How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game Chapter 687: Frozen Trials

As the glow at last dimmed, Snow gradually lifted her eyelids.

A subtle crease appeared on her brow.

Blasts of snow and icy gusts battered her from all sides, so dense and fierce that she could barely see a thing.

The landscape surrounding her drowned in white—a boundless stretch of whirling ice.

Under her footwear, the frozen terrain built up in irregular mounds, stacking taller and taller like the earth was getting entombed right then.

"Where... am I?"

Her words got snatched away instantly by the gale.

And even worse—

Why does it feel this freezing?

For the initial time ever, the frost pierced her flesh.

Snow had forever held an innate bond with the chill. Ice, snow, winter—these things had never opposed her.

She had endured snowstorms without a shiver, called forth ice sheets from thin air, and traversed icy deserts like they were mild meadows.

She had never experienced true cold.

In the few times it had touched her, it stemmed solely from mana depletion—whenever she strained her spells past their boundaries with advanced or rare magic. Even so, that feeling had passed quickly.

But this—

This frost was unlike any other.

It sliced through her, not merely as a chill, but as an entity.

A regular blizzard of such intensity shouldn't have impacted her at all... but now her exhales showed in the air, her body tingling under her jacket.

Snow squinted, compelling herself to stay composed while she scanned the area.

No features in sight.

No barriers.

No roof above.

Only infinite white and howling winds.

"...So this must be it," she whispered. "The trial."

Riley had cautioned her—after crossing the threshold, she'd probably face it solo. Whatever lurked here demanded more than raw strength to conquer.

Shhh—!!!

A pale blue mana erupted from her center, cloaking her form in a shielding layer.

The icy energy throbbed softly, repelling the alien frost creeping over her.

The sharp cold eased right away.

Good.

Her mana control remained intact. Her connection hadn't been blocked or weakened.

So this realm wasn't denying her abilities—

It was challenging them.

Still, the truth persisted.

This frost didn't belong to her.

Snow peered into the dazzling blizzard, her hold firming on her staff while her mind whirled.

"...What do I do next?"

The gale roared back, like the icy realm awaited her reply.

Typically, dungeons that ensnared entrants in challenges fit into set types.

Conquest-style ones, where mere endurance served as the ordeal.

Level-based ones, with organized floors each requiring victory.

Guardian-style ones, built to ready adventurers for one ultimate clash.

While types might differ, challenge-based dungeons held one constant—

Their ordeals were never haphazard.

They were crafted.

Crafted by a supreme entity inside: a core, a sovereign, a maker... or a guardian whose intent molded the rules within.

And the fact that they were not impossible to clear.

Snow grasped this fully.

And from that, she grasped another truth.

This dungeon—this ordeal—tied directly to her.

The icy fortress ingrained deep in her spirit.

The terrifying vision she couldn't completely erase.

That alternate self, perched on an infinite seat of frost.

It all led to one outcome.

If I were to label this spot...

"...The Frozen Castle Dungeon," she breathed.

The phrase emerged strangely fitting from her mouth, as though the dungeon accepted it.

If this was indeed a challenge tailored for her, then diverging from standard dungeons made sense.

Yet, even aware of that, she had anticipated beasts—something solid to face.

But this?

An infinite tempest.

No route.

No foe.

No guidance.

This ordeal already tested her limits beyond expectations.

Without hints to follow, Snow drew her pale jacket closer and tugged her hood down.

Her exhales misted the chill as her azure gaze sharpened under the hood's shade.

Her mana extended outward—precise, intentional.

If no path was offered...

She'd carve one out.

Releasing a gentle, even breath, Snow regulated her inhales.

Doubt and dread faded, giving way to steady determination.

I press on.

Unseen by her, just as her mana expanded—

The frost under her boots gleamed.

The fierce chill softened, just a touch.

And the gale nearby halted briefly, as if the frozen domain itself held back... awaiting her directive.

....

The initial challenge was Authority.

Authority went beyond mere strength.

It was the entitlement to dominate.

An unchallenged rule that dictated the world's principles—principles appearing as natural forces, intangible ideas, or even notions so elusive they escaped normal grasp.

Space.

Time.

Fate.

Cold.

Death.

And countless others.

Every Authority formed a core reality, and claiming it turned one into its vessel.

In the realm spawned by that Authority, its wielder didn't wield force—

They embodied the rule.

Only elevated beings could harness such might. Deities and fiends, of course.

But also ancient noble lineages nearing the godly: elves, vampires, ocean dwellers, dragons—entities long exceeding human bounds.

Once seized, an Authority granted total sway over its linked idea.

That sway could only face opposition from another holding the same at greater mastery, or from one whose Authority outranked it fully.

And upon attaining the peak—the flawless, total form of an Authority—

No entity across creation could defy it.

No refusal.

No opposition.

No exemption.

This explained why ancient deities towered over all.

Like the ancient goddess Eris, whose Authority covered Light, Life, and Creation themselves.

Her intent molded being, and existence complied instantly.

...

Deep in the frozen fortress, out of mortal grasp—

A lady with flawless pale skin occupied her icy seat.

Her gemstone eyes flickered softly, like snow caught in lunar glow.

While her face stayed aloof and indifferent, a slight hint of delight lurked below.

The Frost Queen stared afar.

She wasn't peering past barriers or over distances.

She was witnessing an emerging reality.

Something her followers couldn't detect.

Something only a ruler of frost could identify.

"...So this is how your Authority stirs," she uttered quietly.

Her tone held no enmity.

Just curiosity.

In the silent, icy chamber—

Three shapes bowed low.

Beastly in appearance, yet distant from the savage hordes wandering the outer wastes.

Each bore the burden of leadership, over hordes sworn to their rule.

They served as the Frost Queen's three commanders, and none dared lift their gaze unbidden.

The atmosphere hung motionless.

Trespassers had breached the dungeon.

Not just that—whole squads had vanished.

The beasts grown and forged in the Queen's territory, formed over years of mana and effort, fell to ruthless precision.

But no fresh directives came.

The Frost Queen stayed quiet.

No counterstrike.

No forces stirred.

No order to wipe them out.

That quiet troubled the bowed ones more than any fierce command.

They knew of outsiders—zealots in dark robes—who volunteered to tackle the invaders.

A fleeting band pledging to some hidden deity.

Depending on such folk was folly.

Zealots served as weapons at best, catastrophes at worst.

They missed order, fidelity, and control.

Not one of the three commanders trusted those lunatics to halt the pair of humans invading the realm.

Humans—

Yet not quite human.

From the accounts, it shone clear: the foes operated at a tier where even the Queen's leaders couldn't move rashly.

Such might couldn't be crushed by sheer volume.

Hurling beast hordes would merely fuel the carnage.

Among the bowed trio, Gallan, leader of the frost giants, gripped his enormous hands tight.

To the Frost Queen, beasts were resources.

To Gallan, they were kin.

The frost giants weren't spawned as empty shells.

Their forebears once claimed the northern wilds, dominating the icy expanses eons before the dungeon rose.

They raised frozen citadels, slew and tamed dragons, and bent human realms to winter's fury.

Those tales weren't myths to Gallan.

They pulsed in his veins as heritage.

His devotion to the Frost Queen sprang not from awe or dread—it fueled from drive.

The Queen's might let his kind endure, expand, rebuild vigor.

And someday—

To seize the north anew.

That vision blazed in his heart, and seeing his folk perish without response warped it into peril.

Gallan's allegiance had bounds.

If the moment arrived to pick between the Frost Queen and his giants' destiny—

He'd choose without pause.

Even if it spelled treason.

Gallan raised his eyes to the icy throne.

Lofty, on a perch of timeless frost, the White Queen lingered unmoving—her aura so immense and oppressive that drawing breath under it seemed rebellious.

The frost giant chief set his jaw firm.

He yearned to voice it.

No—he had to.

The foes weren't simple quarry.

His blood was spilling.

Yet they were told to hold.

Gallan inhaled deeply, readying to request leave to confront the danger himself—

Shiiishhh~

A gentle but firm touch grazed his cheek.

A slender, snow-white tail glided over his lips, muffling him before any sound slipped out.

Though graceful and thin, the tail came from a creature whose real shape overshadowed even Gallan's bulk.

Hovering near him in a whimsical mock-bow was a female with silvery locks and eyes sparkling with dragonish mirth.

Anica.

The Frost Dragon.

In her shifted human guise, she grinned wide, a slim digit pressed to her mouth.

"Shh~" she hushed, her tone airy and playful. "Our Queen is quite occupied at the moment... don’t disrupt her concentration."

Gallan’s forehead creased, yet he held back. Gradually, after the tail pulled away, he uttered in a measured, subdued voice.

"...I only seek approval."

Anica cocked her head a bit, her grin unwavering.

"You can inquire afterward. For now, Her Majesty deals with weightier concerns."

Gallan’s hands balled against the iced ground.

"The intruders—"

"Oh, those?" Anica interrupted fluidly, flicking her hand away.

She tilted midair, gazing past the frosty barriers like they vanished for her.

"One appears uninterested in approaching our fortress," she noted offhand.

Then her grin edged keen, eyes flashing with hunter's zeal.

"And the other... our Queen is already addressing."

Her dragon sight bore deep past the dungeon's confines, following an invisible trace.

"So fret less, Gallan."

Gallan stayed mute.

But Anica caught it at once—the faint strain in his stance, the bottled rage under his ordered quiet.

Her grin narrowed slightly.

"Mind your notions, Chieftain,"

she remarked casually, though the edge in her words rang clear.

"Unless you’d prefer I take care of them myself."

With that, Gallan at last turned his look her way.

For an instant, the clash of two timeless powers met—giant against dragon, drive against dominance.

Then Gallan dropped his gaze.

"...As you say."

Quiet enveloped the chamber once more.

Anica observed him a beat longer, her mirth shifting to faint intrigue.

Odd...

He’s normally much more even-keeled than this.

But whatever unrest brewed in the frost giant, she opted not to probe further....