Chapter 2980: Heralds Of The Frosage - II
Chapter 2980: Heralds Of The Frosage - II
Date: Unspecified
Time: Unspecified
Location: Myriad Realms, Dark Realm, Gelid Alps, Snow Elven Region, Forsell District, Frosnow City
More than anyone in this room, these old warriors understood that death was already knocking at their doors. Age and brutal labor under the elven yoke had long since claimed their physical peak, and the absolute end of their natural lifespans was merely a matter of time. Rather than linger as fragile, decaying burdens upon their struggling race that was about to attempt a desperate, high-stakes exodus, they had come tonight fully prepared to sacrifice their remaining seconds on the altar of their people’s future.
If their deaths could secure even the faintest glimmer of hope for their race’s future generation, they would embrace death without a single ounce of regret.
The moment the Primordial Calamity Daughter Gems dissolved in their throats, the ambient temperature inside the hall completely shattered.
The grotesque, poorly healed battle scars on their pale blue bodies began to pulse with a blinding, toxic gold radiance. Their fading, elderly heartbeats suddenly surged, hammering against their ribs like war drums as the energy of the Calamity Gems began violently restructuring their failing biology on the cellular level.
Before the wide, disbelieving eyes of the tribal leaders, a miracle of flesh and pure energy unfolded. Phantom limbs materialized out of pure golden light, solidifying into powerful, muscled arms and legs. Clouded, missing eyes snapped open, blazing with a piercing, rejuvenated clarity. The withered, stooped stature of the six dozen dying veterans straightened, their bones popping as they regrew their lost vitality and senses, becoming whole again.
The Chieftain and the heads of the Frosling tribes were completely astonished. They stared in absolute awe at the sheer volume of transforming energy violently saturating the room, distorting the local spatial gravity until the heavy stone walls themselves seemed to groan under the pressure.
These weren’t just healed old men. As the dying veteran Frosling warriors achieved a state of biological perfection, they were being fundamentally remade. The frail, decaying aura of mortality was completely burned away, replaced by the crushing, terrifying presence of newly forged super-soldiers.
Where six dozen liabilities once stood, a legion of elite, red-eyed monsters had just been born.
I watched the transformation finish, a cold, satisfied grin cutting across my face as a rapid-fire cascade of notifications pinged in my grimoire, confirming that all six dozen Froslings had successfully converted into my bloodkins.
Their sheer, unwavering sacrificial spirit, combined with the absolute weight of their race’s newly forged blood covenant, had allowed them to perfectly inherit my cursed bloodline. They hadn’t just been biologically rejuvenated; they had been completely re-architected on a metaphysical level. They transcended their original racial limits to bind directly to my hybrid physiology, a few of them were able to inherit one of my core skills, physique, traits, and runes. Standing before me now, they were living, breathing extensions of my own power.
But the metaphysical feedback loop of a bloodkin conversion wasn’t always a one-way street.
The moment the bond fully solidified, a heavy, freezing sensation bloomed deep within my own soul. A stark, system-tinted notification flared to life across the pages of my grimoire:
[You have inherited the ’Blessing Of Frosell’ from your bloodkins through your Cursed Bloodline.]
A cold, exhilarating rush of absolute clarity swept through my veins. The Blessing of Frosell—the remnants of the fallen celestial will that these veterans had carried in their very blood—had just been siphoned right into my own thanks to my Cursed Bloodline.
This meant that now, even I could roam free in the Winter Valley without worrying about its notorious glacier fever.
I looked up at the resurrected warriors, the dark, crimson glow of my eyes perfectly mirroring theirs. I couldn’t be more satisfied with this turn of events. The Blessing of Frosell alone made this entire high-stakes gamble worth it. The valley’s deadliest natural defense was no longer a threat to me; it was a sanctuary.
While I was lost in my own thoughts, a heavy rustle of fabric echoed through the hall. The Chieftain and every single tribal head dropped to their knees, bowing their heads so low they nearly touched the blood-stained stone floor, shouting in unison, "Glory to His Highness, Dalton V. Wyatt!"
"Long live His Highness, Frosage!"
"By his command, we prevail!"
"His will shall be done!"
To them, what they had just witnessed was nothing short of an absolute miracle.
They had heard myths of legendary elixir pills capable of pulling even devil-level entities back from death’s door, extending their lifespans, and restoring them to their absolute physical peaks. Such miraculous medicines were priceless treasures that even the ruling Snow Elven royal clan would hoard and cherish. Yet, I had just casually manifested six dozen of them, tossing them out to a bunch of broken, dying old warriors as if I were distributing cheap street candy.
When they had first learned about my specific demand for expendable, elderly veterans, they had internally assumed the worst. They fully believed I planned to use these old souls as meat shields or suicide bombers for some horrific distraction.
What actually transpired was the exact opposite. I hadn’t thrown their lives away; I had granted them a completely new lease on life.
I signaled the Frosling bloodkins to raise the Chieftain and tribal heads to their feet. Honestly, I was a little embarrassed by their frantic, overwhelming reverence. But looking at it from their point of view, it made sense. I wasn’t required to do any of this. The blood covenant was already sealed; I already owned them completely. The fact that I was actively empowering them instead of exploiting them made them more grateful than they probably should be.
The Frosling Bloodkins stepped forward in unison, helping their tribal leaders to their feet. The Chieftain stood tall once more, his eyes still glistened with emotion. His gaze swept across the reborn warriors of his tribe before coming to rest on one of his oldest companions. Reaching out, he placed a trembling hand upon the veteran’s firm, unscarred shoulder and said softly,
"Serve our master well, Heralds of the Forsage. Bring honor to the Froslings, and let your deeds proclaim the glory of His Highness."