How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game Chapter 688: Frozen Trials 2

Riley was well aware that faith would play a role at some point.

Divinity couldn't thrive without support.

Belief kept it alive, boosted it, and molded it—through the united determination of people who gazed skyward, entrusting their dreams, terrors, and insanity to a superior power.

Eris had casually brought up this idea to him ages ago.

Not as some dire alert, but as plain reality.

Back in the game too, even if the rules weren't detailed fully, Riley grasped it well enough.

Gods could expand via destiny.

Via conviction.

Via devotees.

For a risen entity like himself, it was just a question of when that route would unlock.

Few paths remained for him to gain more strength—with Erebil approaching like unavoidable doom.

If faith could serve as kindling, then sensibly, ignoring it made no sense.

And it wasn't wicked by nature.

At least... that's what he'd long assumed.

But this?

It was a whole different beast.

Riley remained rooted in place while shadowy, misty tendrils lifted from the motionless forms strewn over the iced ground.

The murky essence coiled in eerie ways, as though directed by some hidden force, before floating his way—merging with him.

One by one.

System alerts flashed nonstop in front of his vision.

His divinity surged upward.

Steadily.

Swiftly.

Far too swiftly.

Then he spotted it.

Ten thousand.

The massive influx of divinity weighing down his torso felt immense, like some enormous, foreign force had burrowed into his essence.

It didn't hurt—but it rang utterly off.

Riley's brow furrowed, thoughts whirling.

Ten thousand divinity from just a few slain cultists?

That shattered all his prior knowledge.

Even revered gods needed whole realms, ages of adoration, and strict teachings to gather such might.

Erebil’s devotees might yield her just one or perhaps ten divine sparks at death...

And still—

He had no clue how this occurred.

He'd never proclaimed godhood to them.

Never welcomed their supplications.

Never heeded any cry.

He didn't even recognize them.

So why?

Why did their passing nourish him?

Why did the system count them as his adherents?

His eyes drifted gradually to the elder, who kept cackling wildly, bowed among the cadavers with joyful tears tracing his aged cheeks.

A cold insight slithered into Riley’s mind.

These folks weren't adoring a deity.

They were revering an oddity.

Something vague. Something unowned.

And in some way—be it chance, error, or destiny's cruel jest—they had fixed on him.

"...This is bad," Riley whispered to himself.

Not due to the strength.

But due to its meaning.

Once offered, faith didn't break easily.

And once the cosmos set and validated a faith pathway, it wouldn't just fade.

If conviction was embraced—if providence's rules confirmed it—then Riley would be tied to it.

That was the scary bit.

Faith went beyond pleas or loyalty; it formed a pact.

One forged by cause and effect, upheld by the cosmos, and locked when divinity responded.

And from their rituals—the offerings, the torment, the fixation—it wasn't a base he desired.

Sure, worship styles could shift.

But once rooted, the rules didn't yield fast.

Providence moved deliberately, precisely, and harshly equitable.

Erasing what had embedded would demand time... and fallout.

"This is turning way more complicated than I expected..." Riley grumbled.

To his knowledge, nothing he'd done warranted god-like prayers—least of all as a dark one.

Despite the tales about him, despite the turmoil he trailed like a specter, nothing should have driven folks to bow in adoration.

Not this intensely. Not to outright zeal.

His divinity wasn't sacred, but it lacked malice too.

It hovered in the middle.

An oddity.

And still—

"O–Oh great being!!!"

The cry shattered Riley’s reflections.

The elder—the sole survivor—flung himself flat on the frosted earth, his brow slamming the ice repeatedly as his frame shook with wild delight.

Tears flowed down his visage, solidifying mid-drop.

"H–How could I be graced by your noble arrival...! This wretched mortal realm doesn't deserve you~!!!"

Riley regarded him blankly.

"...Sorry, but I’m not your lord."

The elder stiffened.

"N–Not my l–lord...?"

For a moment, quiet weighed down the iced chamber.

Then—

"Haha..."

A frail, fractured chuckle slipped from the elder’s lips.

"...Hahahaha..."

The mirth swelled, pierced sharper, resounding insanely across the dungeon.

"Yes... yes yes yes yes—that has to be it! Naturally! Our lord wouldn't grace this place in person! Gahahaha!"

His gaze flew wide, veins bursting red and sparkling with deranged insight as he fixed on Riley.

"No chance that grand drain could stem from a simple mortal... yes, yes, it fits... your impossible might... your aura..."

He bared his teeth in glee, chattering happily.

"Ah... you're like me!"

Hauling himself up as much as his mangled, bent form allowed, the elder pushed to his feet.

His frame wobbled, limbs rigid from chill and zealous strain, but his stare—those swollen, red-veined stares—stuck fast to Riley.

They seemed ready to pop free.

Lifting both arms to the iced roof, he bellowed with quivering awe, tone breaking amid piety and frenzy.

"An apostle!!!!! Ah—ahhh—to be favored by a comrade...!"

His breaths rasped, near sobs.

"But why is a kindred soul here...? And why halt our advance for the supreme entity—our mighty lord...???"

Riley's forehead creased a bit.

"I don’t know what delusion you’re holding onto," he replied evenly, "but I’m not your fellow apostle either."

"Hahahaha!"

The elder erupted in laughter again, as if Riley’s rejection only stoked his conviction.

"Oh brother, is this maybe a route our lord assigned you? A trial?

A fork in the grand scheme?" He bent ahead oddly, gaze ablaze with manic wonder.

"Ahh... yes... that has to be it."

Riley’s tolerance waned.

"...Since you’re claiming apostle status," he stated deliberately, "I figured you might prove helpful. But seeing your condition, I doubt it."

He halted, then his look intensified.

"Tell me this instead. Where did this cult originate? When did this devotion spark?"

The elder blinked, truly puzzled.

"What... what do you mean, brother???"

"And how," Riley pressed on, brushing him off, "do you possess a piece of my divinity?"

The chill deepened noticeably.

The elder’s face contorted—piety twisting into affront, nearly aggressive.

"Declaring the holy one’s divinity as yours won't stand," he snarled, "even from a fellow apostle, brother!"

Riley breathed out steadily.

"Sigh... I don’t think you can provide genuine answers."

His palm moved toward his sword.

"Looks like my reliable summon will have more work."

He eyed the elder once more.

"But before you leave—can you at least say when this cult began?"

The elder cocked his head, mouth quivering as his thoughts struggled—and flopped—to grasp Riley’s query.

"Huh...? It began... when it emerged, brother—"

The words trailed off unfinished.

A wordless gleam sliced the frosted atmosphere.

The elder’s sight divided—straight up—as his form split neatly in two.

Both sections drifted apart, tumbling to the frosty ground soundlessly.

From the wreckage, murky vapor billowed skyward.

It coiled, squirmed... then surged at Riley.

Before he could respond, it merged with him.

[Divinity absorbed.]

Riley stayed motionless, eyeing the void left by the zealot.

"...Yeah," he grumbled softly, jaw clenching.

"This is really bad."

....

"Uhk...!"

Snow stumbled, her respiration catching as the relentless gale screamed about her.

Her perceptions started to numb—not from wounds, but from persistence.

Dungeon time twisted oddly, bent and prolonged, leaving her unsure of her trek's length.

Minutes, hours... maybe more.

If pressed, she'd say hours had passed—but the doubt bit harder than the freeze.

No matter her distance, the view stayed uniform.

Boundless white.

Boundless gusts.

Boundless hush under the tempest.

"...This isn’t normal," she whispered.

The drifts had mounted to her knees, compelling her to bolster each stance with mana to press on.

Every stride needed purpose.

Every motion called for vigilance.

Her mana pool was huge—sufficient to shield her frame from the chill for a day or two—but she realized limits loomed.

Mana held no infinity.

Concentration had bounds.

And weariness snuck in slyly, steadily, lurking for an error.

Halting here sans cover spelled death.

Snow lifted her right arm.

Crackle.

Pale blue radiance flared as rime swiftly flowered in the air ahead.

Ice heeded swiftly, fluidly, like awaiting her order.

With expert control, she formed it—layer upon layer—arching the barriers inward till a compact dome like an igloo took shape before her.

"...That should do."

She breathed out gradually, then slipped within.

The gale’s fury muted at once, turned to a far-off, stifled wail. Within the dome, gloom gathered, dense and still.

Just her flowing mana’s soft shine lit the space, throwing faint gleams over the sleek ice surfaces.

Snow settled on a firm snow spot, her posture easing at last.

"...I can’t rush this," she said to herself.

She pulled her pale cloak snugger and leaned her spine against the chilled barrier.

Shutting her eyes briefly, Snow regulated her breaths, compelling the swirl of feelings to calm.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Gradually, purposefully, she emptied her mind and sorted her facts.

This is a barren expanse...

No markers. No shifts in land. No hint of creatures.

Finding a hamlet, remnant, or innate haven seemed impossible.

The gale devoured all—noise, view, bearings.

Blind trudging would just drain her quicker.

Raw strength failed here.

Her mana obeyed still, yet she sensed it—gently curbed, like some invisible hand muted its potency over volume.

She could unleash force, but it missed its usual ease. Like weaving spells submerged: doable, yet wasteful.

To endure, escape the gale was key.

That stood clear.

Yet deeper reflection stirred unease.

This is a challenge.

Ordeals held aim.

Structure.

Goal.

Her dome granted respite—time to recharge mana—but no fix.

She remained mortal. She required sustenance, heat, guidance. And yet...

No beasts.

No beasts of burden.

No supplies.

Nothing typical in a endurance tale.

"If this aimed to probe stamina alone..." she said softly, "there’d be means to sustain it."

That void irked her.

On surface, the blizzard seemed the ordeal—like gauging her tolerance for frost, solitude, drain.

But that clashed with trials from supreme powers.

Unless a snare.

They avoided injustice.

They invited resolution.

And this offered no survival aids.

Which suggests endurance isn't the true aim...

Her forehead creased as fresh insight dawned.

What if the blizzard wasn't foe?

What if it posed the riddle?

Her lids parted slowly, eyes gleaming soft blue in shadow as recall hit—Riley’s steady, assured tone, uttered pre-dungeon entry.

"You will probably face a bit of trouble inside, but if it’s you, I doubt you’ll fail, Snow... after all, the cold is your ally. And if it ever comes down to it, you can always call for me."

A faint grin curved her mouth.

"The cold is my ally, huh...."

She released a gentle puff, near a chuckle. Those words rang ironic now.

The freeze here offered no solace. No kinship. It pressed—antagonistic in unprecedented fashion.

And yet...

That clash ignited a spark.

Snow lifted her right palm gradually, pooling mana there. It gleamed—faint, icy blue—vibrating subtly with surrounding frost.

The dome reacted promptly, barriers shimmering as if greeting her.

Her focus turned to the portal.

Beyond, the tempest thundered without end.

Drifts climbed taller, poised to bury her fully.

Rather than dread, another feeling stirred in her heart.

Intrigue.

Her azure gaze sharpened.

"Could it be...?"

The notion solidified, tentative first—then firmer.

What if I’m not meant to flee the cold...

Her digits clenched a touch.

...but command it?

As the concept anchored in her thoughts, the outer snow eased—just briefly—like the realm paused in anticipation.

A response brewed.

And far in the iced realm's depths, some primordial force stirred.