How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game Chapter 715: Frost Queen.

"T-They’re advancing!"

"Hold the gates!"

"Mages, prioritize defense! Knights, form a line—we need to hold them back!"

"There are too many of them—we won’t be able to hold out!"

"One of them is breaking through—!"

Chaos had engulfed the entire city.

Yells overlapped wildly, orders collided fiercely, and terror raced ahead of the biting chill.

The last refuge in the northern territories had turned into a brutal warzone, walls quaking beneath the Frost Giants' merciless onslaught.

Their offensive had shifted dramatically.

No more did they just lob gigantic ice boulders from afar, probing the city's safeguards.

The gap bridged now, they discarded all caution for brutal, dominating power. Colossal shapes smashed into the ramparts, their raw might jolting the city's foundations with every blow.

Leading the charge—

Gallan.

The chieftain rampaged like a primal storm, spearheading the assault while shredding the surviving vanguard knights bold enough to face them outside the walls.

Any who held position got pulverized, flung aside, or driven back, ranks shattering under the crushing pressure.

And at this moment—

They had breached.

Or near enough for it to count the same.

Defenses once steadfast started fracturing, wavering under duress as the giants pressed on relentlessly.

Each collision pushed them nearer to ruin.

From the inner ramparts, Count Roverick observed the catastrophe, his face growing stormier.

This matched his deepest dread.

The north's plight had never looked good from the start, but now even faint hope seemed brittle.

Provisions dwindled fast, no reinforcements appeared, and his soldiers—

Exhausted beyond measure.

Recent monster waves had drained them to the brink, leaving flesh and spirits barely intact.

Now staring down something of this magnitude...

Far grander.

Utterly unstoppable.

Even the boldest warriors started to waver.

For this—

Served as a harsh awakening.

To monsters' genuine horror.

Far beyond mere quarry for the hunt.

But devourers capable of total annihilation.

Roverick's fingers clenched the frigid stone parapet as a distant barrier segment split, the crack resounding like doom's knell.

"...Damn it..."

Moments slipped away.

He fully grasped it.

War was what Roverick had readied for.

He rallied every force possible—battle-tested knights, grizzled mercenaries, and swordmasters whose reputations echoed across the north.

But even those—

Stood no chance.

Frost Giants dwelled in a superior realm.

Size alone daunted, but their primal power instilled true dread.

Every limb sweep packed dragon-like devastation, bodies—dense, ageless, forged by the wilds—shrugging off most spells.

Even top mages—

Fought in vain.

Battlefield-shattering magic grazed them lightly, bursting uselessly against frost-clad hides.

A doomed struggle.

Roverick understood perfectly.

With ponderous strides, he pivoted from the walls, jaw locked as he headed for a nearby tower gazing over the fray.

Battle clamor dogged his steps—roars, shrieks, steel clanging—yet he pressed on undeterred.

One final recourse lingered.

"Grand Duke!"

His shout rang out upon reaching the summit.

The figure there delayed his turn.

"...Count."

Grand Duke Luther Heavens.

Even from the back, his aura shone through—serene, unflappable, apart from the turmoil below.

He lingered at the tower's brink, eyes riveted to the battlefield like a far-off gale.

Roverick's scowl deepened.

"What are you doing?"

The Duke canted his head faintly, as though the query baffled him.

"What do you mean, Count?"

Roverick balled his fists.

"Can you not see what’s happening?" His voice surged, anger spilling free. "Everyone is out there fighting. They need your help."

No effort masked the bite in his words.

No holds barred anymore.

The fact stared plain.

North's supreme warrior—continent's top tier, maybe. His mere step-in could swing the battle, yet...

He stayed put.

Not a twitch.

As city guards spilled blood.

As knights hurled into futile stands for precious instants.

As mercenaries—paid for gold, not bonds—held fast and perished.

Even his elite force—

The Heaven’s Knights—

Stood rigid behind, statue-still, honoring their master's hush without a word.

It didn't add up.

"Were you not sent here by His Majesty to help us?" Roverick pressed, moving nearer with a piercing, unrelenting stare.

He realized he was overstepping.

Talking this way to a Grand Duke was dangerous—practically asking for death in usual times.

Yet that held no importance now.

Not with the city teetering on ruin.

Not while his folks perished.

"My people are dying," he declared, voice growing tense, "and they need your help!"

For an instant—

Just the far-off clamor of combat filled the space between them.

The Grand Duke appeared to listen.

Or so it seemed.

However, his face remained unchanged.

Unmoved.

As though Roverick's plea scarcely touched him.

Gradually, Luther's eyes shifted beyond the fray, past the turmoil, fixing on a distant point.

Locked onto something completely different.

Something visible only to him.

Noticing that faraway, aloof expression in the Grand Duke's gaze, something within Roverick broke at last.

"Grand Duke—"

He advanced, set to push harder, to insist on a response—

BOOOOM—!!!

Those words stayed unspoken.

The blast rattled the whole tower, its power almost knocking him over. On reflex, he spun around—

And the sight caused his heart to clench.

A huge mass of packed ice had ripped through the city barriers.

Not merely dented.

Not just fractured.

Straight through.

It sliced a route via rock and metal both, demolishing all in its path—troops, barriers, fortifications—obliterated in a flash.

Cries erupted behind it, hoarse and frantic, as warriors and men were hurled away like trash.

"—Aaaghh!!"

"Medic! Someone—!"

"My leg—!"

The former orderly lines had dissolved into pandemonium.

And then—

"KILL THEM ALL!!!"

The giants' bellow echoed over the field, vibrating the soil underfoot.

One by one, their enormous figures breached the shattered walls, entering the city proper.

Every stride hit like a mallet on stone, every motion driving them further into the remnants of Roverick's territory.

His knights charged to confront them.

His mages unleashed their remaining incantations.

But this was no longer combat.

It was mere endurance.

Roverick's breathing hitched while observing the scene, his fingers quivering briefly before clenching tight.

He faced the Grand Duke again, raw desperation shining in his eyes—

Yet everything stayed the same.

Luther remained rooted.

Still observing.

Completely still.

As if this chaos meant nothing to him.

"...You..."

Roverick's teeth ground together, anger surging into raw resentment.

"...Damn you."

It was futile now.

No use in pleading.

No use in expecting aid.

If the Grand Duke preferred to stay put—to watch idly until the finish—Roverick held no power to alter it.

With reluctance, he pivoted away.

Every footfall grew weightier as he headed for the stairs, destruction's din intensifying each moment.

He couldn't count on him.

No longer.

’I can’t...’

His mind faltered, regret blending with acrimony.

’Where did I go wrong?’

He'd exhausted every effort.

Braced for disaster.

Assembled troops.

Cast aside dignity to seek support, enduring scorn from those who belittled the north.

He'd sheltered exiles, guarded the uprooted, strived to preserve the fraying north amid the collapse.

The empire was aware.

They surely knew.

How could they ignore it?

That's why they'd dispatched the Grand Duke.

Or so Roverick thought.

But now, as his city fell apart, with his people's wails resounding through the lanes—

That conviction rang empty.

Like an error.

And for the first occasion since the ordeal started—

Roverick doubted rescue would arrive for any of them.

"Tsk..."

The noise escaped his gritted teeth as Roverick pressed on, doubt vanishing from his steps.

He was aged.

His frame bore scars from endless fights, his power faded from its prime.

Years had blunted his ferocity, hampered his speed, eroded him beyond any foe's reach.

Nevertheless—

An aging tiger remained a tiger.

His eyes steeled as he inhaled deeply, then lifted his call, projecting it over the battlefield.