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

As the light gradually faded, Snow cautiously lifted her eyelids.

A subtle crease appeared between her brows.

Harsh 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 twisting ice.

Under her footwear, the frozen terrain swelled in irregular mounds, stacking up 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 so freezing?

For the first time ever, the frost pierced her flesh sharply.

Snow had always shared a deep bond with the chill. Ice, snow, winter—these things had never opposed her.

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

She had never experienced true cold before.

On those 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, the feeling vanished quickly.

But now—

This chill stood apart.

It sliced through her, not just as weather, but as an invading force.

Even a regular blizzard this intense shouldn't have impacted her at all... but there she stood, her exhales forming clouds, her body tingling under her jacket.

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

No markers.

No barriers.

No roof.

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, encasing 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.

She still commanded her mana fully. Her connection to it hadn't been blocked or weakened.

So this realm wasn't denying her abilities—

It was challenging them.

Still, one truth lingered.

This frost didn't belong to her.

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

"...What do I do next?"

The winds screamed back, like the icy realm itself anticipated her decision.

Typically, dungeons that ensnared entrants in tests followed set patterns.

Conquest-style ones, where mere endurance marked the challenge.

Level-based ones, with tiered sections each requiring victory.

Boss-centered ones, built to ready fighters for one ultimate clash.

Though types might differ, test dungeons held one constant—

Their ordeals weren't haphazard.

They were crafted.

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

And the certainty that they could be overcome.

Snow grasped this clearly.

And from that, she realized another fact.

This dungeon—this ordeal—tied directly to her.

The icy fortress imprinted in her spirit.

The terrifying vision she couldn't erase completely.

That alternate self, perched on a boundless icy seat.

It all led to one outcome.

If I must label this spot...

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

The phrase slipped out smoothly, as though the dungeon itself accepted it.

If this was indeed a challenge tailored for her, it made sense that it strayed from standard dungeons.

Yet, even aware of that, she had figured on beasts—something solid to battle.

But this?

An infinite tempest.

No route.

No foe.

No guide.

This test already showed itself tougher than she'd imagined.

Lacking hints to follow, Snow drew her pale cloak closer and tugged her hood down.

Her breaths misted in the air as her azure gaze flashed keenly under the hood's shade.

Her mana extended outward—precise, intentional.

If no path was offered...

She'd carve her own.

Releasing a gentle, even exhale, Snow regulated her breaths.

Doubt and dread got set aside, supplanted by steady determination.

I press on.

Without her knowing, just as her mana expanded—

The snow under her boots gleamed.

The fierce chill softened a touch.

And the gale nearby halted briefly, as if the frozen domain awaited... her directive.

....

The initial challenge involved Authority.

Authority went beyond mere strength.

It meant the privilege to govern.

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

Space.

Time.

Fate.

Cold.

Death.

And countless others.

Every Authority formed a core reality, and claiming one turned its wielder into its living form.

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

They embodied the rule.

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

But also elder noble lineages touching the godly: elves, vampires, ocean dwellers, dragons—entities long beyond human bounds.

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

That sway could only face rivalry from another holding the same at greater level, or from one whose Authority outranked it completely.

And upon hitting the peak—the flawless, total grasp of an Authority—

No entity across creation could counter it.

No refusal.

No opposition.

No exemption.

That's why ancient gods towered over everything.

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

Her intent molded being, and the world complied instantly.

...

Deep in the frozen castle, out of mortal grasp—

A lady with flawless pale skin occupied her icy seat.

Her gemstone eyes sparkled subtly, like snow caught in lunar glow.

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

The Frost Queen stared afar.

She wasn't peering past barriers or distances.

She was witnessing a emerging reality.

Something her followers couldn't detect.

Something only a ruler of frost could identify.

"...So this is your Authority stirring," she uttered quietly.

Her tone held no enmity.

Just curiosity.

In the silent ice chamber—

Three forms bowed low.

Beastly in shape, but worlds away from the dumb brutes wandering the outer frosts.

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

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.

Moreover—whole guards had vanished.

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

But no fresh directives came.

The Frost Queen stayed quiet.

No counterattack.

No deployment.

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 squad pledging to some hidden deity.

Depending on them seemed foolish.

Zealots served as weapons at best, catastrophes at worst.

They missed order, devotion, control.

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

Humans—

Yet not quite.

From the accounts, it showed: the foes operated at heights where even the Queen's leaders couldn't move rashly.

Such might couldn't be beaten by sheer volume.

Hurling beast hordes would just prolong the carnage.

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

To the Frost Queen, beasts were resources.

To Gallan, they were family.

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 wyrms, and made human realms kneel to winter's fury.

Those tales weren't myths to Gallan.

They pulsed in his veins as heritage.

His allegiance to the Frost Queen sprang not from awe or terror—it fueled from drive.

The Queen's might let his kind endure, thrive, 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 devotion had edges.

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

He'd choose without pause.

Even if it spelled disloyalty.

Gallan raised his eyes to the icy throne.

Far up, on a perch hewn from timeless frost, the White Queen sat unmoving—her aura so immense and oppressive that drawing air 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 died.

Yet they waited on orders.

Gallan inhaled, ready to seek 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 emerged.

Though graceful and lithe, the tail came from a creature towering over even Gallan's bulk in true shape.

Hovering near him in a whimsical 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 merely seek approval."

Anica cocked her head a bit, her grin unchanging.

"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 easily, flicking her hand aside.

She tilted in the air, glancing past the castle's frozen barriers like they vanished.

"One appears uninterested in our castle," she noted offhand.

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

"And the other... our Queen handles already."

Her dragon sight bored through the dungeon's confines, following an invisible trace.

"So ease up, Gallan."

Gallan stayed mute.

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

Her grin narrowed slightly.

"Guard your mind, Chieftain,"

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

"Or I'll take care of them myself for you."

Then Gallan turned his look to her.

For an instant, the clash of two timeless powers hung heavy—titan and wyrm, drive and dominance.

Gallan dropped his gaze.

"...As you say."

Quiet returned to the chamber.

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

Odd...

He's typically much steadier than this.

But whatever unrest brewed in the giant, she let it pass....