The Familiar Frost
Bitern, who had taken temporary command of the alliance, swallowed dryly as he watched Raon's back recede toward the dungeon entrance.
What the hell is this guy?
How had he split that barrier with a single stroke of the sword?
The moment Bitern had laid eyes on that young—practically childish—face, he'd figured the kid would be easy to use, and he'd struck up a conversation. He had never imagined the boy would unveil monstrous power like that.
He's not just strong.
To smash a barrier of this caliber with raw force, you'd need to be Master-rank at the very least. And he hadn't even used Ganggi—he'd parted the barrier with sword aura. That meant he'd read the flow of the barrier itself.
Sword aura on the verge of completion, and the eyes to read a barrier on top of that…
The kid was a monster.
Bitern had completely misread him. That smile at the beginning hadn't been naivety at all. It had been the easy, unshakable confidence of someone who already knew exactly how this would go.
"Bitern!"
"W-what do we do?"
"He's just walking in."
"You're going to let him go?"
The guildmates who'd come with him from the start crowded in. Every last one of them was pale with shock.
"You idiots. This actually works in our favor."
Bitern watched Raon inspect the entrance and let out a cold little laugh.
"Huh?"
"I-it does?"
"Everyone's terrified. What are you talking about…"
The guild members scowled at him as if he'd lost his mind.
"The Six Kings and Five Demons are already in there, along with other major factions just as dangerous. A guy like that will have no choice but to pick his way through carefully."
"Ah—so then…"
"That's right. We follow at a comfortable distance."
Bitern nodded slowly.
"We wait for him to clear the dungeon's hazards, trail him somewhere safe, and pick up whatever scraps fall our way."
This was better, if anything. Shadowing that kid would give them a human shield far superior to anyone in the alliance. They might not walk away with much—but at least they wouldn't die.
"Get ready. The second he goes in, we run. We have to reach it before the barrier closes."
"Got it."
"Yes!"
Bitern issued the order, then dropped into a crouch. The instant Raon stepped inside, he chopped his hand down.
"Run!"
At that word, the entire alliance sprinted for the dungeon.
The barrier still hasn't closed.
Bitern grinned. The cut really had been that clean—the barrier was still split wide open.
"If we just go in like th—"
He froze, his mouth falling open.
The dungeon entrance shuddered as if an earthquake had seized it, then began to sink into the earth, burying itself.
"Th-this insane—!"
"That bastard collapsed the entrance!"
"D-dig! If we don't go in now, it'll bury itself completely and we'll never get through!"
Bitern clawed at the ground in a panic, but rock and sand kept pouring down from the gorge walls. There was nothing he could do.
A low hum rolled through the air. The split barrier knitted itself back together, layer upon layer, and a vicious fog of mana began to rise.
"You crazy son of a bitch!"
Bitern screamed himself hoarse at the boy who had smashed the entrance to rubble.
"Urgh!"
Dorian's pupils shook as he stared at the collapsing entrance.
"I-is this actually okay? What if we can't get out later?"
"It's fine."
Raon sealed the entrance with thorough, almost leisurely care, and smiled.
"He—he smiled! He smashed the entrance and smiled!"
That, apparently, was even more terrifying. Dorian's shoulders trembled.
"This is the right call. Getting hit from behind is dangerous."
When you explored a mage's dungeon, the magic traps, mechanisms, and barriers weren't the only things that could kill you. Rival explorers who might ambush you from the rear were every bit as lethal as any trap.
The people behind them weren't much of a threat—but stronger ones could always show up. So he'd simply closed the door.
"Okay, but—enemies can't get in, and we can't get out either! Even if we find the artifact, it doesn't mean anything if we die in here!"
"A mage's dungeon never has just one entrance."
"Huh?"
"Think about it. Would a mage really live in here all the time? They'd want to go out for a meal now and then. Pick up magical materials."
"W-well, that's true."
Dorian nodded, his eyes still glazed.
"So would they really walk this path—the one they packed with traps and barriers—every single time?"
"Uh…"
"No. Most of them build a private passage on the lowest floor that only they can use. We leave through that."
Of every mage's dungeon Raon had ever entered, not a single one had lacked a secret exit. Getting out would be far more comfortable than getting in.
"A-and if there isn't one?!"
"Then we dig."
"After what you just did to it, how are we supposed to dig—"
"You've got a shovel."
Raon pointed at Dorian's Belly Pouch.
"I-I do."
"A pickaxe too, right?"
"That too. And a mana-stone excavator, and a wheelbarrow…"
Dorian pulled out a spiral-grooved, spear-like drill and a cart to prove it.
"You carry that around?"
A shovel, Raon had expected. A mana-stone excavator was a surprise.
"It's essential, so…"
"Then we're set. We just dig."
"Ah. Right."
Dorian nodded at once. Once he thought about it, it really wasn't a problem, and he smiled. Simple-minded, and easy to deal with—as always.
"From here on, we just watch the front."
Raon glanced back once, then slid the Heavenly Sky Sword into its scabbard.
"I'm not giving what's mine to anyone."
If he hadn't come, that would be one thing. Having come this far, he wasn't leaving empty-handed. Whatever waited below, and whoever was down there, he would take the artifact that could help Rimer and walk out with it.
"H-he's already calling it his…"
Dorian stuck out his tongue, thoroughly exhausted by him.
"Let's go."
Raon took the lead and started down the cave. There was only one path, and with neither traps nor barriers in the way, they made fast progress.
It's getting cold.
The temperature had plunged the moment they entered. Fitting for a mage famous for water-attribute magic—it seemed the entire dungeon had been chilled.
"Mm…"
Raon caught a shard of frost drifting in the air and narrowed his eyes.
This frost energy, though…
Why did it feel so familiar?
The stronger the cold became, the more it felt like something he already knew. Different from Glacia, and yet alike—the feeling of running into someone from home in the middle of nowhere.
Mm…
Wrath was studying the frost as well, his eyes narrowed in some private calculation.
Wrath. This frost energy, do you—
"Gahhh! It's filthy cold! Right down to the bone!"
Dorian's shriek cut across the question. He was shaking so hard he could barely stand it; he fumbled a fur cloak of Ice Troll hide from his Belly Pouch and yanked it on.
"Would you like one too, Vice Captain?"
"I'm fine."
Raon shook his head.
It wouldn't do anything for me anyway.
With six-star water resistance, cold like this didn't touch him at all.
This actually works in our favor.
The people who'd gone in ahead would be suffering through this too. That put him at an advantage.
The frost grew vicious the deeper they descended. Their breath smoked white, and rime began to settle in their hair.
"Th-there's a hole up there!"
Dorian stamped his feet and pointed at an oval opening at the end of the passage.
"I'll go in first."
Raon checked for presence, then peered inside. It was an enormous cavern, and the cold had sharpened another degree. It felt as if a fourth-circle Ice Field had been spread across the entire space.
As he moved to step through, the Requiem Sword at his waist let out a low, resonant cry.
There was only one reason the Requiem Sword ever sang of its own accord.
The White Blood Cult was here.
So it was the White Blood Cult.
The people outside had said one of the Five Demons had arrived. He'd wondered which—now he knew.
Of course they'd be the fastest.
The White Blood Cult's influence was rooted across the entire continent. There wasn't a region without a branch. Given the information, no one would have moved quicker.
"The White Blood Cult is inside. Come in carefully."
"Eek?"
Dorian clapped a hand over his mouth, the picture of abject terror.
Raon stepped in with care. Corpses carpeted the floor. From the insignia, they belonged to the small and mid-sized groups that had been waiting outside.
Sword wounds weren't the only marks. Bite marks pitted the bodies as if beasts had been at them.
They even tore the flesh off.
From the look of it, they'd gorged themselves in this freezing place. Blood fiends, all right—humanity discarded, drunk on power.
The Requiem Sword felt it too, and its cry turned harsher than before.
Good.
Two birds with one stone.
Not only would he take the artifact—he'd have the chance to put down vampires who didn't deserve to live.
Raon dampened his presence as if he knew nothing at all, and walked toward the center of the cavern.
"A new guest?"
"Two of them? That's not enough."
"Right? There should've been more outside."
"Won't even fill us up."
Twenty White Blood Cultists scattered through the cavern came crunching over frozen blood. Their teeth and lips were caked with human flesh and gore, and their blades glistened red.
"I want the one on the left. Handsome ones always have the tenderest meat."
"I'll take the right. Plenty of meat on him to chew."
Five of the cultists had stripes on their robes. Not ordinary members—priests.
"Shut your mouths and kill them. We will not permit even the slightest interference with our betters."
The cultist in the center stepped forward. Two stripes on the robe—the bishop in charge of this place.
Raon closed his hand around the Requiem Sword's hilt and clicked his tongue in satisfaction.
Perfect.
There was something he'd been wanting to test.
He'd been curious what would happen if he used Clear Rain through the Requiem Sword's grudge against the White Blood Cult. The people in front of him deserved to die anyway. He decided to try it here and now.
At the bishop's gesture, every cultist detonated their blood energy and charged.
The instant the stench of blood brushed Raon's nose, he raised Glacia and drew the Requiem Sword.
The orthodox mantra of Clear Rain swept across a blade steeped in malevolent energy, and a ghastly light sparked along the edge.
The crimson blade burned a deeper red and poured out a demon's wail. A grotesque melody split the air and tore through the White Blood Cultists' ears.
"GRAAAAGH!"
"Ghk—!"
"Kh—urk!"
The cultists who heard that unholy sound vomited blood from all seven orifices—eyes, nose, mouth, and ears—and dropped to their knees. They screamed, writhing against the floor, and then their breath simply stopped.
Only after the Requiem Sword had drunk the blood energy they'd expelled into its blade did its crying finally cease.
"Insane."
Raon looked at the sword, now an even deeper red, and let out a short breath. It was limited to the White Blood Cult, but the destructive power itself was on a different level from Clear Rain. Force like this might even kill an archbishop.
And besides…
It was a little cruel—but it didn't simply kill the cultists. It killed them in agony. The Requiem Sword was satisfied.
"You all right?"
Raon turned to Dorian. The melody had been vicious enough that he'd been a little worried.
"I-I'm fine. But…"
"Hm?"
"It sounded incredibly sad. I can't put it into words exactly, but it felt like my chest was being torn open."
He meant it. Tears stood in Dorian's eyes.
That would be it.
Raon nodded. The Requiem Sword had been forged to honor the spirits of those the White Blood Cult had murdered. Before vengeance, there was the grief of families lost—and that grief had been woven into the sword's cry.
It will end someday. I promise.
He made the vow to the Requiem Sword once more, and sheathed it.
"Let's go."
Raon headed down the passage the cultists had been guarding. The temperature dropped further. It was colder now than it had been at Habun Castle; even their breath felt as if it might freeze in the air.
"Ugh! It feels like my organs are freezing solid!"
Dorian muttered that he was going to lose his mind, and pulled out a fur hat, fur boots, and even a heat-packed magic warmer. The speed with which he swapped gear from the Belly Pouch was lightning-fast.
"Huh? What are these flowers?"
He frowned at the ice blossoms scattered along the passage. They resembled the flowers on a certain bracelet, and yet they were different. And it wasn't only the flowers—blue frost was budding from the walls themselves.
This frost energy… isn't ordinary.
It was a barrier.
The cold spreading from the ice flowers, the walls, and the floor wasn't merely dropping the temperature. It was a viscous frost. It slipped in through the nose and mouth and froze the respiratory tract from the inside—a lethal barrier.
Anyone foolish enough to simply endure the chill would be dead of respiratory failure before long. The proof lay in every corner of the passage: corpses frozen through, cold as stone.
Raon kindled the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames and melted every thread of frost reaching for him and Dorian. It cost aura, but moving like this was the better choice right now.
"Th-thank you! It feels like I just downed a whole bowl of stew."
"I have to look after my wallet."
"Huh?"
"Never mind."
Raon smiled faintly and walked on. A soft light was spilling from the end of the passage.
"This is…"
Inside, a beautiful lake glowed with blue light.
"A lake? Are we supposed to cross it?"
Dorian checked the far shore and allowed himself a small smile.
"This looks easy. The distance isn't even that far…"
"That's not what this is."
Raon frowned and closed his hand on his sword hilt.
In that instant the lake surged like a breaking wave and gathered toward the center of the chamber.
The condensed water shot up like a fountain and sculpted itself into a colossal human shape. A five-meter Ice Golem, ice flowers carved across its body, opened eyes of burning red.
"Wha—!"
Dorian stumbled back with his mouth hanging open, his finger shaking.
"A g-golem! An Ice Golem!"
"And a nasty one, at that."
This was no ordinary Ice Golem. It could shift freely between liquid and solid, which meant its regeneration was ferocious. To put it down, you either had to melt the entire body or shatter the core.
They built this well.
The flow of mana was perfectly uniform.
Even spreading his senses through the Cultivation of Ten Thousand Flames, he could barely feel the core inside. The Demonic Eye of Wrath couldn't find it either. They'd hidden it by making it identical to every other grain of ice.
Just in case.
The gap with the groups ahead was too wide to spend time hunting for the core. But he remembered that this place's frost had felt familiar, and he circulated Glacia.
The instant he swept the golem with frost of exceptional purity, he felt it—a faintly different, half-moon shard of cold nested inside the right shoulder.
That's the core?
He checked again. A current slightly unlike the rest of the body was rising from the right shoulder.
Worth a try.
Raon drew the Heavenly Sky Sword and sprinted forward.
The golem reacted at once, bringing a fist the size of a man's torso down like a thunderbolt. Because it was liquid, the motion itself was smooth—and fast.
The moment the fist fell, Raon kicked off the ground, rose, and drove his blade into the half-moon shard Glacia had found.
A sound like shattering glass rang out, and the golem stopped moving.
It trembled through its entire body, then collapsed the way a sandcastle goes under a wave—spilling across the floor as blue liquid.
"Huh? Huuuh?"
Dorian stared at the Heavenly Sky Sword with his mouth wide open.
"W-was that just a thrust? You broke a golem with a single thrust?"
"I shattered the core."
"You found the core in one try? What are you, a mage?"
"I got lucky."
Raon flicked the ice shard off the Heavenly Sky Sword and clicked his tongue.
Strange, though.
Even if Glacia carried frost aura of exceptional purity, pinpointing a golem's core was something else entirely.
Doesn't this place's frost feel familiar to you?
Raon called to Wrath on his forearm.
Nngh…
Wrath only groaned, offering no answer.
Wrath?
"This King needs to think. Be quiet for a moment."
He waved a hand and glared at the flower patterns that had been carved into the golem's body.
Peculiar, all right.
Raon snorted a quiet laugh, opened the door the golem had been guarding, and went through.
A short, dark passage gave way to three pitch-black tunnels whose interiors could not be seen at all.
"Which way do we go?"
Dorian looked over the three tunnels in turn and muttered that they were identical in size and shape.
Raon spread his aura sense, trying to read the insides—but it sheared off before it got far. The frost within was disrupting the movement of his perception.
He knelt and studied the tracks on the floor. Following human instinct, most people had taken the right-hand tunnel or the center—but a fair number had gone left as well.
Which way?
Time was short.
Even having saved as much as he had, the gap with those who'd gone ahead was considerable. A wrong choice here would put them even further behind.
Just in case.
Glacia had helped before. He drew the frost up again, hoping it might help once more.
Using frost of exceptional purity, he examined the right-hand cave, then the center, then the left. Unlike with the Ten Thousand Flames, his perception didn't break—it continued inward.
Glacia really is more useful here…
He paused.
While he was reading the leftmost cave, he felt a hairline gap in the left-hand wall. A hole so small a thread would have struggled to pass through it.
This gap…
Raon threaded Glacia's frost into the crack.
They'd installed a covert barrier even here.
Psychology, and minute mana control woven through it.
Loengrin's mana work was on a different level from any other mage's dungeon Raon had entered. It was so natural that even he had nearly missed it.
No wonder it was never found.
The leftmost cave, which the fewest people had entered—and a secret passage set as a barrier in the wall just inside. Of course no one else had discovered it.
I should keep Glacia running.
This cave's frost and Glacia didn't merely feel similar. They shared a great deal. If he kept Glacia circulating, they would be able to move faster and more easily.
"H-how did you even find this?"
Dorian's jaw trembled, his eyes saying he'd never met a human being like this.
"Did you make this place, Young Master?"
He'd slipped back into calling him Young Master, the way he used to. He really was that shaken.
"Coincidence. Let's go."
Raon was about to step inside, a faint smile on his lips, when a voice touched with wonder spoke from behind him.
What…?
He'd missed a presence?
He seized his sword hilt and spun. An old man in a blue robe, his long beard nearly brushing the floor, was floating in midair. His legs were gone. His entire body was transparent; the wall behind him showed straight through. He looked, quite literally, like a ghost.
"Wh-who are you…"
The old man drifted closer with his mouth hanging open. There was no presence at all—only a tide of chill.
He hopped in place like a child and cheered. He was transparent, and yet he looked as if his face had gone red with joy.
"What are you doing?"
Dorian tilted his head; he couldn't see the old man at all.
He really is a ghost…
Wait.
If there was a ghost in this place, there was only one person it could be.
Loengrin.
The round glasses, the blue robe engraved with flowers, the narrowed eyes—he was much older, but he looked exactly like the Loengrin described in the books.
"Are you Loengrin, sir?"
He nodded so hard with delight that his whole translucent form bobbed.
"Then why are you here…"
"Haa. This King understands now."
Wrath looked at Loengrin and let out a long, weary sigh before Raon could finish the question.
Understands what?
"Why this place's frost felt familiar. Why the name felt familiar. This King knows it now."
Wrath lifted a finger and pointed at Loengrin.
"That one's true name is Loen-Yellow. He is a servant to whom This King lent power."
"Ah!"
Raon's eyes flew wide.
So that's why the frost felt familiar.
The reason this place's cold had felt like home. The reason Glacia had been able to smash the golem's core and find the passage. All of it was because Loengrin had inherited Wrath's frost.
In that case…
Raon looked at Loengrin and clicked his tongue, tasting the thought.
A new sucker?