Chapter 35

25th November
Spain

Count Arnau didn't quite understand how events had escalated to this point, but he certainly wasn't going to complain. With a backhanded sweep of his blade, he beheaded a cultist who had ventured too close, the man's intention to incinerate him with a fireball cut tragically short. These so-called "elders" were hopelessly inept. What kind of mage engaged a heavily armored knight in close combat? Utterly foolish.

He moved through the fray with lethal grace, his blade separating an arm from the torso of a young acolyte. The boy screamed and ran in erratic circles, a pitiful figure amidst the chaos. This "mystic cult," as they called themselves, seemed to have recruited the most inept followers imaginable. Few knew any effective combat spells, and those who did took an eternity to chant the incantations. It was disappointingly easy.

Count Arnau glanced to his right, where Don Quixote was valiantly fighting what appeared to be a wall.

"What a stupid asshole," Arnau thought with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

Nearby, his King, Dionysos, was in the throes of invoking vines and thorny rose stems that ensnared their enemies, all while strangling a particularly rotund man in gold-trimmed robes—undoubtedly the cult's leader.
Despite the mayhem, Count Arnau found himself enjoying the battle. The thrill of combat, the certainty of victory under the banner of Dionysos—it was exhilarating. He had no regrets about pledging his loyalty to the god.

"For the King Dionysos!" he roared, his voice echoing through the chamber as he beheaded yet another cultist.

25th November
Spain

Ben Labalme's gaze was fixed on the altar as it succumbed to the consuming flames. The deity he had once revered now seemed a distant memory, abandoned as his sanctuary was reduced to ashes.

Ben had been a prodigy among the acolytes, celebrated by the Ancients. His awe at the cult leader's abilities—summoning fire, sacrificing infants, transmuting water into Coca-Cola—had confirmed, in his eyes, the divine origin of their leader. The prospect of becoming an Initiate, of mastering the mysteries of their magic, had filled Ben with fervent ambition. He had dreamed of ascending to a stature among the cult's elite, wielding powers that bordered on the miraculous.

But the arrival of three knights had shattered his aspirations, dismantling his beliefs with brutal precision. The once-invincible cult leader, his supposed god, had been effortlessly overpowered by a man dressed in a toga. The man subdued the leader with such casual disregard that Ben's convictions crumbled. As his world unraveled, Ben overheard one of the knights whisper a name: Dionysos.

The name struck a profound chord within him, igniting a fervor that eclipsed all previous devotion. Of course! God himself had descended to smite the false god who had stolen his name! Ben found himself irresistibly drawn to Dionysos, his mind and heart alight with new zeal.

"Pray to Dionysos!" Ben screamed, turning on his fellow cultists with newfound fury. He would be the new priest of the true god.

Ping! You awakened the [Priest of Dionysos] system.

26th November
Spain
Dionysos paused, taken aback by the sudden notification.

Dionysos
Lvl 39

You founded your cult in Europe.

More than twenty Spaniards see you as their new god, shrouded in enigmas.

You are the Embodiment of [Mysteries]

The third of the Twelve Dionysian Labors has been completed.

"Strange," he mused. He hadn't done much since arriving in Spain—unless you counted the cultist sweep, the wild nightclubbing that followed, and rescuing an old lady's cat.

Whatever. It didn't matter. He shrugged and moved on.

26th November
Spain

Ben, now the head of the Dionysian cult, stood before the few survivors of the massacre, brandishing the severed head of the former cult leader.

"And now, we shall conquer Spain for our new god! But first, we celebrate our first mass to the glory of Dionysos! With a bang! And a gangbang!"

The gathered remaining acolytes, faces smeared with blood and sweat, raised their voices in a cheer that echoed through the desecrated hall.

27th November
Hogwarts

The Weasley twins didn't quite know whether to be thrilled or terrified. On the bright side, they had managed to recruit Sirius Black, the Dionysian priest and Minister of Magic himself, for the Ravenclaw-themed dungeon they had discovered in Hogwarts. T

On the less bright side, there was a crow the size of three dragons trying to eat them - he was not American, but he had the damn right to measure with whatever unit he wanted to use!

"Oi, Sirius! Look out!" Fred shouted, ducking just in time to avoid a swipe from the crow's enormous talon.

"Oh, Merlin's pants! Dodge!" George yelled, rolling out of the way as the massive bird screeched and lunged at them with its sharp beak. "Why a crow? It's Ravenclaw, not Crowclaw!"

Sirius, with his wand raised, managed to deflect one of the crow's attacks with a well-aimed spell, sending it momentarily off balance. "Who designed this dungeon? Mad-Eye Moody on a sugar high?"

Fred and George exchanged a glance, their faces a mixture of fear and manic glee. "Who cares why? Just keep moving!" Fred called out, his voice tinged with the kind of excitement that usually preceded a massive explosion.

The twins had assumed the dungeon would involve tricky puzzles and maybe a few enchanted guardians, but this monstrous crow was beyond anything they had expected. To say they had complained about the badgers?

George fired a series of spells at the creature, aiming for its eyes. "You'd think a Ravenclaw dungeon would be more about riddles and less about becoming bird chow!" he panted, dodging another swipe.

Sirius, meanwhile, was trying to channel his powers as a priest of Dionysos to summon vines and roots to entangle the crow. "I've faced Death Eaters and Dementors, but this is ridiculous!" he muttered, his concentration strained.

As the crow lunged again, Fred spotted a narrow passageway to their left. "Over here! Quick, into the passage!" he shouted, grabbing George's arm and pulling him toward the opening.

Sirius followed close behind, casting a protective charm over them as they squeezed into the narrow space. The crow's screeches echoed through the dungeon, its massive form unable to fit into the passageway. For the moment, they were safe.

Sirius laughed, a wild glint in his eyes. "If this is just the beginning, I can't wait to see what else you've got in store."

Fred clapped him on the back, his grin matching his brother's. "Just another day at Hogwarts, right? What's next? A Slytherin snake the size of the Black Lake?"

"Or a Hufflepuff badger with a monocle and a pocket watch?" Sirius added, laughing.

George smirked. "Actually, we actually met one in the Hufflepuf dungeon"

1st of December
France, Paris

"Ah! I love France! And I don't say that because my author is French!" Dionysos proclaimed, raising his beer mug high. A full-blown bar brawl erupted on the other side of the room. Chairs flew, glasses shattered, and a cacophony of shouts and laughter filled the air. A man lay bleeding on the ground, unnoticed by a couple of French lovers deeply engrossed in their date, their eyes locked and hands intertwined as if the chaos around them didn't exist. Meanwhile, a chicken from the kitchen made a break for it, flapping wildly as it sprinted past tables and dodged flying bottles.

Count Arnau sipped his red wine with a skeptical eyebrow raised, while Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar inspected his plate of garlic butter snails, poking one cautiously with his fork. In the corner, Don Quixote had already passed out, having drunk himself to sleep after being charmingly rejected by two lovely French women.

"So, boss, why the hell did we come to the land of froggies?" Count Arnau asked, swirling his wine and glancing at Dionysos with a mixture of curiosity and impatience. Behind him, a waiter slipped on a spilled drink, sending a tray of escargot soaring through the air, landing with a splat on a brawler's head.

Dionysos, voraciously munching on a piece of chicken, paused to grin at his companions. "We are near the forest of Broceliande. Have you ever heard about the place?"

Rodrigo looked up from his snails, intrigued despite himself. "Broceliande? The excalibur forest?"

"Precisely!" Dionysos said, gesturing with a chicken drumstick. "It's a legendary forest, home to all sorts of magical beings and mysteries. Merlin's resting place, the Fountain of Youth, and all that jazz. And we're here for the mythical sword itself!"

At that moment, a burly man was tossed onto a nearby table, breaking it in half. The couple continued their tender exchange, oblivious to the mayhem as if cocooned in their own romantic world. Don Quixote stirred, mumbling in his sleep about giants, while a cat, now sitting atop the bar, licked spilled beer off the counter.

Rodrigo raised an eyebrow, leaning in with curiosity. "Wait, isn't Excalibur supposed to be in pieces with the Church or something?"

Dionysos grinned, pausing to raise a drumstick for emphasis. "Alright, listen up. We're here for Caledfwlch—yeah, that's a mouthful, right? It's also known as Caliburnus in Latin. This bad boy is King Arthur's sword in Celtic legend. You might think it's Excalibur, but nope, they've got their own gigs depending on which story you're listening to. Caledfwlch is all about proving Arthur's the real deal and giving him the chops to bring folks together and keep the kingdom safe. The sword from the rock and all."

As Dionysos spoke, a brawler stumbled into a waiter, causing a tray of escargot to fly through the air. Without missing a beat, Dionysos ducked, letting the snails sail over his head and splat against the wall behind him. He straightened up, still holding his drumstick as if nothing had happened.

He took a hearty bite, savoring the moment before continuing. "So,that's why there are enough 'fragments of Excalibur' in circulation to make four or five swords. Turns out, those pieces are from different magical swords. But because myths are performative and actually affect the objects in the myths, the fact that these legends got mixed up means that, in a way, all those fragments are fragments of Excalibur. Different tales, different times, all these magical swords getting their stories tangled up together. You've got Caledfwlch, Excalibur, and who knows what else. Over the centuries, the lines blur, and the myths merge. People believe the legends, and that belief gives power to the stories. It's like the myths themselves reached into the real world and stitched all these pieces together."

He waved the drumstick around for emphasis, narrowly avoiding another flying snail. "So, what you've got now is a bunch of sword fragments that all carry a bit of that legendary mojo. Because in the minds of the people—and in the magic that fuels these stories—those fragments are all part of the Excalibur legend. It's like the myths reshaped reality to fit the narrative. Wild, huh?"

Rodrigo nodded slowly, his skepticism giving way to intrigue. "So, you're saying the power of the myth makes all those fragments part of Excalibur, even if they originally weren't?"

"Exactly," Dionysos said with a satisfied grin. "The power of belief, my friend. And that's why we're here. To dive into the heart of these legends and see what kind of magic we can stir up. And to have an adventure."

"But before the adventure," he added with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Arnau smirked as Dionysos kicked his table, sending it skidding across the floor to crash into a group of brawlers. Without missing a beat, Dionysos leapt into the fray, dodging a snail that whizzed by his head and throwing a punch that landed squarely on a burly man's jaw.

"Let's party!" Dionysos roared, diving into the chaos with a laugh, his entourage following suit.

AN :

Hello ! Here is another chapter - and I've already started writing the next one.
I also just released a new, non-crack, Harry Potter fanfic inspired by the Count of Monte Cristo : check it on my profile