How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game - Chapter 689: Frozen Trials 3
Chapter 689: Frozen Trials 3
As frost and ice bloomed outward from Snow’s mana, the interior of the igloo shimmered in pale blue light.
The air trembled—not violently, but in quiet recognition.
Her resolute blue eyes gleamed.
The doubt from before was gone.
Slowly, Snow rose to her feet.
Each movement was steady, deliberate.
She no longer looked like someone trying to survive the storm.
She looked like someone who had understood it.
Without hesitation, she stepped out of the igloo.
FOOOOSHHH!!!
The blizzard swallowed her instantly.
Wind roared like a living beast, snow lashing against her body with cutting force.
Visibility vanished.
The world returned to white chaos.
It was harsh.
It was merciless.
It was suffocating.
But this time—
Snow did not wrap herself in mana.
She let the cold touch her skin.
She let the wind scream around her.
Because her answer was already there.
She slowly lifted her chin and looked up into the storm, even though she could see nothing but endless white.
Her breathing steadied.
Inhale.
Exhale.
The storm was not resisting her.
It was waiting.
“…..Stop.”
Her voice was soft.
Yet it carried absolute authority.
The effect was instantaneous.
The raging winds halted as if severed mid-motion.
The swirling snow froze in place before gently settling downward.
The dark, churning sky parted in a sweeping ripple—
And sunlight burst through.
Brilliant. Warm. Radiant.
The heavy silence that followed felt sacred.
Beneath her boots, the snow began to sizzle—not from heat, but from resonance.
It quivered faintly, like a loyal subject awaiting its queen’s decree.
Snow lowered her gaze.
“Guide me.”
Sizzle!
The ground answered.
A sharp crack tore forward through the thick snowfield, racing ahead in a straight line.
The layers of snow split apart, revealing the solid frozen earth beneath.
The fracture continued, widening just enough to form a visible path.
A road carved by submission.
Snow watched it unfold, the faintest smile forming on her lips.
She had misunderstood from the beginning.
This was never about endurance.
The storm was not her enemy.
The cold was not her obstacle.
It was hers.
And it had always been.
“…I see now.”
The path stretched forward into the distance, no longer swallowed by white.
Snow stepped onto it without hesitation.
She had found her answer.
…
Far away, within a vast chamber sculpted entirely from ancient ice, a throne stood at its center—elevated and imposing.
Upon it sat the Frost Queen.
The frost-laced crown upon her head shimmered faintly as her icy gaze observed everything unfolding within her domain.
For the briefest moment—
She smiled.
It was subtle. Almost imperceptible.
Even the attendants kneeling below her throne, awaiting orders in silent reverence, failed to notice it.
“…So, you found the answer.”
Her voice echoed softly through the frozen hall.
As the sovereign of this realm—and the one whose authority over frost defined its laws—she had expected Snow to suffer for days.
To wander.
To struggle.
To slowly peel back the layers of misunderstanding before grasping the truth of the trial.
Yet Snow had reached that realization in mere hours.
The Frost Queen’s eyes gleamed with genuine interest.
“To think you would arrive at it so quickly…”
A faint breath escaped her lips, crystallizing in the air before dissolving.
“…Perhaps you are more suitable than I anticipated.”
The throne room fell silent once more.
But within the Queen’s frozen gaze, anticipation had begun to bloom.
It was now time for the second trial.
….
Huff…
A faint plume of mist escaped Riley’s lips as he exhaled, the cold air instantly crystallizing his breath.
He lowered himself onto a massive slab of ice he had sliced cleanly from the dungeon wall, shaping it into a crude seat.
The frozen stone groaned faintly beneath his weight.
Using a careful weave of mana—and the broken staves scattered near the dungeon’s entrance, along with splintered wooden giant clubs left behind by earlier creatures—he constructed a modest bonfire before him.
The flames crackled stubbornly against the oppressive cold.
It wasn’t much warmth.
But it was enough.
His blue gaze drifted toward the deepest reaches of the dungeon corridor.
The darkness there felt heavy, layered, as though it had depth beyond mere absence of light.
For a moment, his expression softened.
Snow’s presence had vanished.
He had felt the shift clearly the instant it happened—the spatial distortion, the thinning of reality.
Those who entered the true trial were always transported elsewhere.
A separate realm.
A constructed domain shaped by the will of the dungeon’s sovereign.
He knew this.
So, he hadn’t panicked.
Still…
Even knowing she was meant to disappear didn’t completely quiet the concern in his chest.
“…You’ll be fine,”
Snow wasn’t fragile.
She was strong—mentally, magically, and in spirit.
He trusted her.
And yet—
His eyes sharpened.
“Those guys really aren’t moving, huh….”
The words came quietly.
Although he was suppressing both his mana and divinity, Riley had long since reached the peak realm.
His senses were not so easily dulled.
Subtle fluctuations in the dungeon’s structure—tiny distortions in frost-laced mana currents—told him everything he needed to know.
The Frost Queen’s generals were gathered.
All of them.
Clustered in a single location deeper within the dungeon.
Watching.
Waiting.
But they hadn’t made a move.
Not even after both he and Snow entered.
That alone was strange.
In the original scenario—the version he remembered—Snow would have faced the generals before ever reaching the true trial.
They were meant to be her gatekeepers.
Her test of worth before the Queen even acknowledged her existence.
Yet now…
Nothing.
No ambush.
No interception.
No challenge.
Which could only mean one thing.
The Frost Queen herself had ordered restraint.
Riley leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing at the fire.
“Is it because I’m here?”
The flames flickered.
If the Queen had sensed him properly, then she would know confronting him directly would be… complicated.
But had she sensed him?
He hadn’t released even a fraction of his divinity since entering.
His mana was carefully contained. His presence subdued to the level of a strong—though not abnormal—combatant.
And yet…
This was her dungeon.
Her domain.
A sovereign-level being could feel disturbances within their territory like ripples across skin.
“…Did you notice me the moment I stepped in?”
The possibility wasn’t low.
If she had…
Then the restraint of her generals wasn’t hesitation.
It was calculation.
“That might not be entirely the case—”
Riley’s voice trailed off mid-thought.
A memory surfaced.
His eyes narrowed slightly as the pieces aligned.
Right.
There was something that could make the Frost Queen cautious.
Something that didn’t belong in this dungeon.
Something that would absolutely not go unnoticed by a sovereign presiding over her own domain.
The dark divinity of the fanatics.
The fragment he had absorbed.
Even though he had refined and sealed it, even though it no longer rampaged uncontrollably within him, divinity was divinity.
And dark divinity—especially one tied to chaotic worship—left a stain in the fabric of reality.
“Tsk… was she watching that moment?”
If she had observed him absorb it…
Then from her perspective, an unknown peak-realm individual had casually devoured corrupted divinity within her territory.
That wasn’t something any ruler would ignore.
And this was her domain.
The laws here bent to her will.
The frost carried her awareness.
The snow transmitted disturbances like nerves across skin.
It was more likely than not that she had noticed.
“…So that’s why you’re holding back your generals.”
Riley leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees as the bonfire flickered in his eyes.
Well, whichever the case, at least she wasn’t acting recklessly.
If she made a drastic move—if she threatened Snow directly or attempted to expel them—he could respond in kind.
He didn’t need to release everything.
Just enough.
His expression darkened faintly.
He couldn’t risk using too much of his divinity.
If he did, it could serve as a pretext.
And Erebil…
That name alone felt like a shadow brushing against his thoughts.
If the barrier between providence or if too much divine authority leaked into the mortal plane, that ancient being would find a crack to slip through.
Riley had no intention of giving her even the smallest excuse to re-enter the world.
“…I still have a card up my sleeve, but…”
He glanced around the dungeon entrance, mildly annoyed.
“Where the heck is that cat now?”
It had been a while since he activated Cheshire’s card.
The signal should have reached him instantly.
That mystical nuisance had the uncanny ability to appear exactly when he wanted to—or more accurately, when it would cause the greatest dramatic effect.
And yet.
No flamboyant entrance.
No swirling portal.
No overly theatrical greeting.
Riley clicked his tongue.
“Don’t tell me you’re ignoring me…”
Knowing Cheshire, that was entirely possible.
The cat was whimsical.
Arbitrary.
Maddeningly fond of spectacle.
If there wasn’t an audience or a sufficiently “wonderous” moment to capitalize on, he’d delay his appearance purely out of artistic preference.
Riley sighed.
“He’s probably just waiting to have a grand, exaggerated entrance…”
Something involving glittering portals, twisted space, and an over-the-top monologue about fate, destiny, and how lucky Riley was to be graced by his presence.
“…Unbelievable.”
’I’ll have Alice punish him later.’
That would straighten him out.
…Maybe.
Riley nodded to himself, satisfied with the future retribution plan, and returned his gaze to the fire.
His eyes grew distant, the firelight reflecting faintly in their depths as his thoughts shifted to something far more troublesome than frozen queens or cautious generals.
The religion.
The one forming in his name.
He still didn’t know how it had begun.
He had never preached.
Never declared himself divine.
Never gathered followers.
And yet… it existed.
Worse—it wasn’t just harmless admiration.
The fragment of dark divinity he absorbed had belonged to fanatics.
True believers.
The kind who twisted faith into madness.
The fact that even a faction of those worshippers had appeared this far north meant one thing.
This wasn’t isolated.
If they had reached the northern territories—remote, hostile, sparsely populated—then chances were high the faith had already spread across the continent.
“…Annoying.”
Riley leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing.
He couldn’t exactly roam the entire continent personally, hunting down every cult cell that sprouted in his name.
Even if he could, that would draw far too much attention.
And attention was the last thing he needed while juggling divine fragments and ancient beings waiting for loopholes.
So, his options were limited.
One possibility—
Evelyn.
He could order her to deal with it.
As his clone, she possessed his memories, his logic, his capacity for ruthlessness.
Eliminating a budding cult would be well within her abilities.
But…
His expression hardened faintly.
Chances were high Evelyn was already aware.
If the religion had grown large enough to send fanatics north, there was no way she hadn’t noticed.
Which meant her lack of action was deliberate.
She was letting it grow.
Observing.
Measuring.
“…You’re moving on your own again.”
Riley didn’t dislike that.
In fact, he had designed her to evolve independently.
But that independence meant unpredictability.
For now, he couldn’t fully entrust her with something like this—not when the consequences involved his own name and divinity.
Even if everything she did was technically for him.
That left only a few remaining connections.
The Church.
Or the Imperial family.
His gaze sharpened slightly.
The Emperor was already aware of the sudden rise of evil worshippers across the land.
The imperial authority had begun quietly suppressing them.
That was why the grand duke was here in the first place.
If Riley approached them and framed this as yet another dangerous cult tied to corrupted power, their objectives would align naturally.
No need to reveal everything.
Just enough.
“…Having them wipe out a religion born in my name,” he muttered dryly. “How ironic.”
But it would work.
The Empire had reach.
As for the Church…
Riley exhaled slowly, watching sparks rise from the bonfire.
He could simply approach Saintess Emilia and mention the matter.
If it was her, she would most likely comply without hesitation.
Out of duty.
…And something more.
Though Riley himself wasn’t entirely aware of that part.
Still, the Church was not the Empire.
Unlike the Emperor—where mutual understanding and unspoken trust already existed—the Church demanded clarity.
Structure.
Confession.
Especially when it came to evil worshippers.
And this wasn’t ordinary demonic corruption.
That was the problem.
The cult didn’t use demonic power.
They used divinity.
Twisted. Corrupted. Darkened.
But divine nonetheless.
The moment the higher clergy examined even a fragment of that energy, they would notice the difference.
Demonic mana was chaotic and foreign to the divine spectrum. But this…
This would feel like divine authority warped in the wrong direction.
Which would raise questions.
Uncomfortable ones.
“Where did it originate?”
“Who is the source?”
“How was it obtained?”
The Church would dig.
They always did.
Emilia herself might not press him—her trust in him ran deep enough that she would likely accept his word at face value—but the institution behind her would not remain idle.
Archbishops, inquisitors, relic scholars…
They would want answers.
And Riley wasn’t prepared to give them.
“With the Emperor, trust already exists,”
he muttered softly.
“With the Church… it’s doctrine first, trust later.”
That didn’t make them enemies.
Just inconvenient allies.
His thoughts spiraled further, calculating political repercussions, divine signatures, containment strategies—
Then—
A fluctuation.
A spark in the air.
Subtle.
But deliberate.
Riley’s eyes sharpened instantly.
His body blurred.
SWIIISHH!!!
In less than a breath, he vanished from the ice slab and reappeared several meters away.
His sword—Valeria—was drawn in a seamless arc, its blade stopping mere millimeters from a slender neck.
Frost-laced air trembled around the steel.
“W-Well now… aren’t you quite the aggressive human….”
The voice was light. Amused.
Riley’s expression did not soften.
“Who are you?”
Before him stood a young woman—beautiful, almost delicately so. Her smile was calm, almost playful.
But she was not human.
Small curved horns rose from her temples.
Faint, shimmering scales traced along parts of her skin like frost-kissed patterns.
And behind her, a slender tail swayed lazily through the cold air.
Her hand lifted slowly, palm open in a gesture of peace.
“My name is Anica,” she said with a courteous dip of her head. “My queen has ordered me to come and greet you… and guide you inside.”
Riley’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Despite the blade at her throat, she did not flinch.
No spike in mana.
No defensive reaction.
No fear.
She had assessed the gap between them.
And accepted it.
Interesting.
After a brief pause, Riley slowly sheathed Valeria.
The metallic ring echoed softly as the blade returned home.
Anica took a small step back, though not out of panic—more out of etiquette.
“Guide me?” Riley repeated evenly.
“Yes.”
Her smile deepened slightly.
“My queen has granted you an invitation. Be proud, human. You are deemed worthy to step within our queen’s castle.”
There was no mockery in her tone.
Only formal declaration.
Riley studied her for a moment.
“Is that so…” he murmured.
The queen had invited him inside?
That was unexpected.
Either she was supremely confident within her domain—
Or she wished to negotiate.
Riley’s gaze drifted briefly toward the deeper corridors of ice.
Snow was already within her trial.
And now—
He was being summoned directly.
“…Lead the way,” he said calmly.
If the queen wanted a conversation—
He would hear what she had to say.
