How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game Chapter 711: Inheritance 4

Over recent years, as time flowed on, Elea started to perceive it.

The shifts in Celestine.

Initially, they were minor details.

Her stature, her bearing... the manner in which her facial traits sharpened gradually, becoming more elegant. The once tiny, delicate girl had transformed into a strikingly lovely young woman.

Yet that wasn't the source of her unease.

It was all the other aspects.

The subtle alterations.

The kind only spotted by someone observing from the start.

Celestine had matured.

Not merely physically—but mentally... and emotionally too.

Blood ties didn't connect them.

But that ceased to hold significance long ago.

At some point, that boundary had vanished.

What lingered was straightforward.

Mother and daughter.

To Elea... Celestine represented—

"...too kind."

A soft murmur escaped her mouth.

For that was the issue.

Celestine welcomed everything.

With a gentle smile.

Regardless of its nature... no matter the burden... she embraced it, cradled it, and grinned as if no pain pierced her.

Such was the daughter she possessed.

Valued beyond measure.

Tender-hearted.

Far too pure for the harsh world thrust upon her.

Though once she had pressed her on all matters.... Elea once more offered no reply.

And with the years advancing—

As each query faced postponement... partial responses... or mere quiet—

The burden within Elea deepened relentlessly.

Guilt.

It rooted firmly in her heart, unyielding.

At times...

Even deception grew intolerable.

Gazing into those pure white eyes... filled with unwavering trust...

"...it’s getting harder."

Concealing the reality.

Feigning normalcy.

Behaving as though ample time remained.

She understood fully—

This charade couldn't last eternally.

The approaching fate... couldn't be rejected.

Couldn't be evaded.

And at her core—

Her decision stood firm.

From the instant she cradled Celestine initially...

Elea had resolved.

Even should the path ahead bring only chill...

Only demise—

She'd ensure her daughter traversed it resiliently.

Not shatter.

Not succumb to the freeze.

But persist through it.

"...even if she hates me for it."

Her eyelids drifted shut gradually.

And wordlessly, she pivoted away.

Near the window across the chamber, Celestine lingered with Anica. Gentle outdoor light streamed inside, bathing them in serene glow.

A tranquil vista.

One Elea could no longer bear to behold.

Thus, she averted her gaze.

Instead—

Her awareness plunged inward.

Profoundly.

Beyond cognition.

Beyond sentiment.

To the deepest essence of herself.

The surrounding reality blurred.

Dimmed.

Until—

She found herself amid her soul's core.

An immense, hushed void.

Frigid.

Infinite.

And at its heart—

A pale blue-white sphere hovered motionless.

Throbbing.

Gently.

Rhythmically.

Resembling a chilled heart that defied stillness.

Encircling it—

Chains.

Shadowy.

Burdened.

They twisted and encircled the sphere, confining it, shackling it... without ever completely entombing it.

Power seeped via the cracks.

Chilling enough to encase all it encountered in frost.

This—

Constituted her dominion.

Her might.

The essence defining her being.

The Witch of Frost.

Elea regarded it mutely.

For an extended instant—

She remained immobile.

Then, softly—

"...It’s almost time."

The sphere throbbed anew.

Firmer now.

As though acknowledging her words.

This sphere endured as the sole remnant.

The final shards of her mana circles, pulverized, purified, and merged into unity.

One nucleus.

One "heart."

A sphere of might so compact, so utterly pristine, that reality warped faintly nearby. Atmosphere distorted. Illumination bent. Prolonged scrutiny pulled at one's perceptions.

Superficially...

It evoked a dungeon core.

And truthfully—

It bore close resemblance.

For such an entity... defied nature.

To compress one's mana circles—the foundational essence—into one focal point...

That transcended mere skill.

It courted mortality.

No—

It embraced oblivion deliberately.

Only those treading deviant routes ventured it. Shadowy sorcerers. Fiends revering demons. Souls forsaking harmony for swifter... mightier... power at any price.

They forged dungeons thus.

Manmade lairs.

"...And yet..."

Elea positioned herself before it.

Breathing.

Scarcely.

Behind her loomed a colossal ivory fortress—sculpted wholly from ice. Each barrier, column, intricacy etched flawlessly.

Frigid.

Majestic.

Void.

A mirror to the realm she forged for herself.

And her child.

"...22 years..."

She breathed it softly.

That marked the duration.

Since Celestine entered her world.

Since all transformed.

Her stare warmed faintly.

"...I’ve taken too much time."

Alternatives existed she might have pursued.

Words she could have uttered.

Revelations shared earlier.

Yet she withheld.

She opted for quietude.

She selected dominion.

And thereby—

She embraced this conclusion.

A subtle, acrid grin brushed her lips.

"...I really am selfish."

She recognized it.

More than any other.

Confining Celestine in this isolated northern hamlet... shielding her from sight...

Even for protection—

It altered not its essence.

A prison.

And should Celestine harbor resentment deeply—

"...then so be it."

Elea shut her eyes momentarily.

She'd embrace it wholly.

The fury.

The loathing.

The sorrow.

For this—

Marked the sole path.

The only means to safeguard her.

The only way ensuring Celestine's endurance against the looming threat.

Her eyes reopened, fixing on the sphere.

"It’s time..."

Her tone hushed now.

Resolute.

"It’s time for you to inherit it, Celestine..."

As the phrase departed her—

Something within her yielded.

Her sight wavered.

Her breath hitched—

And crimson trickled from her nostril.

"...hn..."

She scarcely stirred.

Merely raised fabric to erase it swiftly, routinely, like countless prior occurrences.

.....

The instant the titans initiated their barrage on Count Roverick’s northeastern fortifications—

Turmoil erupted.

"BOOOOMMM—!"

"VOOOOSHHH—!!!"

The heavens thundered.

Enormous ice boulders—house-sized each—plummeted like icy comets. They sliced the winds at horrifying velocity before colliding with the city's shields, quaking the earth underfoot.

Every collision rippled shocks along avenues.

Structures quivered.

Glass exploded.

Citizens wailed.

Panic surged rapidly.

Even the atmosphere chilled further.

Grew denser.

As if doom crept nearer.

Yet—

The count’s soldiers and sorcerers stood resolute.

"Hold formation!"

"Reinforce the barrier!"

Magical veils flickered over ramparts, illuminating amid ceaseless strikes. Expert casters aligned, channeling essence into wards—robust shields straining against the icy deluge.

Certain warriors and archers retaliated.

Modest reprisals—flame incantations, shafts, mana flares—hurtled at the remote silhouettes of Frost Giants.

But insufficient.

Far short.

The colossi loomed distant past barriers, their hulking shapes faint amid self-wrought tempest. Still, each hurl bore devastating potency.

Venturing beyond ramparts—

Equaled self-destruction.

But remaining within?

"...This’ll turn into a battle of endurance..."

One potentially lost.

For this defied ordinary peril.

Utterly.

One Frost Giant menaced a whole domain.

And presently—

Several assaulted.

"M-My lord!"

A knight rushed ahead, kneeling swiftly, respiration ragged.

Count Roverick endured unshaken amid quakes, face stern yet composed.

"Status on the situation."

"Ah—r-right!" The knight gulped. "As you can see, we’re still maintaining our defensive positions, but—if this continues... even our high-ranking mages won’t be able to keep casting barrier magic repeatedly."

Their essence held bounds.

And the titans...

Showed no fatigue.

"...I see."

The count’s eyes darted momentarily to the northeastern barrier, witnessing another colossal ice mass strike.

The glow wavered.

Briefly.

Yet tellingly.

"...Maintain your command at the western gate."

"My lord?"

"These giants are not mindless beasts," Roverick stated evenly. "They’re intelligent. They fight with a sense of honor... or so it’s said."

Another remote boom resounded.

He squinted faintly.

"...But I won’t rely on that."

Silence followed.

"Be prepared."

The knight rose promptly.

"Y-Yes, my lord!"

"They might try something else. A flank. A diversion. Even something underhanded."

The true dread.

Uncertainty.

"Don’t let your guard down—not even for a moment."

"Yes!"

The knight saluted briskly and dashed westward.

Roverick pivoted, eyes moving from shuddering defenses to the sentinel at the northern entrance.

The Grand Duke.

Positioned there, steadfast.

Unyielding.

As if gales spared him.

Roverick’s features hardened subtly.

Naturally.

The sole restraint on the Frost Giants’ full fury... stemmed from his arrival.

Such a figure demanded attention in combat.

His mere aura deterred beasts.

"...But this..."

Roverick’s glance lifted skyward as fresh ice plunged.

A war of attrition.

Unfavorable.

For defenders.

For all sheltered here.

Duration favored foes.

Nevertheless—

The Grand Duke lingered inactive.

Since initial encounter, his words stayed sparse. Brief assurances of the city’s security.

Naught else.

No tactics.

No orders.

Merely—

Observing.

"...."

Doubt flickered in Roverick.

Beholding the mightiest idling—

It soured resolve.

Even the Duke’s elite guards—

The Heavenly Knights—

Held position.

None advanced.

As though awaiting a signal.

Or arrival.

.....

Meanwhile—

Grand Duke Luther Heavens commanded the northern gate, stare piercing afar past fray.

Beyond plummeting frost.

Beyond far-off behemoths.

Affixed to something profounder.

"...."

His gaze sharpened minutely.

The Giant Chief.

Across this span, Luther sensed it.

That aura.

That pressure.

Whatever strength lurked beneath—

It proved complex.

Immensely.

Few detected it.

Fewer could.

He did.

He pierced its veil.

Each stratum.

Each shroud.

"...He’ll be troublesome."

The remark emerged softly, assessment over worry.

Then—

A figure materialized nearby.

Unheard.

Abrupt.

A male swathed in ebony garments, silhouette merging with gloom.

One Shadow Knight.

Emperor’s loaned operatives.

He genuflected noiselessly.

"We have confirmed traces of Lord Riley... and the princess, Your Grace."

Luther ignored him visually.

"Location?"

"...Deep within the forest."

Brief hesitation.

"However, we are uncertain where the two have gone beyond that point."

"...I see."

Momentarily, gusts intensified, bearing far-off crashes and ruin.

Luther held steady.

Reflecting.

Then—

"Well, for now..."

His focus reverted to conflict.

"...continue monitoring the enemy camp."

The Shadow Knight bowed deeper.

"Understood."