Chapter 2990: Perfect Half Blood - II

Date: Unspecified

Time: Unspecified

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

Simultaneously, a violent, unforeseen tremor rippled through the souls of all thousand half-bloods deep beneath the capital.

Suddenly, a dormant, celestial power within their bodies woke up, latching onto their bloodline and forcing them into a celestial commitment they had absolutely no warning of. It was the celestial Forsell’s Blessing—the very Frosling trait the elves had spent millennia breeding them for—that violently flared to life. Without their consent, it instantly bound their mixed bloodlines to an unknown blood covenant.

All they knew in that terrifying instant was that their already miserable, imprisoned lives were no longer their own. They were now eternally subservient to the strictures of this blood bond.

Yet, just as these tortured hybrids were completely unaware of the true origins or the precise content of this blood covenant, the Froslings and their new master were entirely oblivious to the hybrids’ existence. The covenant was a passive, waiting tether; if the half-bloods simply stayed out of sight and never crossed paths with the covenant’s anchor, they would never be forced to answer its call.

But to a population that had been treated as lab rats, breeding stock, and chained weapons for their entire lives, the sudden weight of a new master didn’t make a single bit of difference.

However, that blood covenant did something the Snow Elves never thought possible: it lit a spark among the hopeless half-bloods. For the first time in centuries, the dead eyes of the hybrids flickered with a strange, collective curiosity. They all began to move, ignoring their assigned sectors and coming together in the subterranean caverns, asking each other and wondering the same thing—even though none of them had any concrete answers to give the other.

Seeing them break protocol and gather in the central cavern, the prison guards—mere low-tier Snow Elven Devils relying entirely on the ancient array networks of the cave to keep these powerhouses in check—grew incredibly antsy.

"Go back to your caves! Disperse immediately!" the head warden shouted, his voice amplified by the arrays, his hand hovering over the baseline torture runes.

But the thousand Semi-Ruler class prisoners didn’t listen. They completely ignored the threats, too deeply engrossed in discussing what this sudden, soul-binding blood covenant meant. The conversation grew louder, echoing off the frozen pillars as a terrifying realization began to circulate: Did the Froslings just enter a blood covenant with the Snow Elves? Or had something else changed on the surface?

The irony of the Snow Elves’ eugenics project was that the half-bloods identified far more as Froslings than Snow Elves. Their imprisoners had raised them in squalor and darkness, treating them like contaminated beasts, which naturally conditioned them to despise their elven heritage.

Furthermore, over the millennia, they had pieces together the tragic, brutal history of the Froslings. They deeply sympathized and identified with them. Day after day, they could hear their arrogant wardens talk about the Froslings with the exact same venom, disgust, and casual disdain that they directed toward the hybrids themselves. That shared suffering created an unbreakable, invisible bond; the half-bloods felt an intense, instinctual closeness to the Frosling race, even though they had never actually spoken to a pure Frosling in their lives.

Yes, they knew the Froslings—and the rest of the Dark Realm—had absolutely no idea they existed. Their Snow Elven imprisoners had been so utterly confident in the absolute security of their cages that they would carelessly speak their minds, discussing top-secret military campaigns, racial logistics, and political scandals right in front of the cells, fully secure in the belief that nothing spoken down below would ever make it to the surface.

"You brought this on yourselves!" the warden shouted, his face twisting with sadistic glee as he slammed his palm onto the main control pedestal, activating the primary prison array to punish the disobedient prisoners.

Hummmmm—

The ancient, jagged ice runes embedded in the cavern ceilings flared into a blinding, toxic purple light.

As soon as he activated the array, all thousand half-bloods fell to the ground, convulsing and screaming in absolute agony. The array didn’t target their physical flesh; it bypassed their defenses entirely, forcing the raw soul energy inside their bodies to ignite, burning them from the inside out. It was a agonizing, sickening heat that clashed violently with their natural frost affinities.

Yet, even as they writhed on the frozen floor, teeth gritted and veins blackening under the spiritual fire, a terrifying truth remained: they were still Semi-Ruler class devils.

Their physical and spiritual resilience was monstrous. Even though the pain was utterly unbearable, driving ordinary beings to instant insanity, their high-tier physiology meant that physically, they would recover from the trauma in no time. Their bodies were constantly regenerating the damage as fast as the array could inflict it.

However, the warden stood as proof of his sadistic reputation. Watching a thousand demigods suffer at his fingertips gave him a sick, intoxicating rush of power. He stepped back from the pedestal, locking the array into a continuous, automated loop.

"Now enjoy your punishment for the next few hours while I take a quick break," the warden sneered, dusting off his pristine uniform with casual arrogance. He turned toward the exit, ignoring the rumbling vibrations of the half-blood rebellion echoing from the capital above. "It will teach you to ignore my words next time."

As the warden’s footsteps faded down the icy corridor, the agonizing screams in the central cavern slowly devolved into low, rhythmic growls of pure, unadulterated hatred.

The spiritual fire continued to lash at their souls, but amidst the torture, several hours passed. The half-bloods couldn’t have been in a worse condition—their clothes were scorched, their skin was pale, and their bodies trembled from the relentless, internal spiritual burning. Yet, despite the unimaginable agony, their eyes remained firm. They didn’t lose an ounce of their clarity.

Thanks to that unyielding focus, their heightened Semi-Ruler class senses managed to pick up a terrifying, massive spatial disturbance echoing from far, far away.

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