KamiKowa: That Time I Got Transmigrated With A Broken Goddess
Chapter 98: [98] Don’t Wake the White Wolf

Chapter 98: [98] Don’t Wake the White Wolf

The wagon rattled along the frozen road as Xavier leaned back against the wooden panels. Each jolt sent needles of pain through his skull, but the firewine had taken enough edge off that he could think clearly again. With his longevity ability, he got the benefits of the wine with none of the drawbacks.

"You should rest," Gunnar said, noticing Xavier’s discomfort. "Still got a few hours before we reach Vykengard."

Xavier nodded slightly, careful not to aggravate his headache. "Good idea."

He closed his eyes, not expecting sleep to come, but hoping to conserve his strength. The steady rhythm of hooves on packed snow and the occasional creak of the wagon created a strange lullaby. Despite the cold and his throbbing head, exhaustion pulled at him.

Calypso. Where was she in this frozen world? Had she landed among friendlier faces? Or was she alone, her silver hair marking her as suspicious in a place that seemed wary of the Winter Court?

I’ll find you, he promised silently. Whatever it takes.

The wagon jolted over a particularly rough patch, jarring Xavier from his half-sleep. He blinked, realizing the light had changed. The gray sky had darkened further, and fat snowflakes drifted down around them.

"Whoa there," called the driver—Rachel—bringing the horses to a stop.

Gunnar stretched, his joints popping audibly. "Time to rest the horses," he explained to Xavier. "Won’t do us any good if they collapse before we reach the city."

The wagon had stopped in a small clearing just off the road. Many trees provided some shelter from the wind, and a stream—partially frozen but still flowing—cut through the snow nearby.

Xavier climbed down from the wagon, his legs stiff from cold and inactivity. He stamped his feet to restore circulation, wincing as the movement sent fresh pain through his head.

Rachel jumped down from the driver’s seat. She couldn’t have been more than five feet tall, bundled in layers of fur that made her look like a small bear. She pushed back her hood, revealing a cascade of black hair that fell past her shoulders, contrasting sharply with her pale skin.

Xavier approached her, deciding this was his chance to learn more about the seer who had insisted on rescuing him.

"Thank you for stopping for me," he said, keeping his voice friendly but respectful. "Gunnar mentioned you’re the one who spotted me."

Rachel turned, giving Xavier his first clear look at her face. She was younger than he’d expected—perhaps in her early twenties—with high cheekbones and deep blue eyes so dark they almost looked black in the fading light. Those eyes assessed him coldly, showing neither welcome nor warmth.

She turned away without acknowledging his thanks and began unhitching the horses.

Xavier stepped closer, determined to engage her. "Can I help with anything? I owe you for the rescue."

Rachel paused, then pointed to a bucket near the wagon. "Water," she said. "From the stream. For the horses."

Xavier picked up the bucket and walked to the stream. He broke through the thin ice at the edge and filled the bucket with freezing water. When he returned, Rachel was brushing down one of the horses.

He set the bucket down where she could reach it. "I’m Xavier, by the way."

She glanced at him, then returned her attention to the horse. "I know."

The dismissal in her tone pricked at Xavier’s patience. "How did you know to find me?"

Rachel continued brushing the horse, not bothering to look at him. "The winds speak. I listen."

"That’s not an answer," Xavier said. The throbbing in his head worsened with his rising frustration.

Rachel finally turned to face him fully, her dark blue eyes narrowing. "Your gratitude lacks sincerity when paired with demands. I saved your life. That entitles you to nothing more."

"I’m trying to understand what’s happening," Xavier said, keeping his voice level despite the hammering pain behind his eyes. "I was separated from someone important to me. If you know something that could help me find her—"

"The silver-haired woman," Rachel interrupted. "She is not your concern at present."

"She’s exactly my concern."

Rachel looked up at him, unintimidated by his height advantage. "Your arrogance is matched only by your ignorance. You stand at the edge of events you cannot comprehend, demanding answers you lack the context to understand."

The cold dismissal in her voice pushed Xavier past his limit. "Then give me the context," he snapped, immediately regretting his tone as pain lanced through his skull.

Rachel’s expression remained impassive. "When you are ready to listen rather than demand, perhaps I will speak. Until then, make yourself useful or stay out of my way."

She turned back to the horses, effectively dismissing him.

Xavier pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to massage away the worsening pain. Getting angry at the one person who might have answers was stupid, but her attitude had gotten under his skin. He needed to recover his composure.

"I apologize," he said, forcing the words past his pride. "This situation is... disorienting. But that’s not your fault."

Rachel sighed, a small cloud forming in the cold air. "The path to understanding is rarely straight. Sometimes we must circle what we seek before we can approach it." She turned to face him. "Your silver-haired companion walks a different road for now. Focus on your own path."

Before Xavier could respond, a sound echoed through the trees—a deep, guttural howl that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. It wasn’t a wolf’s call; it was deeper, more resonant, with harmonics that made the hair on Xavier’s arms stand up.

The horses whinnied in fear, stamping nervously. Rachel’s hand went to a knife at her belt, her eyes scanning the treeline.

Gunnar appeared from behind the wagon, a crossbow in his hands. "Everyone back to the wagons," he ordered.

"What the hell was that?" Xavier asked, instinctively moving into a defensive stance despite his lack of weapons.

Rachel’s eyes met his, all traces of disdain replaced by sharp focus. "We have to go," she said.

Another howl sounded, closer this time. The horses pulled against their tethers.

"Shit," Gunnar muttered, raising his crossbow toward the darkening forest. "Bad luck. Very bad luck."

"How do we fight it?" Xavier asked, scanning the area for anything he could use as a weapon.

Rachel’s laugh held no humor. "We don’t. We run." She moved quickly to the horses, working to hitch them back to the wagon. "Or we die."

The howling grew louder, more frenzied. Through the trees, Xavier caught glimpses of movement— a large, pale shape slipping between the trunks, circling ever closer.

A massive shape burst from the treeline—a creature that resembled a wolf only in the most basic sense. It stood as tall as a horse, with fur so white it seemed to glow against the darkening forest. Its eyes gleamed blue like glacial ice, and its teeth, bared in a snarl, looked like sharpened icicles.

"What the hell is that?" Xavier whispered as the winter hound padded forward, its breath forming clouds in the frigid air.

"That... is a Vorthak."

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