The Archduchess's Rampage: Sanity Torn by Blades of Frost
The mine’s thick bedrock screamed like a living beast as it split apart.
Rumble—! Craaaack!
It was no ordinary earthquake. The very space itself was twisting and collapsing, unable to endure the crushing pressure of colossal mana.
“Kuaaagh!”
“E-everyone fall back! The entrance is freezing shut!”
Outside the fourth tunnel, the temporary barracks housing the elite knight order of the Northern Archduchy had transformed into a living hell of pure pandemonium.
Just minutes earlier the air had held steady at thirty degrees below zero. Now the cold was so savage that even a thermometer felt meaningless. Every drop of moisture in the atmosphere had crystallized into razor-sharp hexagonal ice shards that swirled madly through the air.
“Cough—kuhuk…!”
One of the massive female knights standing guard at the front clutched her own throat and dropped to her knees.
Each time she coughed in agony, the dark-red droplets of blood that flew from her lips froze into crimson hail before they could even touch the ground, falling with soft, wet thuds. The absolute-zero mana had burrowed into the depths of her lungs and frozen her organs and blood vessels solid.
“Damn it all…! Vice Commander! The mana shields are useless! This isn’t a normal mana storm!”
“Shut your mouth and hold formation! Move carelessly and the aura will slice you to pieces!”
Inside the flesh-carving ice storm, the vice commander of the Third Knight Order roared with bloodshot eyes.
These were hardened veterans who had beheaded countless monsters. Women who would not have flinched even if a mountain crumbled before them. Yet now their legs trembled violently, faces twisted with raw terror.
The source of that terror lay at the center of the whiteout blizzard and the violent vortex of mana—the overwhelming killing intent pouring out from within.
Boooom—!
The enormous barrier magic circle guarding the center of the barracks shattered like glass.
A wave of blue light exploded outward, sweeping across everything.
“Kyaaaaaah!”
“Ugh!”
Dozens of knights caught in the blast were hurled away like fallen leaves. The northern mithril armor they wore crumpled like paper, and a horrifying blue frost raced across their skin at terrifying speed. The knights who collapsed, vomiting blood, could no longer even scream; they froze into statues of ice where they lay.
An overwhelming power that slaughtered the continent’s strongest northern knights in a single breath.
It was not an enemy attack.
It was the pure violence radiating from the sole lord they had sworn their lives to serve—the ruler of the North.
“Haa… haaaa…”
From the wreckage of the shattered magic circle, a rough, turbid panting tore through the frozen air.
Northern Archduchess Ayla von Valerius.
The continent’s strongest swordswoman and the iron-blooded sovereign who wielded aura like blades of frost.
The noble archduchess who had never once faltered in her arrogant, flawless bearing even before tens of thousands of knights—now clawed at her own head with both hands, panting like a beast.
Her condition was horrific.
Her once-neatly combed silver hair was matted with sweat and frost, wildly tangled. Her sharp blue eyes, usually cold enough to cut, had lost all focus; they were bloodshot and shaking violently.
‘It’s hot… so hot…! I feel like I’m burning alive…!’
Ayla’s reason was writhing in the heart of hellfire.
Even in cold approaching sixty degrees below zero, molten-lava phantom pain raged through her veins, tearing her entire body apart.
An itch like ten thousand insects gnawing through bone and flesh.
A migraine like needles stabbing directly into her brain.
These were the horrific withdrawal symptoms of end-stage Mana Depletion Syndrome, striking in proportion to her overwhelming mana capacity.
“Ughhh…! The medicine… give me the medicine…!”
With trembling hands Ayla yanked out a bottle of the highest-grade elixir from her belt, nearly crushing it.
A super-concentrated mana potion refined to the extreme from the bodily fluids of low-grade males—something ordinary nobles could never even glimpse.
She tilted the entire bottle down her throat as if forcing it into her stomach.
Gulp. Gulp. The fishy, repulsive liquid slid down.
But—
“Kuhuk—! Uwek… cough!”
Less than a second after swallowing, Ayla’s stomach convulsed and she vomited every drop back up.
It was useless.
No matter how concentrated, the dregs of ordinary males could not fill even one percent of her vast, ferocious mana circuits. A thirst more terrible than spitting into a bottomless pit.
‘It’s not enough… Trash like this… can’t quench the thirst burning inside me…!’
Her reason began to collapse.
From the deepest part of her lower abdomen—from the secret inner walls of what was called her womb—a horrific hunger coiled upward like a serpent.
Her vaginal walls dried and burned, screaming of mana deficiency, while her brain rang with the beast’s frantic alarm: find high-quality semen to survive.
“Your Excellency…! Control yourself! Please, keep your reason—!”
It was then.
The loyal vice commander and several knights threw themselves into the storm, risking their lives to reach her.
Their only thought was to stop the rampage and calm their lord.
But the moment they drew near—
Flash—!
Ayla’s clouded gaze locked onto them.
In that instant the knights felt a cold so terrible it seemed their hearts had frozen.
It was not a look directed at humans. It was the bloodthirsty stare of a starving predator regarding annoying flies that weren’t even worth eating.
“Do not approach… without your master’s permission.”
A chilling, eerily cracked voice.
Kwaaaaaang—!!
A colossal thicket of ice thorns erupted from beneath Ayla’s feet.
Dozens of razor-sharp ice spears sliced through the air and impaled the knights.
“Kuaaaagh!”
“Y-Your Excellency…!”
The knights who had tried to approach were skewered before they could even scream, left dangling in the air or trapped inside prisons of ice, coughing blood and rendered helpless.
An absolute being who had lost all control.
Within a hundred-meter radius of Ayla, the area had become a perfect death zone where no living thing could draw breath.
“Haa… haa…”
Ayla staggered across the blood-spattered ice, step by unsteady step.
Her gaze was drawn instinctively toward the deepest darkness of the frozen mine—the black heart of the fourth tunnel.
Her beast-like senses—no, her burning womb—had already detected it.
Inside that darkness rippled a wave of mana so dense and sweet that no elixir in the world could compare.
A pull as powerful as a lightning strike.
If she did not run there right now, pounce on the source of that sweet scent, tear it open and drive it deep inside her, she felt she would go mad and die.
“You’re… there…”
The corner of Ayla’s mouth twisted upward in a grotesque smile.
The noble, flawless Northern Archduchess had vanished completely. What now crawled toward the tunnel was nothing more than a bitch in heat, craving only mating and semen.
At the same moment, in the deepest part of the fourth tunnel.
Even as ice fragments poured from the ceiling like hail and the bedrock shook violently, Kyle remained utterly still, staring into the darkness.
Rumble—!
From the mine entrance came the continuous sounds of knights’ death cries and horrific mana explosions.
The blue status window floating across Kyle’s retina was frantically spitting out warning messages.
‘Withdrawal symptoms at ninety-nine percent. A far more horrific state of heat than I expected.’
Kyle slowly licked his lips.
He felt no cold. Though the air temperature hovered near sixty degrees below zero, his body burned like a roaring furnace.
Deep in his lower abdomen, the Essence of the Creator condensed in his dantian had begun to rage violently.
As if welcoming the approach of a great predator, the absolute mana flowing through Kyle’s blood swelled until it threatened to burst from his veins.
Especially where that vast energy gathered.
Between his legs, beneath the thin rag pants, the monstrous twenty-centimeter-plus shaft had swollen viciously erect, so rigid it looked ready to tear the fabric apart, veins pulsing visibly.
Inside the two heavy, hanging balls, the single drop of divine semen Ayla craved so desperately seemed to slosh and boil.
‘Come. Crawl to my feet, you arrogant northern bitch.’
Dark sadism and arrogance flashed in Kyle’s black eyes.
While every other male in the world pissed himself and fled from women’s violence, Kyle gripped his throbbing crotch with one hand like a beast and waited for the predator.
Outside, the continent’s strongest monster had just frozen hundreds of elite knights to death in an instant.
Yet to Kyle she was merely a pitiful patient driven insane by mana deficiency, coming to beg for his semen.
Far from running, he coldly calculated exactly how he would counter when she tried to force herself on him and how he would shatter that arrogant pride.
Swish… rustle.
From the deep darkness of the tunnel came the sound of something being dragged.
Kyle’s gaze fixed precisely on the source.
Blue glowing eyes.
Piercing the pitch-black darkness, two gleaming beastly orbs drew a grotesque arc as they approached.
The surrounding air froze dozens of degrees colder in an instant, stabbing at the lungs like knives.
The figure slowly emerging from the shadows was the Northern Archduchess, Ayla von Valerius.
“Haa… haaaaa…”
Her appearance was both wretched and grotesquely sensual.
Her silver hair was tangled and plastered to her face. Blue veins stood out prominently against her deathly pale skin.
What captured Kyle’s attention most was her clothing.
The ascetic northern uniform that had always been buttoned to the neck, allowing not a single inch of bare skin—now torn and scorched in multiple places by the mana rampage.
With every rough pant the front of the uniform rose and fell wildly.
Through the gaps of undone buttons, her firm collarbone—honed by brutal training—and the sweaty, glistening valley of her ample breasts were teasingly exposed.
That vulnerable, gap-filled sight madly stimulated Kyle’s sadistic possessiveness.
“You… you…!”
Ayla’s gaze locked onto him.
More precisely, it had been pierced by the overwhelming, dense scent of mana pouring from his dantian and lower abdomen.
Her unfocused beast-like blue eyes suddenly widened grotesquely.
‘Sweet. It’s so sweet…!’
Ayla’s brain exploded.
Decades of ascetic self-control and reason began to crumble like a sandcastle beneath a single whiff of the male before her.
Her vaginal walls convulsed madly, gushing hot love juice. The inside of her thick knight pants grew wet and sticky in an instant—an unpleasant yet violently intense sensation.
She was seized by a destructive urge to rip his pants apart, take those massive balls into her mouth, burst them, and lick up every last drop of his essence.
“Give it to me… Give it tooo meee!!”
Kwaaaang—!
Ayla kicked off the ground with a beastly roar and leapt forward.
Ice shards at sixty degrees below zero exploded like bombs, shaking the entire tunnel. An overwhelming charge worthy of the continent’s strongest swordswoman, as if she were folding space itself.
In the blink of an eye she was right in front of Kyle.
The cold blade of ice in her hand drew a cruel arc, ready to dismember his limbs and crush any resistance.
Yet even as that overwhelming violence and killing intent hovered at his throat—
Kyle simply twisted the corner of his mouth upward and spread both arms wide, taking no defensive stance whatsoever.
‘Go ahead. Try tearing me apart. I’ll teach you exactly who the real predator holding your life is.’
The physical collision between a despairing prey and a maddened predator.
That profane, enormous trap of pleasure opened its jaws, ready to swallow the archduchess’s body whole.
