Chapter 2994: Another 3rd-rate Race Taking Shortcuts

Date: Unspecified

Time: Unspecified

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

"You can sense the Frosell Realm’s will fragment in me?" The Snow Elf’s eyes narrowed, a sharp, calculating glint cutting through his exhaustion. "I’m guessing you are the leader of the numerous unknown Froslings running around in the Frosell District cities before we lost contact with the cities entirely?"

His speculation showed me exactly how deep, meticulous, and efficient their surveillance network across the Frosell District truly was.

"I thought we had bought every single Frosling in the Dark Realm," the King continued, his voice dripping with an arrogance that not even the Fleeting Youth curse could entirely wither. "But it seems we were deeply mistaken. I don’t know what crack you crawled out of, but you should have stayed there. After all, it’s not easy for your race to step into ruler class. Now that you are here... you will join your brethren and breed for the glory of the Snow Elven Race."

I almost laughed at his absolute certainty. No, the Snow Elf wasn’t mistaken about my racial identiy. Apart from wearing the Master Craftsman’s Mask, I had deliberately modified my soul energy signature to perfectly resemble a pure Frosling using my Myriad Devil Transformation. Boosted by my current, barely Ruler-class strength, the effects of the transformation were incredibly profound—strong enough to completely fool an actual Ruler-class devil who was looking right at me.

To him, I wasn’t an outside apex predator dismantling his kingdom; I was just a remarkably powerful, rogue piece of livestock that had somehow evaded their genetic census.

"I heard the Snow Elven Race was one of the proudest races in the Dark Realm, taking absolute pride in the purity of their bloodline. The fact that you guys have grown desperate enough to call incestuous hybrids your own family... I guess rumors are just that: rumors," I jeered at the Snow Elf hovering before me, my voice dripping with casual disdain.

I leaned forward, letting my mocked Frosling aura flare with condescending pity. "I guess you guys are no different than those third-class races and primitive tribes taking gross shortcuts just to reach the Ruler class realm. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that there are no shortcuts to meaningful, lasting success?"

The words hit him like a physical strike. His newly wrinkled face twisted, his silver eyebrows knitting together in a spasm of wounded aristocratic pride.

While I kept his eyes locked onto me, my mind was simultaneously processing a massive influx of data. Down in the Snow Capital, my clone had already successfully slipped inside.

The clone was now sending me live, vivid reports about the Snow Capital’s current catastrophic status—and it matched perfectly with the bits and pieces Sansa had been feeding me through the communication network based on what she had aggressively gathered from the memories of the Semi-Ruler Snow Elves leading the assault squads into the city.

The capital was a total warzone. The thousand Semi-Ruler half-bloods nobody knew existed, pop out of nowhere in the middle of the capital and started to systematically hunt down every noble house patriarch who had used them as lab rats.

Many in the Dark Realm had long suspected that the Snow Elves resorted to interbreeding the two races to inherit the Frosling’s coveted blessing. But until now, absolutely no outside force possessed the concrete evidence to support it, nor could anyone accurately speculate if they had actually succeeded. The Snow Elves had been terrifyingly thorough in erasing every single trace of their experiments.

It wasn’t because they feared political backlash from the rest of the realm—no one would realistically blame them for exploiting a lesser race, especially their slaves—it was simply a calculated measure to ensure their Frosling livestock wouldn’t discover the horrifying truth and stop breeding out of sheer terror.

What truly surprised me, looking through the tactical data, was the sheer caliber of their secret army. These half-bloods were all collectively at the Semi-Ruler class level, but more importantly, they possessed an average potential to eventually break through into genuine Ruler-class existences.

It was a genetic miracle. It was as if Forsell’s Blessing—the grace of the Frosell Realm’s will—perfectly complemented the Snow Elven bloodline, unlocking a tier of evolutionary potential neither race could achieve on their own.

And looking closely at the active, bleeding traces of that very realm will fragment tangled within the divinity of the Snow Elf hovering before me, the final piece of the historical puzzle clicked into place.

He was Patient Zero.

He wasn’t just a beneficiary of the project; he was the one who had discovered the secret in the first place. He must have been the very first to figure out the profound, evolutionary synergy between the Frosell Realm’s blessing and their own snow elven bloodline.

I would bet everything I owned that the withered Snow Elf standing in front of me was the exact reason why the Snow Elves went to the monumental trouble of buying up every single Frosling in existence, establishing the Frosell District, and granting them a beautifully packaged, completely false illusion of freedom.

He was the mastermind who designed the entire ranch, meticulously cultivating the livestock within the safety of the fence until the harvest was ripe.

I could be absolutely certain about this because of the Snow Elven Royal family’s crest boldly inscribed across his Ruler-class armor set, alongside the pristine, unblemished purity of his underlying bloodline.

During my initial background checks on the territory, I had managed to pull up a rare, heavily secured portrait of the Snow Elven Empyrean and his immediate family. Among the faces gathered in that grand painting, one vital figure had been completely missing: the Snow Elven Heir, the Crown Prince of the Snow Elven race.

The empire had kept him entirely out of the public eye since the very day of his birth, fearing he would be the target of assassination attempts of their numerous regional enemies and deep-seated rivals. At least, that was what the rest of the Dark Realm believed.

Now, looking at the intricate royal embroidery on his chest and the sheer purity of his bloodline, I had incredibly strong reasons to believe that the Snow Elf standing right in front of me was none other than that mysterious Elven Crown Prince—the Royal Heir himself.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.