Chapter 158 – Chaos and a Solution
In the dim underground hall, Charles slowly opened his eyes as he slumped against the vine-woven chair.
Under the faint light, the black ceiling of the cavern and the corpse-like figure of the Three-Eyed Raven came into view.
A violent headache surged through his skull like crashing waves. Fragmented images flashed endlessly through his mind—one moment a staff, the next a young girl, then a missionary, then a prince…
Memories tangled together in a chaotic mess, disordered and overwhelming, enough to drive someone mad.
Something wet and sticky filled his nose.
He wiped it with his hand.
Warm liquid smeared across his fingers, staining them crimson.
"I…"
Charles stared at the blood on his fingers, frowning blankly for a long moment.
Then, suddenly, he reached down and groped beneath his trousers.
Feeling the familiar presence there, he let out a quiet sigh of relief.
"How do you feel?"
The aged voice drifted into his ears.
Charles looked up. The Three-Eyed Raven was watching him calmly with his single dark-red eye.
Thinking of the vast and chaotic memories swirling in his mind, Charles opened his mouth as if to say many things.
But in the end, he spoke only a short sentence.
"Good… and terrible."
The statement sounded contradictory, yet the Raven didn't seem surprised.
"The process of recognizing yourself reveals every flaw and mistake within you," the old man said slowly. "But it is also equivalent to living an entire life again in a short time. It is normal that the human body struggles to endure it."
"Only one life…?" Charles murmured.
His thoughts churned for a moment.
Finally, he stood up and brushed the dust from his clothes before speaking to the Raven.
"I apologize for the threats I made earlier."
The sudden remark made the Three-Eyed Raven pause for a moment.
But he didn't dwell on it.
"Caution is better than carelessness," he replied softly. "Your behavior was natural. No one should give their trust away lightly."
He sighed quietly.
"With the threat of the Great Other looming over us, we must stand united. But we must also choose our allies carefully—otherwise we will never survive the Long Night."
"True. Unity," Charles said, nodding.
"But perhaps… we don't need to survive it at all."
He smiled faintly.
Ignoring the puzzled look from the Raven, he turned and walked toward the cave entrance.
At the mouth of the cavern, his guard captain Steelshanks was leaning against the stone wall with his arms crossed, staring blankly at the grey sky where snowflakes drifted down slowly.
Hearing footsteps, he turned his head.
The moment he recognized Charles, his expression lit up with relief.
"My lord—you're finally back."
Charles nodded to him, then glanced toward the pale sky outside.
"How many days has it been?"
"Three," Steelshanks replied, though his expression suggested he had more to say.
Charles raised an eyebrow.
"Something else happened?"
"Our men… we've taken quite a few casualties." Steelshanks's voice grew low. "We asked those little folk inside the cave to let us in, but they ignored us. They only gave us some special wood. It works well enough, but…"
He hesitated before finishing.
"Just now, three brothers fell asleep and never woke up again. We're planning to cremate them at dawn."
Hearing that, a strange thought flashed through Charles's mind.
Don't cremate them. Recycle the corpses—use them as materials.
The thought was both tempting and cruel.
He forced himself not to say it.
Instead, he slowly replied, "Bury them properly."
As he spoke, he unconsciously rubbed his forehead. His expression flickered between calm and unease.
The memories still surfacing in his mind had greatly increased his knowledge—but they had also left deep marks on him.
After experiencing multiple lives far longer than his own lifespan, he was no longer entirely certain who he really was.
The Three-Eyed Raven had intended to help him recognize himself.
Instead, it had left him deeply disoriented.
It's like being force-fed a pile of filth, he thought irritably.
Fortunately, the strange sense of displacement was fading as time passed. At least he wasn't likely to lose himself completely.
Wiping the blood that had trickled from his nose, Charles asked again:
"Anything else?"
"There is…" Steelshanks glanced at him cautiously. "Some of our men snuck outside Lady Melisandre's tent last night…"
His voice trailed off in embarrassment.
Charles blinked in surprise for a moment—then frowned.
"Idiots ruled by their lust. What happened to them?"
"They're locked up, waiting for your judgment," Steelshanks said. "The Red Woman's followers demanded we hand them over, but we refused. We thought it best to wait for you."
"What's the point of keeping men like that?" Charles said coldly. "When dawn comes, hand them directly to Lady Melisandre."
With that, he stepped away from the cave entrance.
Snowflakes drifted down endlessly as he walked toward the sprawling camp on the mountainside.
It was nearly dawn. The camp was quiet.
Only a handful of shivering patrol soldiers remained on duty.
Their faces were pale and stiff with cold, but when they saw Charles, excitement flushed their cheeks.
Even so, their voices sounded weak when they greeted him.
"So it's getting worse…" Charles murmured.
He continued walking through the camp while sorting through the chaotic memories in his mind.
The current situation was troubling.
But compared with three days ago, Charles was no longer so worried.
Not because he had found a way to stop the terrible weather—
but because he had identified the root of the problem.
If the root could be removed, everything else would solve itself.
But how?
He fell into thought.
His head still throbbed painfully, yet the knowledge he had gained was immense.
With only a little thought, several possible solutions surfaced.
One option was a special soul-summoning ritual—to awaken a new controllable spirit within the hollow body of the ancient god and let it fight the Great Other.
Unfortunately, that ritual was far beyond Charles's current abilities.
Another possibility was constructing a spatial isolation magic array to seal off the site of the ancient god's body.
That one didn't require overwhelming power—but the incredibly complex array design made Charles's head hurt just thinking about it. Even the Bandaged Man hadn't fully mastered it.
A third method involved sacrificing large numbers of lives to summon a Demon Lord across dimensions.
But aside from the risks of exposure and the uncertainty of whether such a being would even answer the call, the required mass sacrifice alone made the idea nearly impossible.
Every method had potential.
And every method had severe limitations.
None could be accomplished quickly.
Yet as he continued reviewing the possibilities, Charles gradually settled on a choice.
A method that carried great risk—
but could be attempted immediately.
A method he had long pursued.
A method that might grant him rebirth.
"Ten people's blood."
"Ten skulls and toe bones."
"And a heart removed from its body… but still beating."
Muttering these requirements under his breath, Charles turned toward Steelshanks walking behind him.
"I've changed my mind," he said calmly.
"The five men who tried something with Lady Melisandre—keep them locked up for now."
"I'll use them myself."
"Use… them?"
Steelshanks shuddered involuntarily.