How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game Chapter 708: Inheritance 2

Riley had warned her already.

Cautioned her directly.

Revealed precisely what awaited.

And yet—

When the moment arrived...

It struck swiftly.

All too swiftly.

Just the following morning—

Chaos erupted everywhere.

"GAAAGH—!"

"W-Why—?!"

"Run—!!"

The once orderly, icy castle plunged into utter disorder.

Screams reverberated across the chilled corridors. Beings that had maintained strict discipline—nearly with pride—reverted to their savage instincts.

Monsters.

Terror raced quicker than any ice could spread.

Blood splattered the pale stone floors.

"Traitor!!"

"Why are you doing this, Gallan?!"

A thunderous bellow rose from the heart of the turmoil.

A colossal form dominated the frenzy.

"...Forgive me, friend."

Gallan.

The Frost Giant Chieftain.

His tone rumbled low.

Burdened.

Full of remorse—

Yet his arms never faltered.

CRASH—!

His enormous, spiked, ice-encrusted club smashed down relentlessly.

The Frost Goblin Shaman, Ulok—

A brother in arms.

A trusted ally—

Got pulverized under its weight.

Vaporized in a flash.

"Leave none who stand in our way alive."

Gallan spoke calmly.

No need to shout.

"Yes, Chief!"

The giants charged ahead without delay.

They barreled onward, felling whatever blocked them—guards, creatures, even kin.

The corridors shook with every footfall.

Every blow.

Every kill.

Gallan clenched his weapon tighter.

He understood.

He recognized his excess.

But this—

This marked their sole opportunity.

At this instant.

With the Frost Queen occupied.

Her focus diverted.

Fail to act now—

And never again.

"What about the scouts we sent to the core?" he inquired, pace unbroken.

"No contact since they left, Chief...!"

Gallan tsked quietly.

"...Figures."

"And the other generals?"

"Aside from the Frost Goblin general..." the subordinate paused briefly, eyeing Ulok’s corpse, "...the others haven’t moved. They’re staying put."

"I see..."

That signaled no meddling.

For the moment.

"...But," the giant continued, voice dropping, "some of our followers reported something."

Gallan’s gaze sharpened.

"What is it?"

"They’ve seen the Frost Dragon... together with the Queen’s guest."

A short silence fell.

The atmosphere thickened.

The Frost Dragon.

And that human.

Riley.

The Frost Giants’ loyalists were the rare few desperate to escape this icy jail. They observed keenly. Eavesdropped intently.

Their intel demanded attention.

For them—

Gallan represented their escape.

Gallan fell silent briefly.

Considering deeply.

Then—

"...Leave them."

The choice came swift.

"There’s nothing to gain from drawing their attention."

His stare intensified.

"The faster we get out of here... the better."

"...Understood."

Gallan had struck his bargain ages ago.

A pact.

With Riley.

And it succeeded—sufficiently to buy some leeway. Riley hadn’t meddled. Hadn’t cared to halt them.

But trust remained partial.

Not complete.

That outsider defied all dungeon logic. Ignored its laws.

An enigma.

Thus Gallan proceeded warily.

Vigilant.

Precisely why he’d shared the dungeon core’s position.

To Riley, alone, it held little value.

However—

Should it link to the Frost Queen’s ordeal...

Should it aid his companion...

Riley would hold back.

Refrain from meddling.

Such was Gallan’s wager.

...And it endured so far.

Still—

His hold on the weapon firmed a bit.

Thoughts of the Frost Queen stirred more.

A burden.

A subtle, bitter ache in his core.

Despite his determination... despite everything...

Some remnant lingered.

Guilt.

"...Tch."

He tsked once more.

Treachery stayed treachery.

No matter the guise.

But between fealty—

And liberty—

His path was set.

He’d pick his people.

Always.

The Frost Giants... every one... chained eternally to this realm. To the glacial fortress. To the dungeon proper.

Born within.

Confined inside.

Doomed to perish there.

That defined their fate.

That formed their prison.

But Gallan—

Had spotted a fissure.

An exit path.

His eyes glanced at the bundle borne by a follower.

Within—

The spoils plundered from a human settlement in a border raid.

[Divine Item: Blessed Drops of the Goddess]

Odd artifacts.

Alien.

Yet potent.

Capable of challenging the Frost Queen’s dominion.

Capable of snapping the bonds—but just once.

"...We’re close," he grumbled.

No halting permitted.

Above all—

He knew her well.

That monarch.

Indifferent.

Remote.

Icy.

But most crucially—

She prized dominance.

And upon grasping the truth—

She’d bar their flight.

"Use the human items the moment we step outside!" Gallan commanded, tone resolute.

"Yes, Chief!"

The giants bellowed back.

They advanced relentlessly, smashing obstacles aside.

Doors splintered.

Walls fractured.

Blood mingled with ice underfoot as they stormed the last barrier.

Nearer.

Until—Brightness.

The way out.

One after another—

They burst free.

Crossing the dungeon’s edge.

Frigid winds altered.

An invisible bind slackened.

And thus—

They escaped....

....

Riley observed the entire spectacle.

Unfolding before his eyes.

A holographic display—like a sheer, floating pane—hovered silently, broadcasting the dungeon’s events live.

The mayhem.

The disloyalty.

The breakout.

And at his side—

The Frost Queen.

She remained poised as always. Blank-faced. Unperturbed. Her stare locked on the display, viewing her realm’s upheaval with zero outward stir.

The pair sat side by side.

Not opposite.

Not separated.

Directly adjacent.

...A fresh development.

The day prior, positions opposite marked a firm divide.

Today—

No gap lingered.

Their table seemed shrunken. Far too intimate.

Proximate enough that a mere shift brushed chairs together.

Riley sensed... strange unease.

He couldn’t pinpoint the cause.

She wasn’t acting out.

Not even glancing his way.

Nevertheless—

The proximity jarred.

Wrong somehow.

His eyes flicked briefly.

Toward her.

Then returned to the display.

Gallan’s group neared the threshold.

Nearly free.

No action taken.

No counter.

Zero.

Riley’s gaze tightened faintly.

"...Are you just going to let them go?"

"...."

For the first occasion—

Her reply delayed.

A tiny hesitation hung.

Finally—

"...Yes."

Straightforward.

Yet tardy.

Riley caught it.

Time spent together taught him that at least—

She rarely wavered.

Typically.

But moments ago—

She had.

His look turned probing.

Examining her intently now.

He’d gleaned insights.

Glimpsed layers under the frost.

Still—

Insufficient.

Far short.

Even presently...

This near...

Sharing the view...

He couldn’t decipher her.

...

Meanwhile—distant from the icy stronghold—

Back in Count Roverick’s lands.

Within a lavish room of varnished timber and subdued opulence, calm prevailed. Unusually serene for northern climes.

Grand Duke Luther Heavens occupied the main seat, perusing a document leisurely, form at ease as his vision scanned the lines.

Suddenly—

Slam—!

The entrance flew wide.

Indoor sentries stiffened at once, grips seeking blades—

But the Grand Duke signaled halt.

They froze.

For the intruder—

Proved Count Roverick.

His frame bore familiar weariness. Time etched his features, endless clashes with northern horrors tolling heavily. He skipped protocol.

"Grand Duke... we need to make a move."

His words carried gravity.

Insistence.

Luther eased the paper down, gaze rising to meet his.

Recent days stayed... tranquil.

Naturally.

Since landing here, stability exceeded hopes. Despite Snow and Riley’s forest delve, their antics sparked no instant strife.

Till this.

"Frost Giants have been spotted," the Count pressed on. "They’re coming out of the dungeon."

A quick lull.

"An entire army."

That sufficed alone.

Yet—

"It gets worse... they seem to be carrying special items. Items from the Church of Light."

That—

Snagged Luther’s focus.

The realm’s mightiest blade wielder reclined faintly, intrigue evident.

"...Is that so."

A subtle grin curved his mouth.

Frost Giants fleeing the dungeon.

Bearing holy Church artifacts.

All post his niece and vexing relative’s woodland jaunt.

"...How amusing."

He pondered just what chaos those pair unleashed.

Meant for dungeon purge.

Not overhaul.

Regardless—

To him, no true crisis.

Not genuinely.

After brief reflection, Luther set the report aside fully, facing the Count.

"What are their movements?"

"They’re heading south," Roverick replied promptly. "Direct path. No hesitation."

His face shadowed.

"They’re aiming for the southern border."

Signifying—

This spot.

"The largest human settlement in the north..." Luther whispered.

Frost Giants lacked brute savagery.

They schemed wisely.

Strategized adeptly.

Rendering them deadlier foes.

And still—

Such cunning promised no mercy.

Particularly toward mankind.

Roverick’s jaw clenched.

"...They won’t stop," he stated. "If they reach here... they’ll destroy everything in their path."