Blood Holy Scripture: True Ancestor Charlotte de Castel
Chapter 332: -88- Awakening

Chapter 332: -88- Awakening

Charlotte didn’t know how long she had been asleep.

When her consciousness stirred again, she was awakened by the whining of the wind and the piercing cold.

Slowly opening her eyes, what came into view was not the coffin lid embedded with night light crystals.

Instead, it was a roof made of clumps of grass, stones, and wood.

Charlotte lay on a pile of hay, covered with a gray-black sheepskin blanket stained with filth. The harsh gale howled, causing the roof to creak as if it might collapse at any moment. The dim glow of fire flickered through the room, casting the world in hazy shadows. She could hear the crackling of burning wood and smell the scent of charred lumber and moldy vegetation.

Flakes of snow, ushered in through the gaps in the eaves and windows by the cold wind, glittered as they descended, spiraling down onto Charlotte’s small face, ice-cold, gradually rousing her sluggish thoughts.

Staring at this unfamiliar thatched cottage, Charlotte felt bewildered.

Wait a minute...

Wasn’t she sleeping in a coffin?

Where was this?

Charlotte tried to sit up, but her limbs responded with an indescribable soreness and sluggishness, as if she were a rusted machine that hadn’t moved for centuries.

Charlotte, not believing in defeat, attempted to use her magic power, only to be shocked to discover that the magic power within her had disappeared without a trace.

This realization sent a jolt through Charlotte, and she no longer cared about the numbness and pain in her limbs, hastily struggling to get up with great difficulty.

"Oh, you’re awake."

A husky, low voice spoke up nearby, its accent thick and unintelligible, instantly heightening Charlotte’s wariness.

Turning like a startled rabbit to look beside her, she saw a tall figure sitting by the nearby campfire, shrouded in animal skin clothing, with a bow on their back and a hunting knife strapped to them.

It was a middle-aged man with a face as lush with beard as a forest, his pale blue eyes reflecting a tired, turbid light.

"Don’t be afraid, I mean you no harm," he said, observing Charlotte’s guarded expression. "I just saw you unconscious outside, concerned that you might come to harm in the blizzard, so I brought you in."

In the snowstorm?

Freezing to death?

Charlotte was puzzled.

She looked down at herself and found she was still wearing the nightgown she had chosen before entering the coffin to sleep. The only addition was an ill-fitting beast skin coat draped over her.

Of course, to call it a coat didn’t seem quite right. To Charlotte, it looked more like a fur used for warmth by primitive tribes, more of a cloak than clothing.

"Who are you? And where is this?"

Feeling the biting cold wind, Charlotte tightened the fur around her and asked cautiously.

"My name is Halfdan, a Gale Hunter. You can also call me Bearded. As for this place... this is the Northern Border of the Tower Country, a place where the light of the Apocalypse struggles to reach."

The middle-aged hunter explained.

Tower Country?

Apocalypse?

Divine light?

Hearing the hunter called Halfdan speak, Charlotte was confused.

She understood each of the words individually, but strung together, they made no sense to her.

Having studied the customs and political climates of the Mireya Continent extensively, she had never heard of the Tower Country, let alone the Apocalypse.

Charlotte’s first thought was that she was still in a dream, but if it were a dream, then this dreamscape was a bit too real.

She pinched her thigh hard.

Hiss—

It hurt.

This... didn’t seem like a dream!

But if it wasn’t a dream, how had she woken up in a place akin to a Northern Territory Tribe?!

"Lord Halfdan, may I ask... what month and day is it today? And which year is it?"

After some thought, Charlotte asked.

"What month and day? People in the Northern Border never keep track of such things, but the last time the Tower sent an Apocalypse here was ten days ago. If I calculate it, it should be the eleventh day of Cold Wind Month."

"As for the year... it should be the year 466 of the Apocalypse," said the middle-aged Hunter Halfdan, shaking his head.

Cold Wind Month? The year 466 of the Apocalypse?

Charlotte was even more confused.

Although she didn’t understand what Cold Wind Month meant, she could vaguely guess that it referred to winter.

She had fallen asleep on September 15, 1445 of the Holy Calendar, and indeed, if she calculated the time, she should have awakened during winter.

But what the hell was the year 466 of the Apocalypse?

She had never heard of such a calendar!

Since the Holy Royal Court-endorsed Yonette Empire had unified the continent, even the stubborn Elf Clan had changed their calendars. So where did this Apocalypse Calendar spring from?

Could it be, she went to sleep and crossed over again?

But that was not right, the language was still in use. Although the man’s accent was somewhat twisted and obscure, it was indeed the common tongue inherited from the Elf Clan on the Mireya Continent, modified to remove magic.

Or could it be... she had slept for who knows how many years?

Watching the bewildered Charlotte, the middle-aged Hunter Halfdan hesitated before asking:

"Judging by your clothing and attire, you... you aren’t from the Northern Border, are you? Are you a Favored of the Apocalypse? Why were you unconscious in the wilderness?"

"A Favored of the Apocalypse?"

Charlotte paused, having no idea what he was talking about.

After a brief contemplation, she gently shook her head and said,

"I... don’t know, I seem to have forgotten a lot of things."

"Forgotten?"

Halfdan furrowed his brows and asked,

"Do you at least remember your own name?"

Charlotte was about to answer but felt a tug at her heart and shook her head again:

"I... don’t remember that either."

"You don’t remember that either?"

Halfdan’s brows furrowed even more deeply.

He scrutinized Charlotte closely and said pensively:

"Your clothing is unlike anything from the Northern Border; it looks more like the garments worn by the Lords of the Apocalypse."

"Not only that, although you lack the ears of a deity, you possess a visage akin to the divine. I think... your identity must be related to the Apocalypse, perhaps you are a Favored of the Apocalypse, or maybe... an Heir of the Apocalypse."

"Favored of the Apocalypse? Heir of the Apocalypse? What are those? And what is an Apocalypse?"

Charlotte frowned.

Halfdan spoke with longing and reverence:

"The Favored of the Apocalypse are naturally the followers of the Lords of the Apocalypse, gifted with divine-like power by them, able to command flames, able to control winds and snow..."

"As for the Heirs of the Apocalypse... they are descendants of the Lords of the Apocalypse and the Chosen Ones, with the blood of the Apocalypse flowing in their veins, also possessing divine-like power."

"As for the Apocalypse..."

Halfdan’s expression turned solemn, revealing awe:

"They are descendants of deities, endowed with divine-like power, pioneers of the Divine Enlightenment Era, and the sovereigns of Ten Thousand Spirits... They came across the vast sea from Divine Grace Continent, bringing transcendence and power to the barbaric world of Mireya!"

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