How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game Chapter 694: Frozen Trials 7

Riley had been aware of it for some time.

The Frost Queen held complete dominance in this place.

Without ever elevating her tone.

Without issuing any threats.

He detected it—that subtle wave of discontent rippling through the servants whenever she issued particular commands.

The generals beyond the walls?

They weren't fully content either.

A few still harbored silent grudges from the slaughter he had unleashed.

Yet the instant she uttered a word...

It ceased.

This wasn't mere unquestioning devotion.

It stemmed from acknowledging her strength.

Riley possessed limited knowledge about her.

Not her history.

Not the experiences that forged her into such a leader.

Thus, witnessing this aspect of her proved... intriguing.

He couldn't claim the same for the earlier White Queen.

In those days, circumstances differed.

The White Queen's tale—her sorrow, her decisions—linked profoundly to Alice.

To Alice's emotions.

To Alice's paths.

Riley had participated, indeed.

However, he hadn't fully comprehended her.

And at times, that regret lingered.

He lamented not delving deeper into that isolated queen's story before it was too late.

Presently, positioned opposite the Frost Queen, a subtle immersion washed over him.

Intrigue.

Not desire.

Not pity.

Simply... a desire to comprehend.

She exuded might. Serenity. Aloofness.

Yet evidently, layers hid beneath that facade.

Nevertheless, she disclosed scarcely anything.

The Frost Queen resumed her silent gaze upon him.

Not with aggression.

Not even with interest.

Merely watching.

As if he represented a fragment she sought to fit precisely.

Riley reclined a bit, drifting into his reflections.

At this point... Snow ought to be tackling her second ordeal.

Or perhaps concluding it.

The initial challenge had posed difficulties. Such tests could drag on if one missed the essence.

But Snow wasn't prone to lingering snags.

Should the ordeal demand grasp of command, supremacy, or restraint...

She would pierce its meaning.

Thus, she likely advanced to the second already.

Or possibly the third.

His face altered subtly.

Dungeons tended to exploit vulnerabilities.

And Snow...

She seldom displayed them.

But absence of display didn't imply their nonexistence.

Six ordeals comprised the sequence.

Though not all proved inevitable.

Should Snow master the second adeptly, the route would condense. It would reduce to three.

Such was the intent of its design.

The fundamental framework remained straightforward.

1st ordeal — Authority.

2nd ordeal — Beauty and Acceptance.

3rd ordeal — Absolute.

These three formed the primary supports.

The others — fourth through sixth — emerged solely if she faltered at the second.

The ordeals avoided raw power. Even within the game, they unfolded as intricate enigmas. Solutions always lurked — concealed amid symbols, sentiments, and individual weaknesses.

No guidelines.

No clues.

Only situations.

One either seized the crux... or failed to.

And currently, all depended on that second one.

Beauty and Acceptance.

Riley breathed out softly.

Snow... despite her denials... harbored deep pride in her allure.

It lacked superficial vanity.

It didn't belittle others.

But she recognized her own beauty.

She had forever received admiration. Forever drawn focus effortlessly. Her grace flowed innately.

And she cherished it.

It defined her essence.

Forfeiting it wouldn't prove trivial.

The second ordeal transcended mere conceit.

It probed if her identity anchored to her looks.

If her beauty vanished...

Would she endure as Snow?

Or would an inner break occur?

Riley shut his eyes momentarily.

He understood her more thoroughly now.

More than previously.

She lacked fragility.

She shunned superficiality.

He trusted she would embrace the altered state in due course.

Yet embracing didn't equate to immediate tranquility.

It demanded duration.

And considering dungeon mechanics... the Frost Queen probably exceeded mere "embrace and ponder."

She orchestrated something.

A circumstance.

A catalyst.

Something compelling Snow to face it head-on rather than gradual adjustment.

And based on Snow's response—

The dungeon would either unlock the way ahead.

Or pull her further in.

But one element nagged at him persistently.

The Frost Queen had displayed excessive candor.

Excessive composure.

Excessive forthrightness.

She discussed Snow without pause.

About Riley.

About results.

No evident meddling, no covert schemes he could perceive.

Did she truly strive to grant Snow a fitting ordeal?

Or...

Did she withhold opposition entirely?

Riley grasped one certainty — the Frost Queen sought a fitting successor.

That defined the scenario's core.

But this ordeal's resolution would impact beyond Snow's development.

Contingent on Snow's selection... the Frost Queen would meet her conclusion.

Two paths existed.

One where the Frost Queen vanished — supplanted.

And one where she persisted.

But persistence bore a price.

Subordination.

For an elevated entity — that scarcely qualified as mild chastisement.

Riley comprehended that more than many.

Lavine.

The Grand Magus. Formerly a colossal presence reigning solo atop sorcery. Now tethered as his companion.

Lavine avoided overt grievances.

But Riley discerned it.

That perpetual sense of bondage to another's command... it grated.

For entities once solitary, liberty signified all.

And the Frost Queen?

With her poised, commanding, nearly arrogant impartiality—

He questioned whether she would relish subjugation to another.

Particularly Snow's.

This prompted yet another inquiry.

Does she truly comprehend the consequences when Snow claims the [Frost Staff]?

Riley's gaze sharpened faintly.

The [Frost Staff] transcended mere emblem.

It ranked among the scarce Mythical-tier artifacts across the realm.

And Mythical-tier artifacts defied commonplace arms.

They surpassed even fabled relics.

They neared godly dominions solidified into tangible shape.

For comparison—

The Red Crown Alice donned in her Red Queen state qualifies as Mythical-tier.

It didn't merely amplify her might.

It reshaped the conflict zone encircling her.

And Riley's [Valeria]

Should Riley unleash his divinity completely, she might enter that league.

In essence—

Mythical-tier artifacts acted as exploits.

They could reverse verdicts.

Alter destinies.

Affect the world at large.

The Frost Staff mirrored this.

The instant Snow seized it and embraced its dominion—

This whole icy realm's equilibrium would tilt.

Without reversal.

Riley sighed inwardly.

He eased back in his icy seat, the frost groaning softly beneath his movement. His gaze remained fixed on her.

"I'm just going to ask, just in case but... you are fully aware of what you’re trying to do right?"

He concealed none of the implication.

If Snow triumphed.

If she claimed the Staff.

If the inheritance concluded—

The Frost Queen's reign would terminate.

"...Yes," she replied evenly. "So there is no need for animosity between us."

Her voice held firm. Devoid of resentment. Devoid of sorrow.

Riley examined her a beat longer.

"Then what about the ones you’re going to abandon soon?"

He nodded faintly toward the entrance.

Toward the generals beyond.

Toward the attendants along the barriers.

Toward the vast frozen territory under her sway.

"They’re loyal to you," he pressed. "You’re their queen."

A short hush ensued.

"...I will let them be," she stated finally. "Once the new queen arrives, their fate will be decided then."

"Is that so..."

That response lacked chill.

It simply... distanced itself.

Like one who had already withdrawn halfway from her seat of power.

For an instant, their eyes met.

Then—

Her gaze shimmered with pale light.

The atmosphere altered.

She directed her attention elsewhere.

Toward Snow.

Tracking her advancement.

The moment had arrived.

The first ordeal resolved swiftly.

Authority.

Snow grasped it near-instinctively.

Thus, predictably...

The second demanded greater rigor.

Beauty and Acceptance.

Beyond superficial accord.

She required personal and outward embrace of her plight.

She had to inhabit it.

Adopt it.

Not through muted endurance.

But with grace.

With joy.

That captured the ordeal's true core.

Should Snow merely bear it while inwardly clutching her former self—

It wouldn't suffice.

Acceptance transcended weathering shame.

It involved releasing what shaped you... and retaining a smile.

The Frost Queen's mouth arched subtly.

In her grasp, hidden from Riley, chill amassed.

A petite form coalesced from frost.

A flawless replica.

Meticulously crafted.

Polished.

Should Snow adjust too smoothly, the strain would escalate.

Should she oppose subtly, the surroundings would resist.

She would face thorough examination.

The Frost Queen's grin intensified softly.

Ultimately—

A queen deserving the Frost Staff couldn't limit her rule to times of beauty.

...

A span of one month and two weeks elapsed in a haze.

Eventually, Snow ceased tallying the days.

She had acclimated.

The dawn routines.

The frigid stream water.

The stew's aroma lingering on her garments.

The perpetual din of patrons.

She had embraced her lot.

Or so she convinced herself.

During that period, she absorbed novel insights.

Minor ones.

Such as the weight of trays after prolonged hauling.

The exhaustion of feigning cheer amid aching soles.

The ease of fading into obscurity amid throngs.

Yet two concerns outweighed all.

Firstly—

Escape proved impossible.

Regardless of pretexts or attempted strides, she couldn't venture past the trade area's bazaar.

The instant she aimed farther — toward elite quarters, toward the citadel — an obstacle invariably arose.

An abrupt task.

A throbbing ache.

A sentinel diverting her.

The realm gently repelled her.

Secondly—

No matter her efforts to refine herself...

She remained unaltered.

She attempted extra meals when feasible.

She worked on her stance.

She experimented with hair arrangements.

She even performed light drills at dusk in her cramped loft.

Alterations eluded her.

She stayed slender.

Freckled.

Unremarkable.

Each glance into stream reflections or tavern glass elicited that familiar chest twinge.

She never fully habituated to the visage.

But gradually...

She compelled herself to cease responding.

She embraced it.

Or believed she had.

For weeks, she puzzled over the ordeal's secret.

She recognized its purposefulness.

Dungeons shunned pointless setups.

It connected to this existence.

To this form.

To the presence of another "Snow" within this realm.

The royal.

The stunning one.

The iteration all revered.

Does the dungeon compel me to view the empire through an ordinary maiden's eyes?

Does it reveal the empire's splendor from the underside?

Is this the commoners' vantage on the palace?

Perhaps... it merely demands I embrace my current state?

But surely I've managed that.

She labored.

She persevered.

She quit despising the reflection.

She withheld tears.

She curbed fury.

She existed ordinarily.

Or does it seek to instill regret for my royal past?

To breed envy of my own self?

To illuminate how inferiors perceive one deemed "flawless"?

The notions piled up.

Hypotheses rose and crumbled sequentially.

Whenever she neared the solution...

It evaded her.

For an element rang hollow.

Embrace in isolation appeared insufficient.

She had yet to seize something vital.

And absent that—

The ordeal persisted.

"Ah, Snow, what are your plans tonight?"

Her musings shattered under a boisterous, lively call.

"Plans?"

"Yes! It’s the Altier Festival tonight, right? Hehe~ They say if you spend it with the person you truly love, your love will last forever~"

"Oh... is that so."

Snow blinked deliberately.

She had caught fragments from patrons lately. Festive adornments dangled across the bazaar. Vibrant streamers spanned structures. Bloom sellers depleted stocks rapidly.

"Tsk, don’t tell me you’re planning to stay here, right?"

Merda — the colleague Snow bonded most with lately — drew nearer, softening her voice.

"Trust me, Snow. You don’t want to be here tonight. Normally this is just an adventurer’s tavern full of muscle-headed idiots, but during Altier Festival? This place practically turns into something else entirely. You’ll be cleaning tables while couples are making eyes at each other all night."

Snow offered a soft grin.

"I don’t mind."

"You should mind!" Merda urged in a hushed, theatrical tone. "Come on, I can introduce you to someone. Even if you have such a plain face, I’m sure someone would take interest. No offense, of course."

"Haha... I appreciate the advice."

She spoke sincerely.

No trace of resentment colored her words.

"But I’m planning to stay."

Merda withdrew, folding her arms.

"You’re seriously hopeless."

Snow merely grinned once more.

Merda heaved a deep breath.

"Fine, suit yourself. Me and the other girls are skipping work tonight to prepare for the festival. I feel bad leaving you alone — especially with the boss around — but I’m pretty sure the tavern won’t be that busy anyway."

She halted, scrutinizing Snow’s features.

"You really don’t have anyone you want to see tonight?"

For a fleeting instant—

A vision flickered in Snow’s thoughts.

Golden locks.

Azure gaze.

And chiseled features... Riley.

Her grip firmed on the rag she held.

"...No," she replied steadily.

Merda regarded her briefly, then lifted her shoulders.

"Alright, alright. If you change your mind, come find us at the plaza. They’re lighting the lanterns at sunset."

Before Merda dashed off with the group, she wheeled back to Snow.

"Oh! Maybe the boss will put you as temporary receptionist tonight. Not like this is a hotel to begin with anyway. Good luck!"

"Yes..."

Snow nodded subtly.

She observed Merda vanish into the dusk throng, giggles echoing after.

The tavern gradually hushed as the sun sank. The outer glow morphed from gold to gentle amber, then to profound indigo.

Snow released a light breath.

She couldn't regard this as a routine evening.

This remained an ordeal.

If the crux indeed centered on embrace... then she would welcome whatever arose.

Fully.

Or at minimum... that was her conviction.

As darkness descended, the tavern defied Merda's forecast of silence.

It transformed.

The ambiance warmed.

Gentled.

Inner lamps ignited, diffusing a subdued radiance across timber surfaces.

Lovers entered gradually, supplanting boisterous explorers.

The typical clamor yielded to muted chuckles and murmured exchanges.

And as Merda anticipated—

Kal Karam stationed Snow upfront.

"To greet customers," he grumbled. "If they’re trouble, send them away."

Thus she positioned at the doorway.

Welcoming.

Grinning.

Embracing.

"You two are denied."

"Huh?"

"Please leave."

The phrase escaped her lips prior to full awareness.

Two cloaked shapes loomed ahead.

They neared soundlessly.

One marginally loftier.

One marginally leaner.

"Uhm... we’re willing to pay extra—"

"Like I said, denied entry. You can both leave..."

Her voice constricted.

"...Ah. No. I mean—the woman can leave. You, sir, can stay."

The pair stilled.

Bewildered.

Slowly... the leaner unveiled her hood.

Pale tresses.

Sapphire orbs.

Her countenance.

The princess.

And at her side—

He unveiled his hood too.

Riley.

Snow’s respiration snagged within her.

It formed no hazy apparition.

It loomed not afar.

They stood directly before her.

The embodiment of her