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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Silverriver
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“One death is a tragedy, but a million deaths are a statistic.”
She had read that sentence in a book when she was younger. Agnes hadn’t understood it, so she had asked her father what it meant. How could a million deaths be a statistic when a single death was a tragedy? A million was more than one, so shouldn’t the tragedy be magnified?
Her father had simply stroked her hair, a wistful look in his eyes.
“You’ll understand someday. Hopefully, you never will.”
Agnes now understood those words, written by a dictator.
“AAAAAGH!”
Screams echoed. Blood sprayed. Severed limbs littered the snow-covered battlements. Her eyes darted frantically. Countless lives were being extinguished.
As if drawn to a flame, they threw themselves into the inferno of war.
She was witnessing it for the first time.
War. It filled her with terror and revulsion. Agnes fled from the all-consuming flames.
“Gasp… gasp… gasp…”
She tried to catch her breath, but her lungs burned. Her mind couldn’t process the carnage unfolding before her.
Orc heads rolled across the snow. The screams of soldiers and monsters formed a gruesome symphony.
The battlements were their stage, and the survivors, the audience. One by one, the actors took to the stage and died.
Unable to bear the horrific sight, she squeezed her eyes shut. Lives extinguished so easily. A truly despairing tragedy.
People she had dined with just days ago, now dead. The hand of a knight she had shaken two days prior lay severed on the ground. It was horrific. A single death was difficult to bear, yet dozens, hundreds, were perishing before her eyes.
Paralyzed by fear, her body refused to move, her magic dormant. She tried to calm herself, but it was no use.
Her mind was infected by the virus of war.
-Roar!
An orc, having scaled the wall, glared at her, its battle-axe raised menacingly.
‘I have to block it…’
But her body was frozen, unresponsive. She trembled, looking up at the orc. It grinned, hefting its axe.
A direct hit would be fatal. Agnes knew this.
But she could do nothing. Her magic was dormant, her body unresponsive.
An unavoidable attack. She closed her eyes, praying for a swift, painless death.
-Shing
A chilling sound pierced the air. The unmistakable sound of something being severed. Her neck? Her chest? Perhaps it was an instant kill.
Countless thoughts raced through her mind. But she felt no pain.
“What are you doing here?”
Agnes’s eyes snapped open at the cold voice. Deron stood before her, covered in orc blood. He looked at her, his gaze impassive.
Blood dripped from his sword, a testament to the number of orcs he had slain. As Agnes stared at him, speechless, Deron spoke,
“This is the real combat you so desperately craved. Not just killing a few orcs, but a true battle, where lives are at stake.”
Bell approached, lightning crackling around her hands. She looked at Agnes with concern. Deron continued,
“You can leave if you want. Perhaps you’re not ready for this.”
But he added,
“If you want to experience true combat on these battlements, you need to be prepared.”
“If you’re ready, follow me.”
With those words, Deron ran along the battlements, Wherever his feet touched, the blood of orcs was sprayed. He was different. Bell, channeling her magic beside Agnes, said,
“It’s alright. It’s normal to be frozen by fear in your first battle.”
At her words of comfort, Agnes slowly spoke,
“Then… what about him?”
Bell’s gaze followed Deron as he cut through the orcs, his sword a blur. They fell before him, helpless against his relentless assault.
Deron was smiling, his movements growing faster, his energy seemingly boundless. He didn’t look like an invalid at all.
Bell hesitated, then replied,
“He’s… an exception. I’ve never seen anyone like him. Most people are either terrified, like you, or consumed by the thrill of battle.”
Despite her words, Bell’s gaze remained fixed on Deron. He was her goal, the person she wanted to surpass.
Agnes forced herself to stand. Her body was heavy, but not immobile.
Bell spoke, her tone laced with concern,
“You don’t need to follow his example, Junior. He’s… different.”
“He told me to follow him.”
Those words echoed in Agnes’s mind.
“Are you sure? He’s not like other people.”
“I know.”
“He’s… chillingly cold. That fire in his eyes will burn out soon.”
“I still want to follow him.”
The fear in Agnes’s eyes vanished, slowly but surely. She tightened her grip on Jeolyeong, mana coursing through her body. Circulation, then manipulation.
White Aura enveloped her sword, frost spreading outwards. Bell, seeing the change in her eyes, sighed, as if resigned.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought you here.”
Deron had already descended from the battlements, joining the Count’s elite knights, slaughtering orcs.
“Haaah…”
Agnes exhaled, her breath frosting the air. The battlements began to freeze. Her eyes glinted.
‘I’ll… become like him.’
Agnes’s growth stemmed from her competitive spirit. And a clear goal accelerated that growth. And that goal was Deron.
The man who had slain the demon Morax, who was now slaughtering orcs like they were nothing. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, then shifted downwards.
The green-skinned monsters clamored to scale the walls.
Roar!
Amidst the rain of arrows, Agnes created a staircase of ice. The transparent steps supported her weight as she descended.
-Thud. Thud. Thud.
The orcs turned their heads, their gazes fixed on her. Like hungry beasts eyeing their prey, they charged, drool dripping from their maws.
But… the orcs had overlooked something.
“Icicle Field.”
A sheet of ice spread outwards from Agnes’s feet, a transparent layer covering the snow-covered ground.
A magic circle shimmered in her hand. Blue lines intertwined, shifting and reforming, then coalesced into a new pattern.
“Glaceon Rose.”
Thorny vines of ice erupted from the Icicle Field, ensnaring the orcs, making them easy targets for the archers’ arrows.
Agnes walked through the battlefield, untouched by blood or gore. It wasn’t enough. The Icicle Field alone wouldn’t allow her to catch up to Deron.
Then she would expand it. Her mana surged, and Jeolyeong hummed, as if understanding her intentions. Agnes gritted her teeth. The mana consumption was significant. But…
-Crackle…
…the results were undeniable. An Icicle Field far larger than any she had created before. Shards of ice sprayed outwards, freezing vines and spikes impaling the orcs.
The battlefield was enveloped in a layer of transparent ice, countless orcs bound by the thorny roses. And in the center stood Agnes.
Noble, graceful…
Like an empress. Agnes had frozen the battlefield.
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“She’s faster than I expected.”
I muttered, calming my surging aura. My gaze was on Agnes, but my sword continued its relentless assault on the orcs.
Her intermediate-level Aura blazed. Jeolyeong followed the path of her sword.
“That’s… a Magic Swordsman?”
The Count’s eyes widened in surprise. It was understandable. I would have been surprised too, seeing this for the first time.
And given the limitations of the Magic Swordsman class, the Count must have underestimated Agnes’s combat abilities.
Shattering his preconceived notions, Agnes was now slaughtering orcs, the battlefield transformed into a frozen wasteland. With most of the orcs ensnared by the thorny vines, the soldiers’ arrows rained down on the remaining few.
The transparent ice roses quickly turned crimson. It was a truly spectacular sight. I couldn’t help but be impressed. She had already reached this level.
A familiar scene, one I had only read about in the novel. Agnes’s ultimate technique, freezing everything except her allies.
“Glacies Palatium (Ice Palace).”
It was only a foundation compared to the palace described in the original story, but…
…if she continued to grow, if she could one day construct her own complete Ice Palace…
‘The world would witness the arrival of an Empress.’
Standing alone on the battlefield, single-handedly holding back the tide of monsters.
The Ice Empress.
The thought of witnessing that with my own eyes filled me with excitement.
I chuckled.
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