The biting wind, a relentless torment in Level 3, whipped around Elias as he pressed deeper into the frost-kissed abyss. His new Frost Resistance buffered him, but the sheer, pervasive cold still gnawed at his core, a constant drain on his dwindling energy.
His Ethereal Sense flickered, picking up faint, almost imperceptible distortions in the frigid air, hinting at the unseen movements of other creatures, or perhaps the lingering essence of the vanished Frost Wraith. He needed shelter, and quickly.
He moved methodically, his Low-Light Vision cutting through the dim, shifting bioluminescence of the ice formations. He tested the slippery ground with each step, relying on his Earthen Affinity to find the scant patches of rock that offered better traction.
After what felt like hours, he found it: a narrow fissure in a towering ice wall, barely wide enough for his bulk, leading into a small, irregular alcove. It wouldn't hide him completely, but it offered a welcome break from the direct assault of the wind and the open, treacherous expanse of the caverns.
Squeezing through the opening, Elias found himself in a pocket of slightly less intense cold.
The air was still frigid, but calmer. He dropped his pickaxe with a soft clink on the icy floor, the sound muffled by the thick ice walls. Exhaustion, a heavy cloak, settled over him. His muscles ached, his extremities tingled with cold, and a deep, gnawing hunger twisted in his gut.
He rummaged through his satchel, his fingers stiff. His meager provisions were chilling rapidly. He pulled out a piece of dried monster jerky, its texture like leather, its taste bland but sustaining. As he chewed, gnawing slowly, he thought about warmth. Heat. His latent Fire Affinity, still locked, felt like a distant, frustrating memory. He closed his eyes, focusing on the internal hum of his Mana Conduit, a vast, untapped well of power that he could almost taste. He willed warmth into his body, a desperate, primal urge.
For a fleeting moment, a faint, internal glow pulsed within his chest, a sensation of genuine heat that momentarily chased away the cold. A tiny, ephemeral spark, no larger than a firefly, flickered into existence just above his palm before winking out, leaving behind nothing but the stinging cold. It was uncontrolled, useless for sustained warmth, but it was a clear sign.
His dormant magic was reacting, stirred by the extreme conditions, struggling to break free. It was a cruel tease, a powerful tool just beyond his reach.
[Notification]
Mana Conduit Activity Detected: Latent Fire Affinity attempted to manifest. Further extreme conditions may accelerate awakening.
He sighed, the plume of his breath thick in the cold air. Relying on uncontrolled magical flickers was not a survival strategy.
He hugged his knees to his chest, pressing his back against the cold ice wall, trying to conserve every bit of body heat. His Anomalous Resilience helped dull the mental toll of the despairing cold, allowing him to focus on the practicalities of survival.
He managed a few hours of fitful, shallow sleep, his senses remaining on high alert.
The profound silence of the ice cavern was occasionally broken by the distant screech of an unseen creature, or the soft creak of the dungeon's living ice shifting, its deep groans echoing through the labyrinthine passages. His Ethereal Sense picked up subtle, fleeting movements, just beyond the range of his Low-Light Vision, confirming that this 'safe' alcove was still very much part of an active ecosystem. He couldn't truly relax.
When he finally forced himself awake, the cold was still a crushing weight, but he felt marginally better for the limited rest. The jerky had provided some energy, but he knew his supplies wouldn't last forever. He needed to find the next way down, or at least a more sustainable source of sustenance. Level 3 was a frozen, alien world, and the creatures here were as unforgiving as the environment.
His pickaxe felt lighter in his hand, a familiar extension of his will. The drive for vengeance, cold and sharp as the ice around him, solidified his resolve. Each monster consumed, each ability gained, brought him closer to the surface, closer to those who condemned him.
He was no longer Elias from Sapporo; he was a creature of the Dungeon of Death, forged in its depths, shaped by its horrors, and destined to return a terrifying reckoning.