Chapter 2987: Patricide - I

Date: Unspecified

Time: Unspecified

Location: Myriad Realms, Dark Realm, Gelid Alps, Snow Elven Region, High Snow District, Snow Capital

Inside the Snow Elven royal palace that looked like it was carved from a single, humongous glacier, a few elegant, pale blue figures moved with hurried grace toward a high gallery. From this grand balcony, they had a perfect, sweeping view of the distant Frosell District, which was currently flickering with erratic, blinding pulses of spatial light.

An elderly Snow Elf, his long silver hair braided with crystalline beads, turned a piercing, glacial glare toward a mature-looking elf standing beside him.

"Didn’t you guarantee the Froslings would never rebel as long as you were alive when I explicitly asked you about their secret meetings?" the elder demanded, his voice cracking like thin ice under pressure. "How do you explain this happening now?"

The mature elf opened his mouth, but for the first time in centuries, no smooth, arrogant response came out.

The harsh truth was, the Snow Elves weren’t completely blind. They had known about the Frosling leadership’s frequent, closed-door meetings, which had increased drastically over these past few days. They weren’t stupid; the moment the Frosling Chieftain and the tribal heads began deploying mana barriers to drive away the ambient snow spirits, it was a dead giveaway.

However, the Snow Elves hadn’t taken those meetings seriously. They had deliberately chosen not to react or bust down the doors, operating under the assumption that if they called out the Frosling leadership over the sudden privacy measures, the slaves would realize they were being constantly monitored through the spirits.

Instead, the Elven high command had adopted a passive, arrogant strategy: they decided to let the Froslings have their little "secret" talks, choosing instead to figure out what the meetings were about by closely observing the Froslings’ actions over the next few days, weeks, and months.

And that was how they figured out the Froslings were planning to find a way to go totally independent from them. Once they learned that, they no longer cared about these meetings of the Forsling leadership. They knew with absolute, mocking certainty that the Froslings would never succeed.

The entire Dark Realm knew the Froslings were recognized as Snow Elven property. No faction or neighboring race would ever bother to help a race of slaves, let alone risk a devastating diplomatic and military conflict with the Snow Elves over them.

As for the true Ruler-class powers? The Snow elves had reasoned that if those juggernauts were ever going to take an interest in the Frosling race, it would have happened millennia ago. The Snow Elves had successfully monopolized the Frosling race because the higher powers deemed them useless.

And even if some overarching, ruler-class force suddenly did take an interest in the Froslings in the future, the Snow Elves knew they wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop a true Ruler-class power anyway.

So, yes—their grand, unified response to the Froslings’ pathetic dream of independence was to simply do nothing. They chose to sit back, drink their fine elven wines, and watch them inevitably crash, burn, and realize their own helplessness.

"Explain why accumulated spatial energy from thirty-seven cities is currently tearing through the spatial fabric!" the Elder roared, the magical pressure around him causing the air to crackle. "They aren’t marching to a neighboring territory. They aren’t asking for a sovereign state. They are leaving the realm entirely. How could you let that happen on your watch?"

"I... I did guarantee it, Elder," the mature elf stammered, his pale skin turning an even ghostlier shade of white as he stared at the distant spatial storms. "Our snow spirits reported absolutely no signs of weapon forging, no mobilization of troops, and no forbidden arrays being smuggled in. They were completely empty-handed! How could they possibly manifest the spatial mana required to shake the entire Gelid Alps?"

"Because you watched them hide their fangs and assumed they didn’t have any!" the Elder snarled, slamming his staff against the icy floor of the gallery,

"Your Majesty, I—"

Boom!

Before the mature Snow Elf could piece together a coherent answer, the very foundation of the glacier mansion shuddered. A deafening, localized explosion ripped through the air, sending shockwaves echoing deep within the heavily fortified walls of the Elven Capital.

Just then, multiple high-ranking Elven guards materialized directly from the icy walls of the palace, surrounded the two royal snow elves, and sank to one knee. Their armor was scorched with fresh, volatile energy.

"Your Majesty! The Capital is under direct attack by the half-bloods!" their leader reported frantically, his standard elven composure completely shattered.

"What?!" The mature elf—the Snow Elven Heir, the Crown Prince—stiffened in absolute shock. To learn that the half-bloods had suddenly organized a violent rebellion and breached the inner sanctuary of the Capital at this exact moment was beyond anything his tactical mind had anticipated.

"How dare those ungrateful mutts?! Slaughter them all!" The older Snow Elf—the Snow Elven Empyrean—completely lost his temper. His majestic aura flared, freezing the very air in the gallery into deadly, jagged shards as he issued an immediate, unconditional execution order for every single attacker on the spot.

However, the Crown Prince immediately bypassed protocol, throwing himself forward in protest. "Your Majesty, calm your anger! We have invested far too many resources, years, and our blood into cultivating those half-bloods, we cannot execute them all now! Our plans to capture Winter Valley will collapse!"

"Shut up! You have done quite enough!" the Snow Elven Empyrean roared, turning on the Crown Prince with a terrifying, suffocating pressure. "How many times have I warned you that those who do not share our pure blood will never share our thoughts? Especially if they are corrupted hybrids!"

In response, the Crown Prince dropped heavily to his knees on the frosted floor, bowing his head in desperate supplication. "Your Majesty, I beg of you, please reconsider! This isn’t just about the Froslings and half bloods but the Snow Elves too!"

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