, aren’t you tired of this small and cramped place?”

Turning his gaze to the not-human, the White King pondered. Had he grown tired of his own world?

Perhaps.

The White King felt no particular joy from being the strongest. Rather, the thought that he could not grow stronger annoyed him. And he could not get stronger if there was nothing to fight.

After his fateful meeting with the red dragon, the White King’s life was just a dull never-ending wait for the next hunt — a hunt that never happened, for the White King was decimated by the not-human and reduced to his current state.

“There’s so much else to see. A world much bigger than this one… and another world where enemies don’t ever seem to run out. I can bring you there.”

The White King’s eyes narrowed as its muscles grew less tense, his misgivings gradually dissipating. Coming with the not-human suddenly didn’t seem too bad. Perhaps there was no need to continue with his schemes.

“And besides…” The not-human crossed its arms and made a face that irked the White King for some reason. “That crown of horns makes you look like a king… But what kind of king lives in a cage? Surely you don’t want to spend the rest of your life here, right?”

He did not need to understand the not-human’s barks to realize that he was being mocked.

And it was working.

The White King bared his fangs as his rage gave rise to strength. Even if he knew that letting anger dictate his actions was stupid, his limbs still tensed as he prepared to lunge.

It was right though.

The not-human was right.

And the White King knew it too — knew that he was no king, just a caged mutt in a world seemingly created so filthy disgusting humans could safely obtain pets.

With a roar, the White King — no, the caged beast kicked off the ground and charged, the feelings of humiliation he had buried deep down spurring the wrath in his heart. Despite his defeat, he knew that victory wasn’t out of reach until the very last breath he took. That was why he patiently waited for a chance to turn things around in a final gamble.

It just so happened that the not-human’s words made him feel like he’d waited long enough.

But if, he thought, the not-human still won? Then…

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With the orb, Reivan could’ve taken the wolf with him and slowly convinced him to form a more permanent bond after taking it back to his world. But Reivan felt like that wouldn’t be the right way to go about things in this case.

If possible, he wanted to see if he could peacefully convince the wolf to come with him on its own.

Not to save his only orb, but rather, it just felt… Well, it felt right.

‘I mean… If I was beaten and then told that I’d be chained up for a year, I wouldn't be very receptive to my captor’s attempts to coax me into an eternal partnership that’s stronger than marriage.’

That was part of how he rationalized it, but he also understood that not all people were the same. Stockholm syndrome was a thing back on modern Earth, proving some people were… of different mental capacities. Perhaps the forceful method would work on other spirit beasts, but this one was far too intelligent. And the fact that it tried to beat him on its own instead of summoning its pack from the very start meant it had some level of pride.

Prideful individuals didn’t like being forced into things. It was much better to guide them into moving in the direction you want them to, as if it was their idea from the very start.

‘A Guide to Kingcraft - Volume 3, chapter 4.’

He never wanted to be king but since he liked reading so much, his father had insisted for him to read the book anyway. And it was good too, since there were sections in the series that were useful elsewhere. Like how to deal with people whose pride made up their entire personality.

This was only possible because he could make inferences about the beast’s tendencies through its special abilities though.

Judging by the number of hunting-related parts in its abilities, Reivan was willing to bet that the beast had a predilection for it. Its enthusiasm in hunting Reivan — who was probably near the peak in combat prowess as far as people in the mortal realm were concerned — also convinced him that the wolf liked hunting big game.

In other words, it liked hunting down strong individuals.

‘Well, it’s all just a hypothesis. Special abilities don’t necessarily dictate someone’s personality, after all...’

Still, he didn’t feel like his thoughts were too far-fetched.

Things seemed to have been working relatively well until…

Well, until it didn’t.

‘Shit. Did I accidentally hit a nerve? Chapter fucking five didn't work, then.’

Because coaxing it gently didn't seem to be working — or if it was, Reivan could hardly tell due to the fact that he was incapable of gleaming any subtle changes in the beast's emotions — Reivan had tried to provoke it instead. People were very different when they were mad, and they were more likely to reveal an opening when they got worked up. But in putting that to practice, he had failed to consider that dealing with a human being was vastly different from dealing with a questionably intelligent wild animal.

'Eh, you win some, you lose some.'

Reivan hastily pulled his sword out of the ground and brought it up, ready to sidestep the beast’s lunge at the last moment and inflict another heavy wound on it.

Seemingly anticipating this, the large wolf pivoted mid-lunge, swinging an elongated tail covered with needle-like white fur obviously hardened by a healthy dose of essence.

‘Fool. Haven’t you learned your lesson?’

Reivan smirked as his sword traced a refined arc, plummeting to the ground at blinding speed, its lethality enhanced by multiple aetherblade arts. As he watched his blade sever the beast’s last tail, he wondered how such an intelligent creature could make such a poor decision.

The answer came instantly.

Before he could react, the severed tail exploded, unleashing a blast of frigid air that enveloped Reivan and everything around him in a dense fog of cold mist. It was as if the ice age was condensed into the detached limb — which, Reivan realized, was sacrificed as part of the beast’s cunning ploy.

‘Shit, this isn't good…!’

Reivan’s lower jaw shivered as his muscles grew numb and ice surged through his veins. He immediately lost control of the qi and magic power in his body, seemingly frozen by the wolf’s special attack. Even his armor seemed decorated with a brand-new layer of thick frost.

For just about anybody, it was a death sentence.

Obviously not letting this chance escape, the big white wolf suddenly vanished into the mist before reappearing behind Reivan, lunging forward with its maw wide open and its ferocious fangs glinting with malice.

Zouros, who had been watching the situation with focused vigilance, moved quickly to Reivan’s aid. From its connection with Reivan, it knew that attacking the wolf directly would produce incredibly subpar results, so it struck Reivan instead, sending him flying out of the beast’s way.

Incapable of moving his face, much less cursing at the way his brain shook from his companion’s strike, Reivan tried his hardest to expel the foreign energies in his body, being met with moderate success as he regained partial use of his limbs.

When he looked back to where the wolf was though, he gawked at the stunning sight of Zouros’ tail being completely frozen, taking the brunt of the icy blast that had almost turned Reivan into a snowman. Soon, a resounding crack followed as the giant snake’s tail shattered into countless pieces, eliciting a soul-shaking screech of pain from its giant mouth.

Reivan’s heart sank as he urged his limbs forward.

Logically, he understood that even if Zouros died, it would just revive after some time passed. But right now, they were in a different kind of place and Zouros shared some similarities with spirit beasts — who, in turn, died permanently in spiritual environments like the world like the sanctuary.

The thought that he might lose Zouros forever sent Reivan’s mind into a panic, pushing him forward despite his limbs still feeling numb.

‘I really can’t feel anything… If I couldn’t see my arms, I would think they’d fallen off.’

Reivan’s eyes narrowed, focusing on the white wolf king — who also looked worse for wear, its breath ragged and its stance sloppy. But Reivan had learned by now not to blindly trust what he saw.

Despite its noble and majestic countenance, the beast was deceptive and treacherous in combat. There was no honor or grace in the way it fought, just a an unbreakable will to keep on fighting until it couldn't fight any longer.

‘It should be out of magic power now, right? Surely.’

Reivan stopped and swapped his longsword for a bow and arrow, drawing the string back as far as he could in an instant. Simultaneously, numerous floating blades converged on the beast’s location, aiming to nail it to the floor.

As he had expected, the moment he resumed the offensive, the wolf’s apparent weakness vanished as it nimbly dodged a few of the flying blades before eventually being forced to transform into mist one again.

‘Got you.’

Reivan hastily used a special aetherblade art created to counter an elementalist’s ability to transform into elemental energy for a few seconds.

Its name was << The Ghost Buster >>, and it was an aetherblade art created by the Aizen’s first king.

Despite his exasperation at the ancient figure’s use of yet another modern Earth reference, Reivan thought the name was very appropriate. It imbued one’s weapon with the power to hit energy itself, rather than having the physical object just move through it.

It was an ancient ability conceived by ancient knowledge — meaning it was highly inefficient, needlessly unoptimized for the use of an average knight, and incredibly difficult to learn. Still, the fact that nobody had the skill to modify it even after thousands of years of advancement spoke of the royal progenitor’s genius.

‘Eat this, motherfucker… Don’t die though. Please. Like, seriously don't fucking die.’

Reivan’s eyes easily grasped the wolf’s location, aimed the arrow at it, and released, watching as what appeared to be a shooting star headed right for the white wolf — who must have thought it was invincible at the moment.

The arrow struck through and the white wolf suddenly materialized in the air with the projectile lodged deeply into its right hind leg.

‘Boom.’

A moment later, the arrow exploded when a second aetherblade art he used took effect, completely parting the beast’s limb from its body. White motes of light were rapidly expelled from the wound as it roared.

‘And with that… I’m out of mana too.’

Reivan’s ragged breathing came out as mist in the winter wasteland that the spirit beast created. He quickly unsummoned his bow and rushed forward like a runaway train. Closing the distance between them in an instant, he lowered his body and tackled the beast from below before slamming it into the ground.

As the beast reeled from the ungodly force, Reivan’s arms snaked around its neck and tightened like a noose. A panicked yelp escaped the white wolf king’s maw before it clenched its teeth and struggled to free itself from his grasp.

Unfortunately for the not-so-noble beast, no matter how it struggled, Reivan was determined not to budge.

He could just as easily end the beast’s life by snapping its neck like this, but that obviously wasn’t what he wanted. Instead, he used his free mouth to bite at whatever flesh he could get to as his floating blades repeatedly punched holes into its remaining limbs.

Fights were the perfect place for the unexpected to happen though.

The extended fight had depleted it of its energy reserves, but it seemed the white wolf king still had barely enough magic power to transform just its upper body into white mist. Freed from its fleshy restraints, it loomed over him and pinned him to the ground, its jaws quickly heading right for Reivan’s face.

The development's sudden nature and their close proximity meant he couldn’t summon a good enough weapon. Reivan clenched his teeth as he held up his left arm to protect his head as his right hand traced the brutal arc of a clean right hook.

The agony of many somethings plunging into his arm and maiming it came in tandem with the feeling of his fist meeting flesh.

“AHHHH!” Reivan involuntarily screamed as one of the greatest pains he ever suffered erupted from where his left arm used to be. As his mind blanked and his vision grew dim, he realized that the wolf was no longer in sight.

Instincts kicked in as the beating of his heart drummed against his skull, somehow keeping him sane. His eyes immediately searched for the greatest threat to his life, finding the wolf slumped right next to him, unconscious.

With the realization that he no longer had enemies, Reivan’s mind once again focused on the pain as he resumed screaming his throat hoarse. His knees buckled under his weight and he collapsed to the snow ground in a heap, shakily straining to bring what remained of his left arm up to his face. To get a better look at the injury, Reivan unsummoned the armor covering his left arm, all the way up to the pauldron on his shoulder. That was enough to show him the horrifying state the beast’s final attack left his limb in.

Everything beyond the elbow was just gone, probably from the initial bite connecting. It wasn’t the clean type of gone, rather, bits of pieces still hung from his elbow because the wolf’s fangs had literally ripped his arm off.

But he could still remember the short moment of pain from the fangs penetrating his armor and everything else beneath. While still agonizing, it wasn’t as bad as the pain tormenting him right now.

‘Poison…’

His upper arm was noticeably rotting, turning into black flesh that seemed like it would fall away any second now. It served as a grim reminder of the past, before he reincarnated into who he was. Just looking at it triggered something in Reivan’s brain, squeezing out another throat-ripping scream from his mind as his eyes rolled up to the back of his head and cold sweat erupted from every pore in his body — except the ones on his rotting arm.

‘Fuck… shit… shit… SHIT!’

Reivan shoved his only remaining fist into his mouth so he didn’t accidentally bite his tongue off, hoping that his teeth sinking into his flesh would distract him. Sadly, it didn’t.

But he did manage to return his gaze to his rotting arm, trying his best to examine it.

‘...It’s… spreading…’

His mind, muddled from tormenting agony, made a snap decision. In just a fragment of a second, one of his floating blades was sucked into his shoulder, cleanly cutting the necrotic flesh off.

Reivan’s muscles relaxed, his suffering over. It was ironic how cutting off a limb made things less painful, but wish as he might, he couldn't find relief in anything at the moment. He strained to sit up while his lungs screamed for air, sending a weary glance at what used to be attached to him.

He watched as the rest of the severed arm gradually turned black before being wrapped in a layer of ice and shattering into black snow.

Reivan sighed in relief as he sent a withering glance at the unconscious white wolf. “...You better…be fucking…worth it…you…fucking…mutt.”

Zouros flew in as a smaller version of itself, albeit with a portion of its tail from the tip missing, and draped itself on his shoulders, hissing warily at the blackened piece of flesh.

Frowning at his companion’s actions, Reivan wondered what it was so hissy about, only to notice that the black snow had dissolved into a strand of dark mist, swirling around the spot where it originally was. Its dark and ominous appearance was a stark contrast to the virgin white snow all around it.

“What the fu—”

Before he could finish his curse, the black smoke suddenly shot straight for Reivan.

Unprepared and too muddled by the agony he'd just undergone, Reivan was unable to react in time as the smoke seeped into the stump on his shoulder.

And the unbearable torment he thought he’d escaped returned with a burning passion.

‘This isn’t poison!’

Rather, it was more of a curse, and was the domain of darkness — an attribute he had and should be slightly resistant to. But something about the way the necrotic flesh had frozen off and shattered made him realize something.

‘It’s… It’s a compound curse.’

The white wolf did, in fact, have both [Darkness] and [Ice] attributes, so it would have made sense.

Combining elements into a single seamless technique like this was extremely difficult, and anyone who could pull it off was practically destined for greatness. To be honest, Reivan rarely encountered anyone capable of it — to the point where it blindsided him completely.

But none of that really mattered in the face of the insanity-inducing agony that plagued him once more.

His vision narrowed, growing dim at the sides. It was exactly how he gradually lost his sight as he died the last time, the rest of the hospital room disappearing in his eyes as he focused on the webcam recording his last words.

‘Death…’

He still remembered that he had [Frey’s Blessing], and would hence be saved from fatal damage. But the cold hands of death felt so real around his neck that he felt unsure if even a Transcendent’s treasure could save him.

In his muddled state, the companion draped on his shoulder surprisingly came to his rescue. It bit down where the wound was and desperately inhaled.

Reivan’s vision slowly returned and he felt the pain start to dissipate. The world around him grew clearer, and so too, did his mind. He looked to his shoulder to find Zouros looking quite pleased with itself.

Chuckling wearily, he gave his partner a gentle pat, his hand still trembling from what he'd experienced. “...Thanks, bud. You saved me there…”

Zouros blinked and his long body squeezed him a little, a show of affection for its kind, apparently. It then apologized through their connection, regretful that Reivan had to lose an arm. If it had helped quicker, perhaps he wouldn’t have had to do so.

“Hey, don’t worry about it…” Reivan shook his head, brows furrowed and breathing still ragged. “You helped. That’s what matters in the end. Now… let’s get this over with.”

After performing some first aid on himself in the way of using [Effect Reproduction] to replicate the Beast King’s Ichor — boosting his healing capabilities beyond supernatural levels. As expected though, his wounds barely recovered. There was just something about spirit beasts, the wounds they inflict nullifying most modes of healing for an extended period of time.

It was a good thing he had [Frey's Blessing], since the healing from a halo was actually one of the only ways to bypass the anti-heal capabilities unique to strange creatures.

'It's going to take a while before I can grow my arm back... and by a while, I mean not in time for the end of this exam. Damn. But whatever. I hope it's worth it... No, I'll make it worth it.'

Reivan scanned the surroundings carefully for something. It didn’t take long for him to find what he was looking for — an amethyst sphere.

He hooked his finger, causing the orb to fly into his only remaining palm. Then he directed a withering gaze at the cause of his most recent brush with death — who had already woken up and was now leaning against a frozen tree.

“No more talking, wolf,” Reivan said, smirking as he waved around the purple orb. “Since words don't work, then don't blame me for using force.”

The white wolf had no obvious reaction, not making a single movement. Different from its bouts of acting and deception earlier, Reivan didn’t see any shaking or any attempts to look pitiful and weak. Rather, the beast looked calm, but also extremely similar to the feeling one got when winter ended and summer just began.

Zouros took it upon itself to surge forward, growing slightly larger and wrapping itself around the wolf to restrain it. The obsidian serpent looked prepared for a struggle, but the wolf made no such movements.

It merely stared at Reivan with its clear golden eyes.

“What?” Reivan raised a brow as he sluggishly tread through the deep snow. “You mad?”

The whole debacle had really been too traumatic, so he was far more receptive to mocking the beast. Maybe it was childish, yes, but he had tried to go about things the polite way and was rewarded with so much agony.

Wasn’t his annoyance justified? He, at least, thought he had all the right to be pissed off.

Of course, he was mature enough to bury the hatchet once they got out of the Sanctuary. Antagonizing the beast too much would get him absolutely no benefits whatsoever after all.

Reivan’s feet eventually brought him directly in front of the restrained beast. He looked down at it, meeting its clear gaze for a moment before leaning over with the orb held out.

"Enjoy your new cage, I guess."

Just before it made contact, however, a familiar notification suddenly blocked his vision.

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A spirit beast wishes to bond with you!

Would you like to accept?

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“...Huh?”

Reivan stared at the words, dumbfounded.