How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game Chapter 700: Frozen Trials 11

Huff—!

Huff—!

"Haaah...! Haaah...!"

Harsh gasps ripped across the silent woodland.

Ice cracked beneath desperate strides as a young girl fled through the chilly trees, tripping repeatedly while urging her fatigued limbs onward.

A pair of tiny white horns protruded from the edges of her head, partially concealed under tangled locks of light hair.

Crimson trickled from her nostrils.

Further scarlet seeped from the side of her lips.

Shadowy lines throbbed under her flesh, gradually extending over her throat like fine fissures in fragile crystal.

The agony was intolerable.

Each pulse in her chest seemed like an internal rip.

Yet the girl pressed on.

She dared not halt.

Her survival urges howled within.

Flee.

Endure.

Whatever it took.

In the distance, shouts resonated amid the trees.

"Seize it!"

"Slay that monster!"

"No—!"

A contrasting tone barked firmly.

"We require her living!"

One fellow sneered with chill mockery.

"It won’t harm if it sheds some appendages, eh?!"

"The hex ought to hinder her shortly. Merely keep her in sight."

Twigs broke as multiple shadows thrust aside the foliage.

They donned shadowy cloaks, their aura thick with an eerie distortion.

With each advance, a subtle wave of unholy force seeped from their forms—perverted, tainted, perverse.

Followers of the demonic path.

Among the vilest and most despicable entities across the realm.

Their might derived from sacred essence, yet it was contorted—molded into a shadowy, leeching force. The potency it bestowed was unquestionable.

But such power demanded a toll.

And it rendered them readily noticeable.

Thus, demonic adherents seldom acted in the open.

They lurked in hidden lairs, forsaken temples, overlooked remnants—any spot shielding them from the Church’s gaze. For their aura shone like a signal to those harnessing pure holy might.

Knights of faith.

Priests.

Witch hunters.

To such guardians, the taint of demonic force reeked like decay.

Utterly unmistakable.

Hence, devotees typically operated covertly.

Yet at this instant?

These individuals disregarded caution.

They made no effort to conceal their essence.

Shadowy power flared about them as they pursued the escaping child like predators encircling quarry.

For the youth they sought...

Outweighed any need for discretion.

Surpassed even their personal peril.

Moreover—

This lay in the northern realms.

A brutal, secluded domain where the Church’s sway scarcely extended.

Holy knights were scarce in these parts.

Priests rarer still.

Spotting one able to detect their foulness amid this glacial desolation was as probable as discovering verdant meadows under the perpetual frost.

Thus, the group could stalk without restraint.

Before them, the antlered child faltered once more, almost tumbling as fresh torment surged through her frame.

"...Mama...!"

Her cry fractured amid her flight.

Salty trails coursed down her features, stark against her fair complexion, staining the white blanket like ebony droplets.

Her respiration worsened steadily.

She sensed it clearly.

The venom infiltrating her core with each tick of time.

The sole factor permitting her continued motion... stemmed from her lineage.

Her draconic heritage.

As she forged ahead amid the timberline, her mind wandered to the earlier events.

Only hours ago... it had seemed an ordinary dawn.

Ordinary by her measure, that is.

Her parent had vanished two decades prior.

Still, she had thrived independently.

The lair her mother bequeathed sat concealed atop an iced summit, within a cavern hewn profoundly into the rock. It was a sanctuary no mortal could scale—overly sheer, excessively frigid, too remote in the savage north.

None had neared it ever.

She had dwelled in peace.

With caution.

Precisely as her mother instructed.

’Steer clear of mankind.’

Until she grew potent enough for self-defense.

She obeyed faithfully.

She avoided settlements entirely.

Stayed distant from paths.

Concealed her existence always.

Then why...?

Why did pursuit come now?

The child clenched her jaws as renewed anguish flooded her torso.

She remained immature for a wyrm.

Scarcely beyond infancy by draconic reckoning.

Nevertheless, she held strength.

Against ordinary folk in chase, resistance was feasible.

Victory attainable.

Wyrms inspired dread in battle-hardened fighters.

Most mortals pondered deeply before challenging one.

But these pursuers differed.

They bore sacred might.

Or closer...

A warped imitation thereof.

Infernal essence.

Vile.

Defiled.

It adhered to them akin to mildew.

Upon their assault, preparations were set.

A malediction.

She never witnessed its invocation.

Recollection held only the abrupt torment erupting within.

Thereafter, her vigor waned progressively.

Her arcane flow bound, ensnared by the spreading blight in her conduits.

Even her wyrmish vital fluid—the essence meant to cleanse most poisons—faltered against it.

The defilement proved too potent.

Too aberrant.

Fresh acute torment lanced her torso.

Her supports buckled once more.

Trailing her, the far-off calls of the zealots reverberated through the grove.

Persisting in pursuit.

Drawing nearer steadily.

The child gnawed her lower lip till it bled.

Then compelled her quivering supports to advance anew.

Flee.

Persistence in flight was essential.

She scanned her surroundings via clouded gaze.

Her perception wavered as the frosty woodland warped about her.

Direction eluded her now.

Leftward.

Rightward.

Ahead.

Direction proved irrelevant.

Primal drives had commanded long since.

She simply fled.

Yet abruptly—

Thud...!

Her form collided with a firm barrier.

"...Uh..."

She reeled rearward and toppled into the frost, extremities feeble and insensate.

Briefly, the scene whirled.

Then gradually she raised her gaze.

And dread gripped her core.

Before her loomed... a cloaked figure.

"Haha... you’re quite the runner, pale serpent... tsk."

The fellow’s tone dripped with derisive glee.

The child quivered.

Instinct spurred her form ere thought caught up, scrambling to rise.

Flight demanded—

It required—

Smack—!

A savage boot struck her flank.

Her diminutive frame hurled over the frost prior to slamming against a proximate trunk.

Thud!

"Ughck—!"

A gush of crimson erupted from her mouth as the collision expelled breath from her chest.

Her sight dimmed momentarily.

Steps neared.

"Hey! Avoid damaging the goods...!"

A further cloaked individual approached, additional silhouettes emerging from the timber behind.

"Ah, apologies," the kicker drawled indifferently. "Couldn’t resist. This wretched serpent insisted on complicating matters, after all."

The newcomer tsked in irritation.

"Regardless... sigh. Proceed to establish a guard circle. We shan’t tolerate meddlers."

"Yeah, yeah."

The fellow dismissed with a shrug.

Ere departing, he eyed the child slumped by the trunk.

A wicked smirk formed under his cowl.

Then he pivoted and departed.

The leftover group advanced nearer.

They bent low, scrutinizing her as trackers assess ensnared game.

"Wow... behold her," one whispered.

"Without the horns, she’d pass for fully human, wouldn’t she?"

His companion snickered.

"Evidently, this hatchling possesses notable skill. Word is, they shift into forms they know well..."

"So her dam must’ve devoured plenty of folk, eh?"

The pair chuckled softly.

Their gazes bore down with detached intrigue.

As if she were no being.

Merely a curious sample.

Such brutality...

Such torment...

What fault had she committed?

The fledgling couldn’t fathom.

Her kind famed for sagacity. Wyrms endured ages, absorbed knowledge gradually, grasped reality with serene insight.

But she lingered as mere offspring by those measures.

Terror seized her.

Suffering wracked her.

Each inhalation scorched her interior.

Escape beckoned her soul.

This nightmare yearned to cease.

Maternal return she craved.

Though the arcane reservoir in her petite vessel surpassed thrice that of her encirclers... it availed naught.

Their inflicted hex had utterly locked it.

Her essence roiled furiously within her passages, yet heeded no summons.

A flawless lineage.

Debased to mere quarry for mortal seizure.

For examination.

For barter.

For abuse.

This marked her inaugural venture from the aerie’s crest.

Her premiere glimpse of realms past the glacial spire her mother safeguarded.

And comprehension dawned.

Existence proved infinitely icier... infinitely harsher... beyond her wildest fears.

All her modest visions of distant domains...

All her wonder toward humankind...

They crumbled as delicate crystal.

Hence...

Weeping was her sole recourse.

"Hey—ahaha behold this. It weeps."

"Hahaha! Utterly comical. Regret lacking a capture crystal now."

"Never realized serpents wept!"

The cloaked throng erupted in mirth.

Their jeers resounded through the hushed grove.

One advanced and knelt at her side.

He clutched a metal band inscribed with arcane symbols.

Despite her frailty, upon sighting it—

Primal warnings blared.

Peril.

Utmost peril.

Should that device encircle her throat...

"H-Help...

Her plea emerged faint and raspy.

The holder halted.

"Ho?"

Amusement lit his downward stare.

A sly smile crept beneath his veil.

"No aid comes for you, little one. Cease your struggle."

"...S-Someone... aid me!"

Desolation fractured her sight as her tone splintered.

Surrounding mockers persisted in their glee.

The band inched toward her neck.

Her pulse quaked bracing for doom.

Then—

An inconceivable event unfolded.

"...What?"

A piercing noise sliced the breeze.

[Low Level Ice Magic]

[Ice Thorn]

Crack—!

A frozen spike erupted from the earth under the holder’s grip.

It impaled his hand outright.

Ere a cry escaped—

Chill detonated over his limb.

The frost propagated swiftly, climbing his frame like an animate entity.

Within one exhalation—

His form solidified in ice.

Then—

Shatter.

His remains fractured as frail crystal.

Shards of iced tissue dispersed over the frost.

Quiet descended.

Mirth ceased at once.

The cloaked ones stiffened.

Warily... circumspectly...

They swiveled toward the assault’s origin.

And there—

Positioned several paces distant—

Stood yet another youthful female.

Silver tresses fluttered softly in the wintry gale.

Her demeanor stayed composed.

Icy.

Devoid of sentiment.

Yet the arcane emanation from her being...

It chilled to the bone.

A crushing surge of glacial force permeated the woodland.

The chill plunged abruptly, rime advancing over the terrain.

The group sensed their frames rigidify.

Their exhalations formed vapor.

And for the initial instance since the hunt ignited—

Dread flickered in their stares.