The journey to the Frostfang Caverns was a descent from a civilized heaven into a primal, frozen hell. Alvian used the academy's griffin transit system, a privilege afforded by his Special Entrant status. While other students were confined to the central islands, his destination was one of the untamed, remote landmasses that floated at the outer edge of the academy's domain...a place designated as a Level 30+ high-risk zone, forbidden to all but the most senior students and faculty on sanctioned missions.
As the griffin soared through the endless sky, the scenery below transformed. The magnificent ivory towers and shimmering light bridges gave way to rugged, untamed wilderness. The temperature plummeted, the clean, crisp air replaced by a wind that carried the sharp, biting promise of ice. The griffin finally landed on a windswept, snow-covered plateau, letting out a sharp cry before launching back into the sky, eager to leave the desolate place behind.
Alvian was alone. Before him, the plateau ended abruptly, and carved into the sheer cliff face was a gaping maw of a cave, its entrance framed by colossal, jagged icicles that looked like the fangs of some titanic beast. A visible wave of shimmering cold emanated from the entrance, and the constant, mournful howl of wind whistling through the tunnels sounded like the mountain itself was breathing its last, agonized breath. This was the Frostfang Caverns.
The moment he stepped across the threshold, the cold became a physical assault. It was a pressure, a weight that sought to crush the very life from his body. His interface immediately flared with crimson warnings.
[WARNING! You have entered an Extreme Cold Environment.]
[You are accumulating stacks of [Piercing Frost]. Your health and mana regeneration are reduced by 50%.]
[All Fire-based abilities are 75% less effective.]
Alvian ignored the debuffs. He had endured far worse in the simulation. The interior of the caverns was a breathtaking, lethal cathedral of ice. The walls were formed from a semi-translucent, glowing blue crystal that pulsed with a faint, inner light, illuminating a labyrinth of twisting tunnels and vast, open chambers. The floor was a treacherous sheet of black ice, slick and uneven, where a single misstep could send one sliding into a bottomless crevasse.
He pushed deeper, his new [Prowler's Boots] giving him a sure-footed grip on the treacherous terrain. The silence was soon broken by a high-pitched, chittering sound. From the crystalline walls, a dozen small, vaguely humanoid figures seemed to melt out of the ice itself. They were Cryo Sprites, Level 25 nuisance mobs, their bodies made of razor-sharp ice shards. They swarmed him, their tiny hands launching needles of pure frost.
Alvian became a blur. He didn't have a powerful AOE yet; this was a test of pure combat efficiency. He weaved through the volley of ice needles, the shards shattering against the rock wall behind him. He moved like a phantom, the [Wolf Tamer's Gauntlets] giving his grip an unyielding strength as he wielded his only weapon: the sharp, jagged golem crystal he'd kept from the mine. In his hands, the crude tool became a surgeon's scalpel. He didn't waste energy on powerful blows. Instead, he made a series of quick, precise stabs, striking the central shard that served as each sprite's core. One after another, they shattered with a sound like tinkling glass, their low-level experience points a meaningless trickle.
He dispatched the pack in under a minute, a testament to his brutal efficiency, but he knew this was just the welcome party. The true guardians of the Heart of Frost would be far more formidable. He continued his descent, the tunnels widening, the ambient temperature dropping even further. Soon, he entered a vast, cavernous chamber, and the sight within made him halt in the shadows of the tunnel entrance.
The chamber was a veritable fortress. At least fifty hulking, bipedal beasts patrolled the area in tight, coordinated formations. They were Frostfang Ursids, Level 32 elite monsters. Part bear, part golem, their bodies were a terrifying fusion of thick, white fur and jagged plates of impenetrable ice armor. Their claws were like obsidian daggers, and their roars echoed with the power to cause localized avalanches. At the far end of the chamber, a narrow, heavily-guarded passage led deeper into the mountain—the path to the Heart.
Alvian's mind, a cold engine of calculation, assessed the scene. Fighting his way through was an option, but it would be a long, brutal slog. It would waste time, resources, and could attract unwanted attention from whatever lay beyond. It was the path of a warrior, a brute. It was not his path. His path was that of the phantom, the unseen blade that bypasses the fortress walls entirely.
His gaze flickered to the cooldown timer on [Klaus's Upgrade]. It was ready. His lips curled into a cold, confident smile. This was the exact scenario for which a tool like this was designed. A single, insurmountable obstacle that required a single, overwhelming solution.
He retreated deeper into the shadow of the tunnel, his focus absolute. He took a deep, centering breath, and activated the ring.
"[Blessing]."
The purple gem on his finger flared with a brilliant, silent light. A warm, potent energy flowed from the ring into his body, suffusing his mana channels with a feeling of limitless potential. A new, temporary buff icon appeared in his interface, pulsing with power.
[Blessing is active. The effect of your next skill will be doubled.]
He didn't waste a single precious second.
"[Shadow Weave +2]."
The world dissolved. The sensation was profoundly different this time. The feeling of becoming a phantom was not just a cloaking of his presence, but a deep, fundamental shift in his state of being. The doubling effect of the blessing washed over the skill, amplifying its power to an absurd degree. A system notification confirmed the terrifying result.
[Ding! [Blessing] has enhanced [Shadow Weave +2]!]
[Skill duration has been increased from 2 minutes to 4 minutes!]
Four minutes. An eternity. He was no longer just invisible; he was a ghost with a mandate. He stepped out from the tunnel and into the cavern of the Frostfang Ursids. He walked, his pace calm and unhurried, directly through the center of their patrol routes. He passed within inches of the massive, armored bears, their foul, frozen breath misting the air around his intangible form. They were completely oblivious, their primitive senses utterly incapable of piercing the veil of his Evolved, Legendary, and now super-charged skill.
He was an untouchable god strolling through a field of oblivious mortals. He walked past the roaring sentries, past the sparring elites, past the entire army that would have torn any other player to shreds. He reached the narrow passage at the far end of the chamber, the entrance to the inner sanctum, and slipped through without a sound. The roars of the Ursids faded behind him, their protection rendered a complete and utter joke. He had bypassed the entire dungeon's primary defense without a single drop of spilled blood. This was the power of synergy, the terrifying fusion of cunning, foresight, and a talent that broke the very laws of reality. The Heart of Frost was close. And he still had over three minutes of perfect phantomhood to spare.