How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game Chapter 699: Frozen Trials 10

Time slipped away in silence.

Weeks emerged from fleeting days.

Months merged seamlessly from those weeks.

Winter seasons arrived and faded, but the chill in this realm never fully departed.

And in such a manner—

Three years had vanished.

Celestine had reached thirteen years old.

Her stature had stretched higher, her figure more elegant.

The innocent roundness of her childhood gradually vanished, supplanted by a keener edge.

Her countenance had matured into an effortless, serene allure that required no adornment.

Silver tresses that gleamed like frozen dew.

Gaze carrying a tranquil profundity beyond most grown-ups.

Even lads her age found themselves drawn to her.

They strove to avoid gazing too long.

A few murmured softly.

Others turned their eyes away swiftly if she looked their way.

Admiration filled the space.

Yet dread mingled with it.

Dread of her.

Dread of her mother.

The pair of them continued to stand... apart.

Secluded.

Devoid of the everyday affection that bound other households.

At this point, Snow had completely merged into this existence.

Should anyone examine her recollections, her routines, her responses—

They would perceive Celestine.

Not Snow.

Not the maiden from a distant realm.

Not the pupil from Lumen Academy.

Simply Celestine.

Nevertheless—

"Looking beautiful as usual~"

She whispered gently to her reflection, positioned in front of the room's mirror.

The image before her donned a pristine white gown topped by a matching white jacket.

Crisp edges.

Unadorned style.

Matched with white footwear and a gentle white wrap draped softly around her throat.

It resembled closely her old attire from Lumen Academy.

Not precisely identical.

Yet sufficiently akin.

She lifted her hand, delicately tweaking the wrap, flattening it smooth.

This choice was intentional.

Beyond the desire to appear tidy—since she truly enjoyed maintaining a polished look—this habit fulfilled a deeper role.

It anchored her.

A single look at the mirror in this outfit, and memories of Snow resurfaced.

Snow—the young woman who once roamed Lumen Academy's corridors.

It mattered that she retained that essence and didn't completely merge into this persona.

For the third trial was already molding her in subtle, unforeseen ways.

Caution was essential.

Far too many enigmas surrounded the trial remained unresolved.

Initially, she expected it to unveil its intent plainly—like the second trial did.

During that phase, despite her confines to the dwelling and the modest hamlet, hints had appeared.

Secrets embedded in dialogues.

Sentimental prompts strategically set to steer her choices.

This instance?

No clear signs.

Her territory remained confined once more—to the home, the settlement, the cycles of everyday existence.

Yet beyond faint alterations in others' attitudes toward her... the trial had remained hushed.

And prior to her awareness—

Three years elapsed.

Snow recognized this deviated from the norm.

Trials weren't meant to extend this far without clashes or disclosures.

However, duration warped uniquely in such parallel realms. She grasped that already.

At minimum, her actual form posed no concern.

Nor the span of time elapsed in the outer world.

A handful of years within could equate to mere days... or perhaps mere moments... beyond.

Extended trials held no novelty for her.

She had once weathered a nightmarish ordeal of similar length—one compelling her to witness Riley's brazen seizure by her sibling.

Grinning. Chuckling.

As though Snow were invisible.

That vision had stretched across what seemed like years too.

Against that, embracing a fairly cozy life as a hamlet lass hardly qualified as torment.

Yet ease carried peril.

For ease bred oblivion.

Snow's digits clenched faintly by her hip.

'I must conclude this.'

She refused to let this persist indefinitely.

'Riley has to be deeply anxious...'

That notion alone constricted her heart.

Though she had acclimated to embodying Celestine...

She recognized lingering here was no longer viable.

Crackle—!

Resembling ice straining beneath force.

A piercing, expanding chill ignited within her torso.

Her respiration faltered.

Upon exhaling, a dense pale vapor escaped her mouth, denser than before.

Instinctively, she pressed a palm to her breast—

And icy crystals trailed along her hand.

Slim formations adhering to her flesh.

This phenomenon wasn't unfamiliar.

It had intensified in frequency recently.

That amplified her urgency to press on.

For unbeknownst to her—

Celestine's form struggled to endure.

Her aptitude for ice sorcery had ballooned enormously across these three years. Seamless. Innate. Immense.

But her corporeal shell?

It persisted as that of a thirteen-year-old maiden.

Mortal.

Vulnerable.

The force within surged ahead of the frame destined to harness it.

And whenever that chill swelled in her torso—

It resembled an entity striving to shatter its confines.

Snow eased her palm downward gradually, observing the ice dissolve back into her dermis.

Riley had once assured her—

'The cold will always serve as your companion.'

At that time, she accepted it unquestioningly.

But presently... it seemed far less straightforward.

The frost burgeoning in her chest of late lacked companionship's warmth.

It resembled a force probing its enclosure.

Snow emitted a faint laugh at the twist, tilting her head gently.

"Guess you didn't mean it like this..."

Even so, she grinned.

No terror marred her expression. Merely steadfast determination.

Content with her reflections, she pivoted and exited her chamber, her white wrap drifting lightly in her wake.

The timber planks groaned faintly beneath her footfalls as she traversed the interior and emerged through the rear entrance.

Beyond the dwelling lay a vast expanse.

Infinite blankness.

Layer upon layer of snow.

The terrain rough and iced firm, breezes gliding softly over it in gentle swells.

The heavens overhead appeared wan, nearly devoid of hue.

A commonplace view for this northern settlement.

But amid that boundless white—

Emerald hues appeared.

A segment of vitality that seemed out of place.

Turf.

Compact bushes.

Frail blooms quivering subtly in atmosphere that ought to have slain them.

The ice halted abruptly at its perimeter, as if an unseen barrier stood erected.

Should any local glimpse it distinctly, astonishment would ensue.

Such a verdant space—particularly in an isolated northern outpost where harvests scarcely withstood the climes—was virtually unattainable.

'I suppose dread yields its own advantages...'

Snow pondered serenely.

The locals maintained distance from her and her mother.

Mutterings trailed their steps.

Entrances shut softly as they passed.

Dread formed a barrier.

No soul ventured to the dwelling's rear from inquisitiveness.

And none risked vandalizing what could link to "witchcraft."

If prompted, they probably persuaded themselves to avert deeper scrutiny.

Snow held no objection.

She favored that arrangement.

Approaching the garden's fringe, she elevated her palm deliberately.

Faint, unseen threads flickered in the atmosphere as her mana interfaced with the shield encircling the terrain.

Linear, exact formations manifested momentarily—intricate magical arrays stacked atop each other.

FOOOSHHH—

Azure-tinged white mana surged from her palm, extending softly over the garden in a regulated surge.

The ambiance altered.

The frost encircling the edge withdrew an additional inch.

The earth below warmed—not scorching, merely equilibrated.

Pleased, Snow inclined her head.

This formed part of her everyday customs.

Term it upkeep.

Each day she honed the spellwork.

Calibrated the heat.

Diversion of frigid gusts.

Sifting of dampness.

Through expelling and rerouting the chill encircling this land segment, she forged a provisional haven for flora unfit for this continental region.

Blooms originating from southern climes.

Greenery demanding mild radiance.

Even a diminutive seedling that would typically perish in northern frosts.

"Hmm~ good. You guys are growing well."

Snow knelt lightly, trailing her fingers tenderly across a foliage.

The verdure responded subtly to her contact—not crystallizing, not shying. Simply curving mildly, as if recognizing her.

Nurturing this garden ranked among the scant activities that alleviated her tedium.

Three years marked an extended span to enact the part of a subdued hamlet maiden.

Sufficiently prolonged for habits to turn oppressive.

She refrained from honing her sorcery excessively. Exceeding bounds carried repercussions nowadays.

That snapping chill in her torso evidenced it.

But neglecting this garden?

Impossible for her.

It remained sensitive.

Precisely poised.

A single errant shift in warmth, and all within would perish by dawn.

And... she cherished it.

It evoked her capacity to foster life, beyond merely encasing in frost.

Regarding her state—

Disclosing to her mother was out of bounds.

Utterly.

Her mother already observed her intently.

Any odd indication would merely heighten her frets... or worse, curtail her freedoms even more.

Snow rose gradually.

Her mother wouldn't return until the late afternoon this day.

Thus, time remained hers.

The dilemma lay in its utilization.

Uncovering hints to terminate the trial would prove perfect.

But practically?

Nothing undiscovered lingered within the home.

She had scoured each nook, probed every exchange, monitored all conduct patterns feasible across the prior three years.

Had a concealed catalyst hidden in that domain, she would have unearthed it already.

Venturing to the village center unaccompanied proved unfeasible too.

The prior attempt—feigning mere interest—drew her mother's swift discovery.

What ensued was a grueling hour of reprimands.

It had drained her sufficiently to deter recurrence.

"...Should I just practice my magic for the day?"

She voiced the idea quietly.

At thirteen, her mastery of advanced ice sorcery stood firm.

Naturally, she shunned spellcasting as feasible given her plight.

Yet paradoxically—

Unleashing potent incantations in bursts occasionally brought solace.

Like venting a pressure release.

Retaining frigid mana within her frame proved taxing. It amassed strain.

Allowing it to erupt in measured outpour eased her burden thereafter.

Her mother remained oblivious to her sorcery's progress.

Which implied practice demanded a remote locale.

The adjacent woods sufficed.

Not overly far in.

Merely near enough to the unseen limit barring further travel.

She had probed it myriad times.

Concluding no true risk, Snow affirmed to herself.

"Forest it is."

With a final survey of the garden, she wheeled and headed toward the woodland edge, her white boots sinking lightly into new-fallen snow.

The icy gale caressed her wrap as if greeting her anew.

If solutions eluded her this day—

At least she could evade the sensation of confinement.