Frozen Heart, Burning Soul (2)

The Tower's rankings are not decided by martial might alone. Combat strength carries considerable weight, of course—but it is only one piece of a greater whole. Floors conquered, monsters subjugated, quests completed: every factor is weighed, compiled, and judged.

And at the apex of that hierarchy stand the High Rankers. A summit permitted to only one hundred souls among hundreds of thousands of Adventurers.

And so, even now, countless Adventurers climb the Tower in hopes of becoming Rankers. But do they truly know? That above the heavens they strive toward, another sky still reigns—that among the High Rankers, there are those granted the name of King.

They are called the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors.

...How remarkable. There can't be many in the entire Tower capable of defying my ice.

El marveled in genuine admiration. The reason he still bore the name of King despite having withdrawn from active duty was simple: no one had ever succeeded in usurping his throne. His ranking had fallen only because he had stepped back from the front lines.

Which meant, in other words, that his opponent had shattered the Ice Emperor's power with ease—even if it hadn't been his full strength.

"Hah!!"

But the surprises did not end there. With a short, sharp cry, Zion's form vanished in an instant. In that sliver of a heartbeat, a fist slipped into his blind spot and drove into his ribs—a blow of such blistering speed that a single beat of delay would have meant taking it in full.

A sickening crack. A thunderous boom. He had met it with his staff, without a doubt—and still the destructive force housed in that steel shattered the weapon and punched straight through.

To think she'd destroy my ten-thousand-year ice. A punch of this caliber could reasonably be considered nearly on par with the Fist King.

How long had it been since he'd been sent sprawling so pathetically across the ground? Feeling the cold of the earth against him, he pushed himself up.

A forest draped in pitch-black darkness. Moonlight gazing down upon it in silent witness. This world was beautiful, without question.

And that was precisely why it was so cruel. El exhaled a frost-laced breath and planted a staff of reconstituted ice against the ground, using it to hold himself upright.

...I hold a slight edge in the other stats. But her Strength and Agility—I can't even begin to estimate those.

In that brief instant, El had used Appraisal to check Zion's status. The result was far more astonishing than he had anticipated. Given that the average stats of a Hero NPC typically fell between 500 and 700, these figures were outrageous.

Worse still, her traits and skills didn't even display. In other words... he could not fully grasp his opponent's true strength.

"...Did we not agree to talk?"

"For someone who showed up out of nowhere and tried to freeze me solid, I'd say this is a perfectly polite and intelligent conversation, wouldn't you?"

"I see. Understood."

El lifted his gaze. A nun was walking toward him at an unhurried pace, emerging from the chapel that had collapsed under a force it could not withstand.

A veil covering silver-white hair that shone beautifully in the moonlight. A steel prosthetic revealed between the folds of a pitch-black habit.

So this... this was a Legendary NPC. The difference in caliber was unmistakable. And while El was busy being impressed, Zion, for her part...

How dare he wreck the chapel... I'd love nothing more than to beat the hell out of him, but he's my friend's father, so I can't. What a damn shame.

...was clicking her tongue in disappointment that she couldn't pummel him. He was Ifrit's real father, after all. However much he'd thrown the first punch, beating a man down in front of his own daughter was a bit—no, extremely—not a good look.

Besides, he clearly had his reasons. Zion swallowed the combat instinct boiling up inside her and forced herself to speak.

"Brother, what is it you fear, that you would rush into this so hastily?"

"Afraid? I?"

"At least, that is how it appears to my eyes."

A complete bluff, of course. Zion's eyes might have been an unusual shape, but they certainly didn't come with a built-in emotion-reading function. The reason she'd said it anyway was simple: dress it up convincingly enough, and she might just get a read on what he was really thinking.

In short, she was fishing. But from El's perspective, it hadn't felt like a bluff at all...

"...I should like to ask you something in turn."

"I am listening. Please, speak."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"You would know—having crossed the hundredth floor alongside the Hero and reached the Demon King. You of all people would understand how cruel this world can be."

The Demon King and the Hero. A fairy tale. A legend, and nothing more. And yet, for that very reason, there was scarcely a soul who did not know the story. And one of the figures who appeared in that tale was Zion herself: the great hero of legend, the first Saintess.

And so El had no choice but to believe her words. She would have looked upon a world far crueler than his own.

Uh... I have no idea??

Not that Zion had the faintest clue. She'd only been in this unidentifiable world for two months. Cruelty or otherwise, she hadn't experienced any of it firsthand. But even if she lacked the experience, she at least had the instincts.

She was well aware that the Rankers had mistaken her for the great Saintess. She just hadn't bothered to correct them. Why? Because it was convenient. A woman who'd died centuries ago wasn't about to come back to life, so there was no real risk of her cover being blown.

Zion kept her silence. She knew that if you simply stayed quiet, you'd at least get by—no need to volunteer anything useless. And just as she'd expected, El took that silence as confirmation, and poured out every last drop of the emotion seething inside him.

"Compared to the world you once protected, the one I wish to protect may appear paltry. But to me, it is everything."

"......"

"I do not mind being hated. Even should I be loathed, it matters not. If only... that child can live...!!"

When facing an unknown entity, the standard approach was to retreat, gather sufficient information, and then re-engage. There were those who had ignored that rule, of course—and the great majority of them had lost their lives. He was not a man who could be ignorant of that fact.

And his opponent was a great hero out of legend. To fight her in his current state was, for all practical purposes, an act of suicide.

Even so, this time he could not retreat. His only daughter's life was on the line. And so...

"I would gladly stake even my life."

His presence erupted. The instant the vow left ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his lips, frost began spreading from where he stood, the forest and the grass slowly surrendering to ice. It was an overwhelming aura, worthy of a title as grand as Ice Emperor. And still, Zion showed not the slightest sign ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of backing down.

Just as the two monsters were about to collide, a voice tore between them, raw enough to split the air.

"Wait!!"

"Ifrit?"

"Zion. Let me be the one to settle this."

"But..."

"Please."

Zion had no choice but to sigh and withdraw her prosthetic. When a friend was begging her so earnestly—how could she possibly turn away?

At the heart of a sea of golden trees, two High Rankers stood facing each other as if locked in a standoff. It was a result they had only managed to secure thanks to Zion, who had accurately grasped both parties' interests and mediated at just the right moment.

"Leave it to you, Zion Unni! Thanks to you, I've got at least a sliver of a chance now!"

"...I'd like to think so."

Kkyu?

Zion sighed, giving Fafnir a light pat on the head as the hatchling tilted it adorably, as if he hadn't understood a word.

The gist of it was this: El intended to take Ifrit home because it was too dangerous, and Ifrit had no intention of going back. Zion had used that against them. Rather than letting the two settle it in a duel where the winner's will would simply be done, she had asked for a handicap.

"And why, exactly, must I be the one to provide a handicap?"

"Ice Emperor. If you refuse this proposal, then I, too, will throw everything I have into aiding Ifrit."

"......"

"And more than anything—if you are her father, you ought to give your child a chance. At least once."

The stick and the carrot. By wielding both in tandem, she had finally brought El around. The conditions themselves were, in truth, quite simple.

Unfair—no, outright unreasonable terms. And yet El Roscadi accepted them willingly. He was confident he could win even under conditions as lopsided as these...

"Ifrit. You don't actually believe you can win, do you?"

"......"

"There is only one reason I accepted those terms. To show you reality."

"You're right. Even if I tied down all four of your limbs... I still couldn't guarantee a victory as I am now. But you know what?"

"Hm?"

"I'm not alone."

The instant the words left her mouth, a pure white light—so dazzling it made the mind reel—descended upon them, driving the gold from the forest sea.

Battle Aura.

That miraculous power descended upon Ifrit once more.