The Descent into Arsuga’s Tomb

The colossal sacrificial ground stretched a full kilometer in radius. Every silver-white moonstone tile was etched with intricate runes, and a thin layer of hoarfrost shimmered across them like a delicate, crystalline veil.

Cylindrical walls of smoothly carved rock rose around the perimeter, held fast by grotesque, frozen ice.

A faint beam of light descended from the translucent, icy dome. At the heart of the sacrificial ground stood a towering, iron-colored greatsword, encrusted with frost. Its blade plunged deep into a stone plinth, and four chains, connecting to the rock walls, coiled around its hilt and guard. These chains, too, were covered in a thick layer of ice.

Beneath the long, gray-white cloak, tiny, fair feet, red with cold, pattered across the frosted moonstone surface.

Daphne finally reached the greatsword, named “Winter’s Woe,” after considerable effort. The kilometer-long trek had proven incredibly arduous for her, leaving the inside of her newly acquired cloak completely soaked.

Fortunately, the Snowfluff Cloak’s insulating properties were magical. Constantly absorbing the surrounding cold air, it essentially created an invisible, personal climate control system around her, shielding Daphne from severe frostbite.

“Frostbite” might be a trivial debuff in a game, but in reality, it could easily lead to necrosis and amputation.

Daphne’s skin was delicate, tender, and sensitive. Without the Snowfluff Cloak, she likely wouldn’t have dared to leave the secret chamber; the cold outside was simply too intense.

The ground beneath her feet was the very arena where players battled the final boss, “Arsuga’s Mortal Incarnation,” within the “Arsuga’s Frozen Tomb” dungeon.

After clearing all preceding stages and reaching this point, Arsuga would manifest a physical incarnation of his will, draw the Winter’s Woe, and engage players in combat.

Once his incarnation was defeated, the greatsword would return to its stone plinth.

This, however, did not signify a complete victory over Arsuga. As the God of the Dead and King of the Ice Tomb, Arsuga was immortal; he would resurrect time and again. Only his will-forged incarnation truly fell.

Daphne, having entered through a “backdoor,” naturally couldn’t trigger the boss battle. Moreover, the “End Twilight” had yet to arrive, and Arsuga remained in deep slumber. When one is sleeping soundly, a buzzing mosquito is usually ignored.

However, Daphne intended to plant a kiss, or rather, a bite, squarely on the Ice Tomb King’s forehead today, leaving a sizable welt on the great God of the Dead.

She fastened the amulet necklace around her neck, tucked a gold coin into her cloak’s inner pocket, and then revealed the ring on her index finger.

The dark purple gem immediately began to forge a subtle, ethereal link with the frosted greatsword. A wisp of dark green smoke drifted like silk.

“I request an audience—” Daphne intentionally cleared her throat, yet her voice remained sweet and delicate, “—with the great King of the Ice Tomb, Arsuga!”

The moonstone tiles beneath her feet began to tremble violently. One by one, the four chains binding the Winter’s Woe snapped.

Then, the entire ground abruptly sank an inch.

Daphne observed that, within a radius of approximately five hundred meters centered on the stone plinth, the moonstone floor had subtly recessed and shifted from its surroundings. This sacrificial ground, it seemed, concealed a massive elevator at its core.

What followed was a sight unseen in COG. Daphne felt an undeniable mix of anticipation and trepidation.

No player had ever witnessed the Ice Tomb King’s true form, yet the savagery and hatred displayed by his mortal incarnation were enough to leave a lasting impression on every challenger.

The descent was prolonged, enveloped in profound darkness, with icy air drifting eerily through the void.

As the elevator continued its plunge, the faint light from above seeped into the subterranean space. After multiple reflections, it illuminated the area as brightly as day.

Primeval ice was everywhere.

As far as Daphne’s eyes could see, everything was hard, pale blue primeval ice. Even the fiercest solar flares could not melt it. This land, this very mountain range, stood firm, upheld by the primeval ice layers that permeated the far northern crust.

An ice tomb.

The name was truly fitting.

Arsuga’s resting place was, indeed, a tomb forged from endless ice.

Finally, the elevator reached its base. A slight sensation of weightlessness left Daphne feeling momentarily disoriented, and it took her a few seconds to regain her composure.

The Winter’s Woe, plunged deep into the stone plinth, trembled twice before suddenly dissolving into pale blue motes of light and vanishing. These light particles drifted forward, seemingly guiding Daphne onward.

Daphne glanced left and right. The vast expanse of ice stretched endlessly, with unseen depths swallowed by profound darkness.

It seemed she had no choice but to follow.

She reached the boundary between the moonstone floor and the primeval ice permafrost. The ice here was so pure it could serve as a mirror, and Daphne could clearly see her reflection.

‘Becoming such a beautiful girl still feels a bit unfamiliar; even looking in a mirror makes me feel shy.’

But that wasn’t the main point. The real question was: did she truly have to walk barefoot on the primeval ice?

Daphne hesitated. Just standing there, she could feel the biting cold emanating from the surface. Stepping directly onto it might cause her feet to stick, impossible to tear away.

The pale blue motes of light bobbed up and down, seemingly urging Daphne to hurry.

“I’ll try it first,” she murmured, extending her small, pearl-like toes to gently tap the surface of the primeval ice. “Hmm, it’s actually… only a little cold?”

Daphne had truly underestimated her cloak. If it claimed she wouldn’t feel the cold, then she simply wouldn’t. No wonder people said “the fewer the words, the stronger the effect”—it seemed to be a truth.

Only then, reassured, did she take a step forward. Daphne smoothly stepped onto the primeval ice layer, continuing to follow the flickering motes of light.

Heavy breathing.

Daphne instinctively turned her head.

Yet, she saw nothing. The ice plain behind her remained vast and empty.

The ice ahead was no longer smooth. Several deep ravines, almost two people tall, continuously crisscrossed the path. Daphne estimated that if she fell in, she wouldn’t be able to climb out, and the width was certainly too great for a delicate girl like herself to cross.

‘Were these… claw marks?’

At this sight, Daphne involuntarily drew a sharp breath.

Again, heavy breathing echoed from behind her. A biting, frosty wind, born of winter, permeated each inhale and exhale, and tiny crystals of frost began to form in the half-vampire girl’s fluttering dark red hair.

“Despicable half-blood, who permitted you to wear my fur?”

The voice was deep and hoarse, accompanied by heavy breathing, like the panting of a beast displaying hostility.

An interrogation, veiled in fury and ferocity.

It seemed that if her answer displeased it, she would be torn to shreds in an instant.

She didn’t even need to turn around. Daphne knew that the creature standing on four legs, towering over her from behind, was none other than the Ice Tomb King Arsuga’s mount, the former leader of the Snowfield Direwolf pack, Melville, the “Solitary Alpha Wolf.”

Those deep claw marks were its doing. Legend held that Melville’s form was as colossal as a mountain, and its very breath brought eternal winter to the Northlands.

Daphne raised her right hand, displaying the ring. The dark purple gem stood out starkly against the pervasive ice.

“It is your master I wish to see, not you,” her voice also deepened.

“Lowly beast.”