How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game Chapter 673: Frozen North 5

Before his arrival at the academy, Count Roverick had already picked up on the tales spread by traders and warriors—but now, confronting it directly, he saw how all those stories paled in comparison.

The aura emanating from this youth outshone every tall tale he'd once ignored.

"Since we're set for a truly productive talk," Snow stated evenly, "shall we shift to a more secluded spot?"

Her suggestion pulled Roverick from his whirlwind of musings—mixing intrigue with a subtle, gut-level dread aimed at Riley.

"Y-Yes, naturally..." he answered promptly.

Moments later, the party settled onto the balcony on the second floor, gazing down at the lavish hall beneath.

Though positioned beyond the mansion's core chambers, the atmosphere up here seemed cut off from everything else.

This assembly drew the finest from trade circles and aristocratic ranks, with defenses to match.

Enchantment formations were carved along the balustrades, set into the stonework, and interlaced under the very tiles.

Even Klaus, a battle-hardened knight with scant talent for spells, picked up on the vibe.

No noises leaked from this area. No outsiders could slip in.

It was obvious—no eavesdroppers would catch their exchange here.

Roverick arrived at that very insight.

Spotting the quick flash of confusion on their faces, Snow curved her lips into a slight grin.

"Fufu... such a marvel of sorcery, right? Relax, please. If doubts linger, know this safeguard covers the whole estate."

Grasping the gentle nudge in her tone, Roverick dipped his head.

"Pardon our lack of knowledge, Your Highness," he uttered with deference. "Spellcraft this advanced... it's uncommon up North."

"No issue," Snow answered casually. "At times, not knowing spares you trouble. Trust me—the pile of concealed scandals, deceptions, and shady bargains tucked away in this place right now probably tops the horrors raging outside its gates."

She released a light giggle.

Roverick dipped his head in accord.

While potent, the enchantment stood as a silent marker of the heartlands' ethics—where might and discretion intertwined seamlessly.

"Though I'd love to chat about central trade matters," Snow murmured gently, "I doubt that's what you'd prefer tonight."

She advanced, halting close to the balcony's rim.

Lunar light bathed her form, lending an ethereal, dreamlike shimmer.

Then she pivoted back to face him.

"Count Roverick," she went on, "before diving in... might you share what's really unfolding in the North at present?"

As she spun around, a dense aura filled the atmosphere.

It lacked brute force or crushing force—just the gravity of the figure before him.

With Snow's bright, ice-blue gaze locking onto Roverick's, alongside her soft smile, the veteran noble gulped unwittingly.

He'd encountered the royal before, ages back on one of his infrequent trips to the capital.

But the girl from his memory had vanished.

Standing there instead was a far steadier soul... and infinitely more perilous in her subtle manner.

Roverick steadied himself quietly and looked aside, his gaze shifting from Klaus to Riley.

Putting Riley out of mind, a doubt nagged at him—would it be fitting to let his assistant overhear this discussion?

Klaus grasped much of the affair already, yet he fretted the princess might deem it rude for a lowly retainer of his rank to linger.

"Klaus, step outsi—"

"If it's your attendant that concerns you, he can remain."

Snow cut in, offering another kind smile, as though she'd scanned his mind.

"He's probably clued in on the full picture. Sending him off now would just heighten the oddity of this secretive huddle."

Roverick halted, then inclined his head.

"Got it. Sorry for my oversight."

Snow voiced no criticism—merely a serene, comforting grin as the talk finally shifted to northern affairs.

Catching the signal, Roverick drew in a deep breath and organized his ideas, pondering the ideal starting point.

The instant his lips parted, the recounting flowed without pause.

He described the initial warnings—tiny hamlets falling quiet, scouting teams vanishing.

Next arrived the surges. Early on, they proved containable.

Stronger beasts started showing up after that, not solo, but blended into the swarms.

Accounts morphed into desperate calls, then into utter quiet.

When his tale wrapped up, a good quarter-hour had ticked by.

"I see..."

Snow propped her chin in her palm, her forefinger grazing her face as she absorbed the details. Moments later, she nodded faintly.

"So, things up there are way more dire than the dispatches indicated..."

"Our submissions were truthful," Roverick responded softly. "Yet ink on scrolls can't capture the chaos unfolding in the field."

Snow's stare grew a touch keener.

"So you're still holding back the surges?"

"Indeed. Every onslaught has been turned away thus far." He balled his hand. "However, should S-rank beasts—or something worse—start grouping up, my forces and guard won't suffice to maintain order in the North, Your Highness."

He faltered, then lowered his head a bit.

"Pardon my boldness... but the Grand Duke must step up. Just having him there isn't cutting it anymore."

Snow observed the elder noble wordlessly.

No hype colored his speech—only weariness and control.

Based on his narrative, northern troubles dwarfed any formal updates.

Border hamlets had been wiped clean.

Displaced folk streamed southward in their own tides, with fatalities climbing daily.

Northerners were tough—forged by frost, combat, and trials.

Still, everyone had breaking points.

No matter their sword mastery or unit precision, a beast surge remained a beast surge—legions of foes charging relentlessly, tireless, pitiless.

And eventually... even the sturdiest barriers would give way.

"I get your worries," Snow stated evenly, her tone firm and poised, "but the Grand Duke's actions lie outside my reach. He heeds solely my father's commands—the King's explicit directives. By this point, you must see he's been sent on a task apart from the support you anticipated."

"I–I understand... so that's how it is..." Roverick whispered, a hint of resentment creeping in before he reined it back.

Snow pressed on before hopelessness could settle.

"But don't worry. I've learned his instructions encompass shoring up the North too. Though the Grand Duke lacks his own troops, I expect his knights will head there shortly. They'll safeguard far broader lands than he could solo."

Roverick's eyes flared wide.

"Is... is that accurate, Your Highness?"

"Yes."

That lone reply sufficed.

Optimism flooded the aged count, vivid and unyielding.

For the first time in Lumen, he sensed his journey hadn't wasted time.

One major flaw they battled wasn't raw might—but spread too thin.

The North sprawled enormously, its frontiers stretched and vulnerable.

With the Grand Duke on site, beasts could just skirt him and hit other spots.

But the Grand Duke's knight order—

Warriors honed by the realm's top blade master.

Their mere arrival would scare off hordes of dangers.

Dispersed along the edge, they'd bolster frail areas, secure escape paths, and let weary outposts recover.

Roverick stood taller, gearing up to bow and voice profound thanks.

Then a notion hit him.

What of the origin?

What of the dungeon rupture—the core gash spilling these endless beast floods into reality?

And the rival lordly families? Those with riches, forces, and sway, primed to offer backing?

As Snow's words sank in, a troubling epiphany took shape.

Even the Grand Duke's riders... were set for defense.

If not him... who would halt the floods?

The query scorched in Roverick's thoughts.

Embarrassment be damned, he braced to voice it—ready to push, boundaries or not—

Snow's words sliced through prior to his speaking.

"I'm certain you're wondering about the other lordly clans that could aid you," she noted steadily. "Rest easy on that score. I've turned down and blocked every bit of assistance from them myself."

The statement struck like a blow.

Quiet ensued.

"I... what did you say?" Roverick uttered eventually.

Blocked them?

When?

For what reason?

Wouldn't swift resolution make the most sense?

The prolonged dungeon meant mounting casualties. Her logic escaped him completely.

"Yes," Snow proceeded, unfazed by his shock. "I know worry consumes you. But trust this, Count. The northern crisis will get resolved... by my own hand."

"..."

"Pardon?" he squeezed out at last.

A gentle chuckle slipped from her.

"Fufu. With Riley by my side, I'll tackle the dungeon break directly—the root of it all."

Her phrasing stayed mild.

The import did not.

Before Roverick could react, Snow moved ahead, already facing away like the issue was done.

She skipped seeking consent.

She skipped awaiting clarity.

By the moment the count caught on, Riley—who'd lingered mute at her side throughout—had vanished too.

"My lord..." Klaus's anxious call drifted to him, soft and remote.

"......"

"......."

"Uh, Lord....?"

"......"

Roverick stayed silent.

A single idea looped relentlessly in his head, declining to fade.

The princess... plans to handle the dungeon herself?

Didn't this... spawn a whole fresh set of headaches all around?

Though the brief exchange seemed to deliver what he sought, the burden felt amplified beyond measure.