Chapter 99: Round 2 (5)
Arthur’s blade collided with the Sheepman’s sword, the impact sending a cascade of brilliant sparks erupting into the air between them. The knight’s steel produced a wealth of light that Arthur’s shadow-infused weapon seemed to devour hungrily, the darkness coalescing along its edge drinking in the sparks like fuel for some greater purpose.
The collision lasted only seconds. Arthur, teeth bared in a feral grimace, pushed his full body weight into his weapon, pressing hard against the gleaming steel of the Sheepman’s blade. With his muscles straining beneath torn clothing, Arthur saw his opportunity. Using the pressed-together blades as a makeshift springboard, he kicked off from the ground with explosive force, propelling himself high into the air above his headless opponent.
Time seemed to slow as Arthur reached the apex of his jump. The rage that had clouded his thoughts momentarily parted like a curtain, clarity returning to his mind as he looked down into the empty neck of the armor below. What he saw inside the Sheepman made everything suddenly, unbearably obvious.
There was nothing inside the knight’s armor. Absolutely nothing—except for a small, intricate spell circle etched into the interior metal, drawn in red. Arthur’s eyes widened as he recognized the pattern. It was identical to the ones he had seen drawn on the dolls in the laboratory.
His mind raced, processing the revelation at lightning speed. Images flashed before him—the paintings in the great hall with these Sheepmen in every single portrait, always watching silently from the background. At the time, he had assumed they were merely bodyguards, but what royal family would allow mere servants to intrude on intimate family portraits?
Unless the royal family saw the Sheepmen as more than servants... as something akin to family.
The ancient spell that maintained the cursed castle required totems of significant value to the casters—the royal family—objects that couldn’t be living things but held immense personal importance. If the Sheepmen were valued by the royal family as if they were kin and were no more than dolls controlled by an ancient spell...
"The Sheepmen are the totems," Arthur whispered, the final piece of the puzzle clicking into place.
That explained everything—why their attacks had been so futile, why they couldn’t detect what rank they were. They weren’t living beings or corrupted ones at all, but enchanted dolls created by whoever had worked in that arcane laboratory before this realm was destroyed. The headless knight continuing to fight despite decapitation suddenly made perfect sense.