thefictionvixens Chapter 326, Section 325: Ironclad Rules, Never Showing Emotion
Chapter 326, Section 325: Ironclad Rules, Never Showing Emotion
Chapter 326, Section 325: Ironclad Rules, Never Showing Emotion
This woman has long, flowing blonde hair.
The king, draped in a silver cloak, walked slowly towards them.
His expression was serious.
His gaze fell on Ian, his brows furrowing as if he had sensed something amiss.
"What's that weird smell?"
Ian seemed a little strange.
"You have a very strange smell about you."
Pandro, or King Arthur, continued in a low voice.
There was a hint of wariness in his tone.
Ian paused for a moment.
"A strange taste?"
He sniffed himself and didn't smell anything unusual, not even under his armpits. On the contrary, he should have smelled like milk.
This is not narcissism.
Ian knew he smelled of milk.
Because he loves to drink milk.
Normally, it would be marinated in milk to enhance the flavor.
"Hmm." King Arthur circled him once, his nostrils twitching as if sniffing out some unseen scent. "It's not the smell of blood, nor the remnants of magic. It's more like—the smell of death."
Upon hearing this...
Ian's smile froze.
He roughly realized what King Arthur was trying to say—was it a trace of Death's gaze upon him? Or perhaps a trace left from when he witnessed the battle between Death and the Raven?
"Have you recently encountered Death?" King Arthur was clearly very wary, which was understandable, since as a soul, he would naturally be very sensitive to the existence of Death.
Every soul is nourishment for Death.
Not to mention legendary figures like King Arthur.
Therefore.
King Arthur's gaze was fixed on Ian, his eagle-like eyes narrowing slightly, and the wrinkles between his brows deepening. He slowly raised his hand, his fingers spreading and then closing.
It was as if capturing some invisible essence in the air.
Ian's hand paused, the apple in his hand hovering in mid-air. He put down the food, his fingertips unconsciously tracing the apple, and nodded. "Yes, just now."
"Just now?" King Arthur's brow twitched, and his grip on his sword tightened involuntarily. "Tell me in detail."
He was still looking around.
There was a hint of tension in his voice.
As if they were afraid of being ambushed by death.
Ian took a deep breath and recounted his experiences in the Black and White worlds—the Alchemy of the Raven, the Strike of Death, and more.
He described the Dementors' chaotic battle and that inexplicable "there's always another round." He described it in great detail, even truthfully recounting the chilling feeling Death gave him the moment he looked at him.
The main problem is that I can't figure it out myself.
I want to draw on King Arthur's wisdom.
Pandro was, in any case, a legendary king.
Knowledgeable and well-informed.
He knows and has experienced far more than Ian, and perhaps this legendary king can help Ian analyze some situations from Ian's experiences.
Ian described it in great detail.
As King Arthur listened, his tense shoulders gradually relaxed. When Ian finished speaking the last word, he even chuckled softly and casually sheathed the King's Sword.
That sudden sense of relief.
It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders.
"That's alright now." His voice suddenly became relaxed, as if the previous seriousness had never existed, or as if the previous tension was just an illusion created by Ian.
Isn't this a case of changing one's mind faster than turning the pages of a book?
"Huh?" Ian blinked. "How come you're all right now?"
King Arthur walked to the table, picked up a piece of apple pie that had fallen, stuffed it into his mouth, and mumbled, "You must have tried to influence the past, right?"
Although I didn't see it with my own eyes.
But his tone was incredibly confident.
Obviously.
It was knowledge that gave him confidence—the so-called forgetting of the past, though it's unclear exactly what part of the past he forgot, or whether this legendary king had been lying all along.
Ian nodded.
"I did indeed use magic to interfere with that crown of thorns."
He recalled what had happened before and spoke softly. It was Raven who had hinted to him to take action, and he didn't know why he had inexplicably followed suit.
I never expected it would actually have such an impact on the past.
It's unclear how King Arthur came to that conclusion.
"That's right."
King Arthur swallowed his food, brushed the crumbs off his hands, and said, "When you touch the past, its scent clings to you. That's why I can smell death—it's a remnant of the past, not a threat from the present."
He walked to the window, where sunlight shone on his blond hair, casting a soft halo around it.
Ian squinted, pondering the meaning of those words.
"You mean the Grim Reaper I saw in the past was just a part of history, so he couldn't affect the present?" He really didn't understand what King Arthur was saying.
“That’s right.” Arthur nodded. “When you touch the past, its scent clings to you, like mud splashed on your clothes. The reason I can smell Death is because you bear its traces. But that doesn’t mean you’re being targeted by it right now.”
Ian was silent for a moment, then seemed to finally understand something.
"Death was active in the past, especially during the time when ravens were at their peak. But it wouldn't be so good now." King Arthur shrugged, a relaxed smile playing on his lips. After discovering that Ian wasn't a guide and hadn't brought Death with him, he regained his usual relaxed and leisurely demeanor.
"What if we came into contact with Death right now? What would be bad about that?"
Ian pressed for an answer.
Arthur's smile vanished instantly.
His entire demeanor changed; his previously relaxed attitude transformed into one of heightened tension. He stared directly at Ian, his voice low and serious: "Then this matter is of an extremely serious degree."
King Arthur turned around, shadows covering half his face, his voice deep and resonant, as if it came from the earth.
"How big?"
Ian was startled.
"As big as...—"
King Arthur tapped the hilt of his sword lightly with his fingers. "To the point where everyone might be doomed."
Ian frowned.
Why?
He was deep in thought. King Arthur paused for a moment, as if organizing his thoughts. Finally, he sighed, "Because Death went mad long ago."
When he said that.
King Arthur felt a sense of lingering fear.
I don't know what she went through in the past.
"Are you crazy?"
Ian was slightly taken aback.
These words struck Ian like a heavy hammer blow.
All I saw was...
King Arthur then continued speaking.
"He was the embodiment of the rules, the guardian of the boundary between life and death; he shouldn't have emotions, shouldn't have desires." King Arthur's voice carried an ancient heaviness, "But from some point onward, he became tainted with humanity—joy, anger, greed, obsession—"
These things, which shouldn't have belonged to him, twisted his being.
Ian seemed to be deep in thought.
"Rules don't need your own emotions, right?"
He began to understand what madness meant.
"Like an ironclad rule." King Arthur nodded, a complex emotion flashing in his eyes: "Once an ironclad rule is tainted by human relationships..."
It would become a joke. But what if Death had humanity—"
"He turned into a madman," Ian replied. He looked down at his palm, the image of Death's cold eyes flashing through his mind, eyes that indeed held a hint of hatred.
This is an emotion that shouldn't exist in the embodiment of ironclad rules.
"That's right."
A sharp glint flashed in King Arthur's eyes.
"I saw it was sealed away," he said.
Arthur chuckled softly, a hint of delight in his smile, and patted Ian's shoulder firmly. "Yes, only a Grim Reaper who can't move freely is beneficial to the human world."
Ian looked up at him: "So, the raven did do a good deed, didn't it?"
In this regard.
King Arthur remained noncommittal.
"Who knows? Let's not talk about this."
His change of attitude was so sudden that Ian didn't react in time. King Arthur, however, had already turned and walked towards the door, calling out into the courtyard, "Ariana! Stop practicing your sword!"
Ariana, who was practicing her swordsmanship on the other side of the square, heard the call, immediately sheathed her sword, turned around, and walked over quickly. There were still fine beads of sweat on her forehead, but her eyes remained bright.
"What's wrong?"
She looked at King Arthur.
"Let's go to the tavern." Arthur waved with a smile. "The wine I brewed earlier is ready today, let's celebrate."
Ian and Ariana exchanged a glance, both somewhat surprised.
"You can brew wine?" Ian raised an eyebrow. He did know about King Arthur's plan to brew wine, but he hadn't expected King Arthur to actually succeed instead of producing a pile of garbage.
"Of course!" Arthur said smugly. "I'm a genius."
The three walked side by side toward the tavern in the center of town. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows, and the aroma of freshly baked bread filled the air, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere.
The "Round Table Tavern" in the center of this town is a recent creation of King Arthur.
A crooked round table is drawn on the wooden sign.
Next to it, it was scribbled that "Knights and lazy dogs are both welcome."
Pushing open the door, a rich aroma of liquor wafted out. King Arthur strode to the bar, scooped three glasses of amber liquid from the wooden barrel, but abruptly withdrew them as he was about to hand them to Ian and Ariana.
"No," he shook his head sternly, "you two kids can't drink."
Ariana puffed out her cheeks: "Why?"
"Bad habits," King Arthur declared righteously, then tilted his head back, gulped down a large mouthful of his wine, and exhaled a satisfied breath. "But I—love bad habits!"
Ariana rolled her eyes: "You're not much older than us."
"I am the king," Arthur retorted confidently. "The king can be an exception."
As he spoke, he tilted his head back, took a sip of his drink, and sighed contentedly, "Ah—this is life."
Ian couldn't help but roll his eyes.
King Arthur laughed heartily, turned around, and brought out a large platter of roasted meat from the kitchen; the aroma of the sizzling fat instantly filled the entire tavern.
Try this, my newly developed recipe.
Ariana eagerly forked a piece, panting as it burned, but unwilling to spit it out. Ian, slowly cutting his own meat, couldn't help but ask, "Are you really going to open a tavern here?"
He felt that King Arthur must have lost his mind. Apart from him, the only other person in the town he had ever seen in all these years was Morgan Arthur and another Dumbledore who had already left.
Younger descendants of the Dumbledore family.
The image of the young man riding a phoenix flashed into Ian's mind.
I wonder if that person has been reincarnated.
"certainly!"
King Arthur took another swig of wine.
"Being a king is too tiring, being a knight is too busy, being a tavern owner suits me better."
He leaned against the bar, sunlight filtering through the stained glass and casting dappled patterns on his face. At that moment, he didn't look like a legendary king, but rather like an ordinary, happy drunkard.
As Ian looked at them, he suddenly felt that no matter how crazy Death was, no matter what the Ravens were planning, at least at this moment, there seemed to be some kind of eternal and unchanging beauty in this small town.
"There are no customers in the tavern."
Ian finally couldn't hold back.
"It will happen."
King Arthur seemed quite confident.
"Your cooking skills are pretty good."
Ariana gave her approval.
"Are you really going to open a tavern?"
She seemed to think that opening a tavern in her small town wasn't a good idea.
"Why not?" Arthur shrugged. "I've fought wars my whole life, it's time for a change of pace. This place is nice, quiet, comfortable, and perfect for retirement."
Ariana took a bite of the roasted meat and mumbled, "So you'll cook for us every day from now on?"
"That won't do." Arthur shook his head. "Food is fine, but habits must be formed. You all need to remember, there are some things you can't just touch."
He spoke with a serious gaze and a firm tone, as if he were imparting some kind of life philosophy rather than discussing wine. Ariana and Ian exchanged a smile and offered no further judgment.
As night deepened, the warm yellow light of the tavern shone on the tables, and the air was filled with the aroma of roasted meat and a hint of fruit. Ian and Ariana each held a glass of freshly squeezed juice, sitting opposite King Arthur, eating the steaming hot roasted meat and chatting about their recent experiences.
"Anyway, I don't know how to get back now."
As Ian recounted his real-life experiences, he looked down at the roasted meat in his hands, a sudden wave of emotion washing over him. He looked up at the window, where the town's lights twinkled like stars fallen to earth.
however.
This place is definitely not the human world.
The outline of the distant forest appeared blurry and mysterious under the moonlight.
"There will be a solution."
King Arthur seemed to have been exposed to a blind spot in his knowledge. After all, he was not a wizard, and he naturally felt the lack of knowledge about things that even wizards had never heard of.
of course.
It's also possible that it's an act.
No one can fathom the true thoughts of this king.
When it comes to lying...
Every king is a master.
"There are still a few hours left," he said softly, as if to himself, and also to his companions.
Ariana blinked. "You want to go see Professor Morgan?"
Ian nodded: "Yes."
King Arthur didn't stop him, but gently patted his shoulder: "Go ahead, she may be strange, but she's always been good to you." "Of course I know that, so I'm going to bring my teacher some roast meat, hoping she can help me find my way home." Ian stood up and finished the last sip of his juice.
He waved goodbye to the two of them.
After leaving the tavern.
He walked into the forest along the familiar path.
The warmth and laughter of the small town were gradually left behind. The air around us became crisp and cool. The leaves rustled in the breeze, and the soil under our feet was soft and moist. Every step carried the scent of nature.
Once you pass through the forest, the clear dividing line comes into view.
To the left is a sun-drenched world, to the right is a gloomy and dark castle territory.
Ian took a deep breath and stepped across the boundary.
Instantly, the temperature plummeted, and the surrounding light seemed to be partially swallowed up. Ahead, the somber ancient castle stood silently atop the hill, like a guardian that had slept for a thousand years.
He walked up the stone steps.
Enter the high platform.
The ancient dragon still slumbers outside.
Its body almost covered the entire platform, its scales shimmering with a cold, obsidian-like luster, and its breath carried the scent of sulfur and death.
Just as Ian approached, the dragon suddenly exhaled a burst of hot, sulfurous breath from its nostrils. A single amber vertical pupil slowly opened and locked onto him.
"Oh—" the dragon's voice boomed like thunder from the depths of the earth, "How many dragons have you killed?"
Ian was taken aback: "What?"
The dragon raised its forelimbs, shaking off the moss and dust from its body. Its massive head drew closer to Ian, its nostrils flaring: "You smell of dragon blood—ancient, powerful."
It turns out that it wasn't just King Arthur who had a dog's nose.
There's also a dragon's nose here.
Ian was about to say something.
"Are you going to collect twelve dragons to prove your legend as a dragon slayer?" The ancient dragon wasn't angry; it simply approached Ian and asked curiously.
What he said touched on a blind spot in Ian's knowledge.