Chapter 207: Chapter 206: The Elder Witch Priest’s Final Resurgence
On the steps of the North Snow Tribe’s Altar, the Elder Witch Priest ascended step by step. He leaned on a spear-like Witch Staff in his right hand, which made a dull, heavy thud with each footfall.
His full head of white hair fluttered in the wind. Snowflake after snowflake landed on his coarse, linen-like hair, melting in an instant.
Below the Altar gathered most of the North Snow Tribe’s remaining Warriors—fewer than a thousand in all. Many of them were maimed, missing arms or legs. They leaned on Cold Iron Spears, their eyes filled with sorrow.
The oldest among them looked to be no more than thirty, while the youngest had perhaps just completed their coming-of-age ceremony. They leaned against the corner of a Wall, their eyes vacant and dazed.
Indeed, this might very well be the North Snow Tribe’s final coming-of-age ceremony. They had just drunk the Water of Origin and, before they even had a chance to share the joyous news with their families, found themselves gripping scarred Cold Iron Spears, their own red blood flowing into their palms.
The tribe’s strongest Warriors were now almost all dead. The core group of veterans—the very pillars of the tribe—who had followed the Leader to the North Sea to escort the Chosen One, Hill, had not yet returned.
Meanwhile, the Demon Race from Cold Heaven Cliff invaded almost daily, capturing their people and whittling away the North Snow Tribe’s remaining strength.
The North Snow Tribe was a shadow of its former self. They were now hardly any better off than the long-fallen South Mountain and East Shore Tribes. No one knew how much longer they could last.
With heavy hearts, the Warriors gazed up at the Elder Witch Priest ascending the Altar step by step. They clenched their fists so tightly that their wounds split open, yet they remained oblivious, letting the blood flow freely.
"Warriors, North Snow is fast approaching its final hour. In less than seven days, the Celestial Chosen Demon of Cold Heaven Cliff will personally lead ten thousand Demon Race Warriors to devour us."
The Elder Witch Priest’s voice was even more ancient and hoarse than it had been four years ago, when Hill had undergone his own coming-of-age ceremony. It carried the unshakable gravity of a great bronze bell.
His back was to the Warriors, the Witch Staff planted ramrod straight on the stone slabs of the Altar. Facing the many ancestral tablets arrayed there, he seemed a Wizard communing with ages past.
Gradually, everyone raised their heads, listening to his resonant, powerful cry. "Our ancestors gave us the right to exist! Their blood flows in our veins! North Snow is our home, and not even the mightiest of the Demon Race can strike us down!"
"But at this moment of life and death, more empty words are useless. The glory of our ancestors is fused with our very blood. There is only one thing we can do now..."
At that moment, a dead silence fell. Everyone knew what the Elder Witch Priest intended to do. They clenched their jaws, their arms trembling. An indescribable, conflicted light flickered in their eyes.
The ancestors had indeed bestowed upon the tribe the power to defend their home for tens of thousands of years, but such power required a conduit. And that conduit was the tribe’s Witch Priest.
The Elder Witch Priest was that conduit. He had served as the conduit for several thousand years...
"To heed the guidance of our ancestors and find the next Witch Priest of North Snow. They will inherit my responsibilities, await the return of the Chosen One, and restore the glory of North Snow."
The Elder Witch Priest still had his back to them. No one could see his expression, but his voice carried a defiant strength, like a river flowing upstream.
He raised his left hand, which looked like a withered branch. A soft clicking sound came from the Altar. Streamers strung together like garlands danced against the wind, and an unseen energy drifted up from the hundreds of ancestral tablets. With the swirling white snow as its foundation, this energy began to coalesce into a form.
The tribe’s Warriors watched in awe, recalling the legends of the Elder Witch Priest that had been passed down from their elders for generations.
According to the tales, the Elder Witch Priest would sit alone in his Witch Hall. Every year, the tribe’s newborn children would be brought to him to begin their learning. Even their grandfathers’ grandfathers had received his teachings.
The old man was always kind and gentle; no one had ever seen him lose his temper. His students could be found throughout the entire tribe, and he knew every single one of them by name, never once making a mistake.
He rarely involved himself in the tribe’s decisions. The two structures he valued most were the Altar and the North Snow Tower, holding them in far greater esteem than his own dwelling.
Legend said that a Witch Priest possessed the power to shatter the heavens and extinguish the earth. The previous Witch Priest had single-handedly held off an army of tens of thousands from the Demon Race, averting a great crisis for the North Snow Tribe. And even though that crisis marked the beginning of North Snow’s decline, no one ever questioned the position of the Witch Priest.
Of course, the North Snow Tribe had known more than two Witch Priests, and they had faced more than one crisis. The number of ancestral tablets on the Altar was not static, either.
But at this moment, those ancestral tablets, which even the wind and snow could not erode, began to emit a faint glow. Above them, the swirling snow gathered like a vortex, etching the silhouette of a young woman. Her fair cheeks gradually grew distinct and solid, as if she were a sculpture carved from snow.
An older Warrior paused, stunned. ’She looks like an old comrade’s daughter,’ he thought, ’the one who was so reluctant to marry and leave the tribe.’
A younger Warrior frowned slightly. ’I think I saw her at one of the ceremonies a few years back. She was beautiful, but she wouldn’t leave.’
They didn’t know why the ancestors had chosen that girl—no, that woman. The selection of a person by the ancestors was a miracle in itself, and only the Elder Witch Priest could commune with them. They were willing to place their trust in him.
"The ancestors have answered us. The next Witch Priest they have chosen is..." The Elder Witch Priest paused for a moment, took a deep breath, and then declared, his voice suddenly clear and resonant, "Flower!"
Upon hearing the name, some were confused, others surprised. Most of them didn’t actually know the person the Elder Witch Priest had named. After all, new adults came of age every year; who would pay special attention to a girl from a few years back who had quietly stayed in North Snow instead of marrying out?
At this moment, however, they had no mind to worry about the new Witch Priest. Their attention was fixed on the Elder Witch Priest, who was gradually being enveloped in a layer of white light. Mystical streams of light seemed to rise from the earth and, drawn by the Altar’s call, flowed into the Elder Witch Priest’s body, submerging him completely.
The light was a torrent of sensations: fierce heat, biting cold, sharp pain, spreading numbness, unyielding hardness... It was like mountains and oceans suddenly erupting from barren land. A surging wave of Life Force poured into the Elder Witch Priest’s body.
A perceptive young Warrior had a sudden realization, his eyes widening in utter astonishment. "Spirit Charm?"
They had all grown up on the legends told by the Elder Witch Priest and the stories passed down from their parents. They were all intimately familiar with the concept of "Spirit Charm," the world’s most fundamental power. They had even fantasized about what would happen if the seal on the Northern Boundary were ever broken, allowing Spirit Charm to flow back into their world of ice and snow. They dreamed of flying through the skies, tunneling through the earth, and living for centuries.
But they had never imagined that the Spirit Charm—which, according to the Elder Witch Priest, had been depleted for tens of thousands of years—was actually buried right beneath their feet.
Under the astonished gazes of the crowd, the mass of white light on the Altar swirled and transformed, resembling a pure, luminous cocoon. CLACK! The butt of the Witch Staff pierced through the cocoon and struck the stone slab with a crisp sound.
The white light gradually receded. The knuckles of the right hand gripping the Witch Staff were sharply defined. Wide sleeves danced in the wind. As the light faded, the Elder Witch Priest’s body was revealed, like a piece of jade emerging from water. He had a full head of vibrant black hair, the wrinkles on his face were gone, replaced by features as sharp as a blade. From the corners of his narrow eyes, his gaze was like a sword.
When he spoke, his voice was like thunder: "Before I fall, North Snow will not perish! And until the Chosen One returns, I will not fall!"
