Chapter 154 (Part I): The Eclipse Gambit
Shadows of the God-King
The plaza held its breath as Emerald Gandalf's trembling finger traced the bow's serpentine curves. "Jidu Luohou's Instant Prison Arrow," he whispered, syllables cracking like ancient parchment. "You hold a blade meant to sever gods."
Bennett kept the relic leveled, sweat stinging his eyes. So that's its true name. The weight of history pressed against his palms—the same bow that had pierced the God-King's throat in the mural beneath Icepeak Spire (Chapter 129's forgotten catacomb).
Around them, nobles murmured of firestorms and shattered staves. None saw the hollow tremble in Bennett's knees. No more gunpowder blossoms hidden in sleeves. No more tricks.
Crown of Lies
The Crown Prince's interruption shattered the tension. "That trinket belonged to my late assassin!" His voice dripped poisoned honey. "Stolen by this gutter mage."
Emerald Gandalf whirled, green robes hissing like angered vipers. "You think assassins wield weapons that devour starlight?" His laughter curdled the air. "This bow last sang when your ancestors crawled from swamps!"
Gasps erupted. A duchess fainted into her husband's arms.
Bennett seized the chaos. "Worried I'll loose another 'arrow,' Your Highness?" He plucked the bowstring, its hum resonating with the Crown Prince's flinch. "Don't fret—I saved the second shot for someone taller."
Whispers from the Abyss
In three strides, the impostor sorcerer closed the distance—too fast for spellcraft. His hand clamped Bennett's shoulder, nails biting through cloth.
"Listen well, boy," he breathed, words slithering into Bennett's ear alone. "The Eclipse Bow never travels alone. Where is its twin—the Dusk-Crowned Scepter? The Tears of Dying Stars?" Spittle flecked Bennett's cheek as the list unfurled—twenty-three names, each more impossible than the last.
Bennett's mind raced. Chris's pendant grew cold when he mentioned the Dusk-Crowned Scepter… (Chapter 141's cryptic warning).
"Answer me!" Emerald Gandalf's grip became vise-like. "Did that frostbitten wraith Chris barter them for your soul?"
The bow's empty gem socket pressed against Bennett's palm—a silent reminder. One shot left. No gunpowder. No allies.
He smiled.
Bluff of the Damned
"The Scepter?" Bennett drawled, loud enough for nobles to crane closer. "Last saw it decorating His Majesty's privy."
Emerald Gandalf recoiled as if scalded.
"As for the Tears…" Bennett flourished the bow toward the Crown Prince. "Ask your puppet king. His eyes watered quite prettily when I shot his pet assassin."
The insult detonated like delayed fire magic.
"SEIZE THEM BOTH!" The Crown Prince's roar shook banners.
Emerald Gandalf moved first—not against Bennett, but away. His retreating steps traced the same hexagram Bennett's earlier "failed" spells had scorched into stone.
"Fool!" The sorcerer's voice cracked mid-sneer. "You've awoken—"
Bennett loosed his last arrow into the ground.
The plaza screamed.
Eclipse Rising
Darkness swallowed the noonday sun. Not shadow—absence. A void shaped like the God-King's missing heart tore open where the arrow struck.
Emerald Gandalf's stolen left eye (Chapter 153's revelation) burst into green flame. "NO!" he shrieked, clawing at his face. "THE PACT WAS—"
Bennett staggered as Chris's pendant flared—not with frost, but hunger. The void pulsed in time with its glow, drinking the screams, the sunlight, the very memory of the hexagram beneath their feet.
When light returned, Emerald Gandalf lay twitching, his stolen eye now a smoking crater. The Crown Prince's guards froze mid-lunge, uniforms bleached bone-white.
Only Bennett remained untouched, the bow's final gem disintegrating to ash in his hand.
"Told you I saved the second shot." His grin hid trembling hands.
Chapter 154 (Part II): The Oathbreaker's Flight
Shadows of the Covetous
Emerald Gandalf's eyes blazed with manic hunger as he lunged forward, his voice a serpentine hiss only Bennett could hear. "The Amulet of Oblivion! The Shield of Yggrath! The Crown of Fallen Stars!" Each forbidden relic's name dripped from his lips like venom. "Tell me where they lie, boy—or I'll peel the answers from your marrow!"
Bennett strained against the sorcerer's invisible binds, the air itself crushing his ribs. Lies. All lies. The old monster's desperation reeked of madness. "I know nothing of your cursed trinkets!" he spat. "This bow came from a corpse's cold hands—take it and choke on its ghosts!"
The sorcerer's laughter curdled. "Ghosts? Child, you hold the arrow that shattered empires!" His green-tinged fingers crackled with necrotic energy. "Last chance. Give it to me… or watch your precious 'prince' burn."
Flames of the Forgotten
The killing spell never landed.
Crimson flames roared to life around Bennett, not as wildfire—but as a song. The inferno carried the scent of ancient parchment and dragon's tears, its heat purifying rather than destroying.
Emerald Gandalf staggered back, his stolen magic sputtering. "Impossible…"
From the heart of the blaze stepped Seraphine, her silver hair cascading like frozen starlight. The hem of her blood-red gown licked at the cobblestones, each ember whispering secrets older than the God-King's bones.
"You swore, Oathbreaker." Her voice fractured the air like breaking glass. "No harm to House Rowling, lest the Phoenix's Wrath consume you."
The sorcerer's stolen left eye—the one pulsing with stolen souls (Chapter 153's revelation)—began to smoke.
Flight of the Damned
Emerald Gandalf's scream shattered windows across the plaza. "YOU DIED! I WATCHED YOU BURN!"
Seraphine advanced, flames coiling around her fingers into a thorned scepter. "Fire cannot kill what it birthed."
The sorcerer's defenses crumbled. His prized emerald cloak ignited at the edges, revealing rotting bandages beneath—the stench of grave soil and betrayal.
"NO!" He tore at his own face, the stolen eye now a smoldering pit. "THE PACT WAS SEALED! THE PHOENIX'S EGG CRACKED!"
With a howl that shook the palace spires, the impostor mage dissolved into a swarm of screeching ravens. Their feathers burned mid-flight, leaving only ashes and the echo of broken vows.
Aftermath of Ashes
The plaza held its breath.
Bennett collapsed to his knees, Seraphine's flames retreating into his trembling hands. She's gone. Again.
Crown Prince Chen was first to break the silence. "THE USURPER'S SORCERER FLEES!" His voice carried the crisp authority of a chessmaster claiming checkmate. "BY ANCIENT LAW, THE THRONE FAVORS THE VICTOR!"
Bennett's father, Lord Raymond, paled as his allies' swords clattered to the ground. The coup died not with a battle cry, but with the whimper of a terrified crowd.
Echoes in the Embers
As guards dragged the conspirators away, Chen knelt beside Bennett. "That crimson fire…" His whisper carried the weight of a man glimpsing divinity. "The legends say House Rowling's founder walked through hell itself to—"
"Legends lie." Bennett cut him off, staring at his unburned palms. But Seraphine didn't.
The prince's smile held winter's edge. "Then let us write new ones."
Above them, unnoticed by all, a single phoenix feather drifted from the empty sky—its barbs still glowing with Seraphine's fire.
Chapter 155: Throne of Shattered Loyalties（part 1）
Echoes of a Miracle
"He… he truly defeated Gandalf?"
"By the Light! That boy overpowered Master Gandalf!"
Silence fractured into chaos. Nobles, ministers, rebels, and loyalists alike gaped at the smoke-streaked youth in the plaza's center—a living storm who had upended the unthinkable. Emperor Augustus VI trembled on his dais, withered hands clutching the throne's armrests as if they might anchor him to reality. Prince Chen, however, let his mask slip just enough for triumph to glint in his eyes. This gamble… this reckless, desperate gamble… has borne fruit sweeter than treason's poison.
Bennett stood motionless beneath the weight of a thousand stares. To the crowd, he was the victor who'd shattered legends. Only he knew the truth: Seraphine's ghostly flames had scorched the impostor's retreat, leaving behind ash and unanswered questions.
"Your Highness!" A noblewoman's shrill cry pierced the din. "The boy is a living siege engine! With him, even ten thousand soldiers—"
Prince Chen raised a hand, and the plaza stilled. "Dear brother," he called across the bloodstained stones, voice silk-wrapped steel. "Your sorcerer flees. Your schemes crumble. Will you kneel now… or die standing?"
The Unmasking
Bennett stepped forward, the weight of his next words heavier than any spell. "This victory is a lie."
Gasps rippled through the crowd like startled crows. Prince Chen's smile froze.
"The man in green wasn't Gandalf," Bennett continued, meeting the emperor's rheumy gaze. "I watched the true Master Gandalf draw his last breath in a forgotten tomb. What fled today was a thief wearing dead men's power."
Murmurs swelled—doubt, fury, naked fear. Bennett ignored them, focusing on the flicker of understanding in Prince Chen's eyes. He knows. He's always known.
The prince recovered swiftly. "Even so! You drove off a foe who crippled our Court Mage! Such valor demands—"
"No." Bennett's interruption drew shocked inhalations. "I'll fight no more today."
Webs of Blood
Count Raymond's gilded aura flared as he stepped beside the seething Crown Prince. "You shame our blood, boy."
Bennett met his father's gaze—the same storm-gray eyes that had disowned him hours prior. "The shame is yours, Father. You gamble our House on a tyrant's whim."
The Crown Prince's sword hissed free, its edge catching the dawn. "Enough! To arms!"
War horns bellowed. Armored cavalry tightened ranks, their loyalty purchased with promises of dukedoms and plunder. Yet as banners rose, Bennett saw the cracks: merchants edging toward exits, lesser nobles fingering hidden daggers. The coup's veneer of inevitability had cracked.
Prince Chen leaned close, breath hot against Bennett's ear. "Play the hero but a while longer. Name your price."
"There's no price for this." Bennett turned toward the palace gates. "Only consequences."
Flight of the Phoenix
Chaos erupted.
Crossbow volleys darkened the sky. Stone gargoyles shattered under ballista fire. Through the carnage, Bennett moved like a ghost—dodging blades, ducking spells, driven by a single purpose: Find Mother. Find Edmund. Flee.
A hand gripped his shoulder.
"The tunnels," hissed Count Raymond, face streaked with soot and shame. "Take the eastern wine cellar. Go!"
For a heartbeat, father and son locked eyes—years of scorn and silence collapsing into this single act of treasonous mercy. Then the moment broke. A warhammer slammed where Bennett had stood, and the Count of Rowling vanished into the melee, golden aura blazing like a fallen star.
Ashes of Empire
Dawn bled across the capital.
In the smoldering ruins of the throne room, Prince Chen surveyed his prize. Shattered stained glass cast prismatic shadows over the dead. Somewhere beyond the smoke, his brother's head adorned a pike.
"Find him," he ordered the shadows. "The boy who walks through fire. Bring him to me alive."
A cloaked figure bowed. "And the Rowling estate?"
The prince traced a finger through ash, revealing the mosaic beneath—a phoenix rising. "Burn it. Let the flames remind them whose wrath forged this throne."
Chapter 155 (Part II): The Siege of Shattered Thrones
The Golden Lion's Roar
Count Raymond of House Rowling stood at the vanguard of the rebellion, his ancestral golden battle aura swirling around him like molten sunlight. Though not a true paladin, the sacred radiance clinging to his armor made even the legendary Sir Rodrigo and Sir Hossain seem mundane by comparison. With a thunderous roar, he raised his sword high. "Long live His Majesty! Glory to the Empire!"
The shift from "Highness" to "Majesty" was deliberate—a blade hidden in rhetoric. Behind him, three hundred loyalists echoed the cry, steel singing as it pierced the air. Across the plaza, ten thousand soldiers took up the chant until the very cobblestones trembled: "LONG LIVE THE EMPEROR! LONG LIVE THE EMPEROR!"
Crown Prince Alaric, resplendent in black-gilded armor, surveyed his swelling forces. Nobles and their private armies flooded into formation, their multicolored battle auras igniting like wildfire. Archers from House Solomon nocked arrows, their sights fixed on the imperial dais where the aging Augustus VI cowered.
"Archers—loose!" Raymond's command split the chaos. A storm of arrows blotted out the sun.
Shields of Smoke and Sorcery
Prince Chen's laughter rang cold as winter steel. With a flick of his wrist, two spellscrolls unraveled. A translucent barrier shimmered to life above the imperial platform, deflecting arrows like pebbles tossed at glass. His hands danced again, summoning a whirlwind that shredded incoming volleys mid-flight.
"Retreat!" Chen barked as the shield flickered. Royal guards dragged the emperor toward the palace gates, their shields clattering under relentless fire. Yet the prince lingered, his gaze locking onto Bennett.
"Go!" Chen shoved the young mage toward fleeing retainers. "You've done enough. Let history remember you as the empire's shield."
Bennett shook his head, eyes blazing. "I didn't stay to watch you die alone."
The Iron Tide
General Junker, his face a mask of ruthless ambition, barked orders to the renegade city guards. "Break the gates! Leave no stone standing!"
Siege ladders materialized from dismantled noble platforms. Soldiers hauled colossal timbers toward the palace doors, each thunderous crash echoing the empire's unraveling. Above, panicked royal archers fumbled their shots—untested boys playing at war.
"Pathetic!" Bennett snarled, snatching a crossbow from a trembling guard. "Use the damned furniture! Throw anything!"
Yet Prince Chen merely smiled. "Save your fury, my friend. The true players haven't taken the stage."
Dawn of the Silver Storm
As the gates groaned under the assault, a blinding pillar of light erupted in the western sky. The heavens themselves seemed to sing—a chorus of a thousand voices harmonizing with celestial resonance. The ground quaked, not with fear, but with the synchronized thunder of hooves.
"Cavalry!" A rebel scout's scream died in his throat as silver blades flashed.
Through the dust charged a phalanx of knights, their armor etched with sacred runes. At their helm rode a figure Bennett recognized—Sir Galadriel, the Iron Abbot of the Holy Order, whose twin medals marked him as both Master Knight and High Paladin.
These were no ordinary soldiers.
Each rider blazed with silver battle aura. Each strike severed limbs like wheat before the scythe. The rebel rear guard dissolved into screaming chaos as divine steel met mortal flesh.
The Prince's Gambit
Chen's eyes glittered with vindication. "My brother forgets—the Church's hunger rivals any throne's ambition."
Bennett stared, awestruck, as the Holy Knights carved through rebels like parchment. "You… you allied with the Templars?"
"Allies? No." The prince watched General Junker's forces falter. "I simply reminded the High Pontiff that a schism between crown and altar serves neither. Though I suspect"—his smile turned icy—"they'll demand your head as payment."