How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game Chapter 684: Frost Queen 3

Within the grand duke's office, a profound hush dominated the air.

Piles of paperwork cluttered the expansive desk—army dispatches, logistics paths, beast movement records, and correspondence marked by royal emblems.

The grand duke carefully examined each document in turn, his actions deliberate while his thoughts raced far beyond, deciding precisely what to convey to the emperor and what to withhold for the moment.

As he placed one sheet to the side—

He sensed it.

A figure approaching.

Even before the entrance swung wide, his blood-red gaze rose from the tabletop.

The guards posted at the threshold responded a moment afterward, snapping to attention as they grasped the latch.

The massive doors groaned apart, admitting a single individual.

A weathered veteran of endless battles.

His plate mail displayed innumerable marks of combat, worn not from carelessness but from prolonged service.

He held himself rigidly upright, trained and unyielding, though weariness was clearly carved into his face—a fatigue stemming from far more than mere years, but from innumerable wars endured.

"Your Grace..."

The newcomer inclined his head low in respect.

"Count Roverick," the grand duke responded, standing gradually from his seat. "You've come back."

"Indeed," Roverick affirmed, raising his gaze. "Thankfully, the goddess spared me any ordeals on the journey home."

The remark came lightly.

Far too lightly.

The grand duke's eyes narrowed ever so subtly.

"I understand," he replied evenly. "It seems your time at the academy brought some lucky developments."

For the briefest instant—

The count grew rigid.

It was faint, barely noticeable, yet his frame tightened and his breathing faltered before iron control reasserted itself.

His face evened out, the seasoned fighter reclaiming his composure fully.

That momentary slip hadn't gone unseen by the grand duke.

Intriguing.

Precious little in the realm could rattle Count Roverick these days—definitely not pupils, aristocrats, or school intrigues.

Yet the unexpected arrival of that pair...

It required scant deduction to grasp what transpired during the count's stay, particularly with the character of the summons he'd gotten.

The grand duke permitted a subtle, insightful grin.

My niece is indeed becoming ever more akin to her mother...

The notion persisted, tinged with admiration and a hint of concern.

Still, Snow had forever been keen.

Cunning. Perceptive beyond measure.

Maybe this sharpness wasn't newly acquired—perhaps it had always been hers.

A hereditary quality, no doubt.

The grand duke motioned smoothly to the chair opposite his workstation.

"Take a seat," the grand duke instructed evenly. "You appear burdened with details to share."

"Your generosity is noted, Your Grace," Count Roverick answered, tone firm, "though I'd rather stand for the present."

"Very well."

The grand duke let it drop.

To typical lords, such a denial from the count might seem rebellious—a direct challenge to a duke's command.

However, both these figures were seasoned and wise.

They had faced carnage-drenched fields, laid kin to rest, and witnessed empires shift.

No offense lurked here, merely custom and wariness.

Roverick remained in his fighter's gear instead of the formal attire he seldom donned.

The steel showed scratches, functionality, and fitting patina from use.

It suited a warrior braced for conflict, ready should another beast surge breach the barriers anytime.

"Your expedition must have drained you, Count," the grand duke remarked, pivoting to confront him directly. "Relax for the moment, please. I guarantee—no beast assaults will strike today."

"Such certainties elude us always, Your Grace," Roverick countered promptly.

A subtle grin curved the duke's mouth.

"I won't hinder your choice of garb for comfort," he stated. "But attempt some respite, if only temporarily. The folk depend on you for safety. Your visible fatigue—or frailty—would only amplify their dread."

He halted, eyes piercing but genuine.

"I hold the rank of mightiest in these territories, yet it's your reliability they cherish, Count. This domain leans on you more than you know."

Roverick parted his lips to protest—then held back.

The statement landed deeper than anticipated.

With a soft intake of air, the count's posture softened at last, strain fading from his form.

He understood full well that ceaseless strain would erode his determination over time.

And if any soul's counsel he could rely on in ordinary or bizarre affairs, it was this grand duke before him.

"...As you wish," Roverick conceded eventually. "For the time being."

The grand duke dipped his chin faintly, content.

Noting the count held no more to say, the grand duke prepared to send him away when—

"Your Grace..."

"Yes?"

"There's... an issue I need to disclose,"

Count Roverick uttered deliberately.

"It doesn't tie straight to my academy dealings—but it's a topic best discussed in confidence, if you would."

During his words, his glance darted momentarily to the guards inside the chamber.

Grasping at once, the grand duke raised a palm in a discreet signal.

The guards moved without delay.

Silently, they aligned, saluted, and departed, the stout doors sealing with a muffled boom.

Quietness descended.

"Now," the grand duke uttered finally, voice balanced, "what vital intelligence do you care to impart?"

Roverick released a gentle sigh, as though measuring his phrasing.

"Her Imperial Highness... Princess Snow, has revealed her plan to tackle the beast crisis in the north herself."

"..."

The grand duke held his silence initially.

He was already aware.

"...."

"...."

For an extended pause, the space stayed still, the duke's scarlet stare drifting aimlessly while myriad scenarios surged in his thoughts.

"...Understood," he murmured at length.

And no further words.

?????

.....

At the same time—by the initial access of the Frozen Castle Dungeon.

An elderly figure lingered amid heaps of twisted meat and iced cadavers, his fragile frame quivering—not from chill, but from sheer joy.

Defects cluttered the area.

Deformed husks, incomplete horrors, trials that had crumbled short of fruition.

Yet on this occasion—

This occasion differed.

His wrinkled visage burned crimson as he beheld the fruit of his tireless efforts.

The gloom ahead throbbed faintly, its shape unsteady but compliant, twisting like it drew breath.

A thrill coursed down the elder's back.

"Ah... ahh..." he gasped, swept by ecstasy.

He lowered himself gradually, in devotion, like facing a holy shrine.

"Greetings," he murmured.

The single term vibrated the atmosphere.

A broad, manic grin spread over his features as he extended a hand to softly stroke the crown of the entity forged purely from darkness.

His handiwork.

No—his offspring.

"My masterpiece," he cooed tenderly. "Come to father, won't you?"

Upon his utterance, the shadowy form stirred.

And then—scarcely detectable—it inclined.

The old man chuckled quietly, the noise resounding overly gleefully down the icy corridors.

The trial had triumphed.

...

When Riley and Snow at last arrived at the dungeon threshold, they came to a stop naturally.

A colossal gateway rose before them, its immense proportions evoking not a mere doorway but a rift slashed into reality.

They had anticipated grandeur—given the ice behemoths, wyrms, and enormous creatures that had obstructed their path—but the magnitude still daunted.

The arch soared into the glacial sky, a churning vortex of icy azure and silver energy spinning ceaselessly within.

Ice crystals spiked the nearby terrain in sharp formations, as though the earth bore wounds from the gateway's existence.

Each throb of power it emitted bore immense pressure, squeezing the torso like an unseen grip.

Not hostile.

Not threatening.

Simply... total.

"...We've arrived, I guess," Riley whispered.

Snow assented silently.

Their trek to this spot had seemed direct—no sidetracks, no doubts, merely persistent advance. But ease was an illusion.

With each league traversed, the foes intensified, organized tighter, pursued fiercer.

And along their route, traces of carnage trailed—snapped restraints, demolished enclosures, congealed crimson marring the white drifts.

This held no sport in pursuit.

It formed a path of reaping.

Snow gripped her staff a touch tighter.

She wielded potent frost sorcery, incantations that formerly sufficed amply.

However, the abrupt rise of elite adversaries had compelled her to strain her invocation pace and energy mastery to extremes.

Several times, without Riley's intervention—slicing foes, carving room, pulling threats—she might have failed to complete a ritual promptly.

"Hoh..." Snow breathed out leisurely, a misty vapor from her mouth.

Riley eyed her. "Feeling the nerves kick in hard?"

"I'd deceive if I claimed otherwise," she confessed frankly, stare locked on the archway.

"This portal by itself reminds me of facing Rose at full power release."

Riley huffed lightly. "Rose's aura crushes way more than this. Denser. More... choking."

"Fufu," Snow laughed softly. "You're right on that."

The strain lightened somewhat.

Snow adjusted her bearing, the levity fading as she composed herself anew.

Then she pivoted to regard Riley squarely, face serene—yet determined.

"So," she stated, "you'll assist only until the initial level?"

"Assuming it possesses levels,"

Riley answered.

"Should it be a stratified labyrinth, I can steer you via the entry one. But if it's an expansive plain straight to the fortress..."

He broke off.

"I'll manage meddling solely at the threshold."

"I understand..."

She dipped her head once, resolutely.

"That suffices."

This clash wasn't one for him to claim.

This marked her ordeal.