Round 47: The Frozen Throne (Part 2)

Amidst the fierce and unbearably cold storm, Moriel felt that the path to the fissure in Xuxkell’s chest was far longer than it actually was. Her clothes, equipment, and even her body had become blurred under the influence of magic, turning into a mist that barely retained its human shape. The gales tore at her, from her flesh to her soul. Wave after wave of impacts struck relentlessly, shaking her vision and balance, trying to pull her into the wildly howling cold wind.
Moriel fought back with her will and spells, determined to fly toward her goal. A little ahead of her, Himb also flew in a hazy, misty form, protected by a faintly glowing magical whirlwind that somehow stood apart in this chaotic frenzy.
Three female paladins flew side by side at the forefront of the small group. White, radiant wings made of holy energy, from which feathers kept falling, surrounded them, appearing as if they were burning in the wind. The female mage knew that despite being just three girls who together were no older than seventy, their combat strength was almost equal to that of half of the Dawn Knight Order. Having devoted themselves to the God of Light since childhood, they used the powers granted to them with an enthusiasm and stubbornness beyond ordinary understanding—making them well-suited to take the lead against another god.
Perhaps they were no different in essence from those black-robed followers of Shirek.
Chloe, with her red hair, flew past Moriel and descended toward the ground, but soon jumped back up and, with a few maneuvers in the air, overtook Himb—had she not suddenly jumped back to find a new landing spot.
Chloe was the only one in the group who did not fly using magic or divine powers. She could move forward by leveraging the swirling ice fragments in the storm, moving with grace as if dancing on ice. About this female swordsman, who had traveled with Moriel since the Pearl Islands, there might be even more incredible aspects beyond her unparalleled combat skills and somewhat peculiar “interests.”
Forty-Seven, who had just used his breath to clear a path for them, disappeared once again in the storm. Even though his true form was an ancient war machine renowned by Kiskain as the “Divine Armament,” and he could indeed use his demon-like power to tear enemies before him to pieces and burn them to ashes, might he ultimately fall silent in the face of primordial horrors born from long-extinct ancient gods, surviving by feeding on the multiverse itself?
Moriel had no time to worry too much. She accelerated, for the path into Xuxkell’s body might close again at any moment in its eternal cold. They had abandoned their magic ship protected by divine sunlight; if they couldn’t end this quickly, their remaining strength would be ground to dust like beans under a millstone in the battle against the winter storm. By then, they would truly be nothing.

Fortunately, such a thing didn’t happen. By the time Moriel entered that gully-like fissure, the holy warriors had already begun carving a path deeper into the rugged terrain, surrounded by razor-sharp ice spikes on all sides. The female mage descended and ended her vaporized state; the semi-transparent magical gas condensed into her red robe, and the weight of her physical body brought her a sense of fatigue as well as stability. The “cave” created by the dragon’s breath was eerily calm compared to the outside, with even a trace of heat remaining. The 47 blasts inflicted less damage on Xuxkell than before, but still more than expected—random bolts of lightning and flames created countless cracks and deep pits that spread inward, penetrating deep into its enormous, abhorrent body. Himb was the first to return to her normal form and stood beside Chloe. With just a glance through her psychic vision, Moriel realized that if they rashly entered those winding passages within Xuxkell’s body—places where destruction and rebirth occurred moment by moment, like a constantly changing, massive spiderweb of dark tunnels—they would soon be torn apart and devoured, completing the work the storm had started. Moriel carefully avoided a hole with its maw wide open at her feet. A bone-chilling wind blew out from within, with jagged, sharp edges protruding from the cave walls, swaying as the cave shook, greedily waiting for anyone to stumble in. “We don’t have much time left,” Himb said as an ice spike thick as a pillar fell, rolling into a crack in the glacier before being crushed by suddenly closing ice walls. “It’s moving forward again… and I don’t think this ice cave will last much longer.” “I think I can try to find Lady Mist’s hiding place…” Moriel stepped beside her. “Can you take us there then?” Himb looked at her and nodded. The two women joined hands and followed the holy warriors as they forged their way forward. Seeing this, Chloe shrugged and used her energy sword to carve a long crack in the nearby ice rock. The ice wall, under the immense pressure, immediately shifted, effectively releasing the force and preventing a more catastrophic collapse. When they stood on a dead-end ice slope with nothing but an ice wall that could freeze fingers on touch in front of them, Moriel finally transmitted a clearer image of the scene gradually taking shape into Himb’s mind. “Come closer to me,” Himb said, extending her hand. “I need to make contact with you to use advanced teleportation.” Naturally, Chloe pulled Moriel along and winked at her. Moriel didn’t have time to worry about that; she was busy helping Himb adjust their position, at least to avoid getting trapped in the ice layers after the teleportation.

Xinbu clearly recited the spell, and a vivid mark formed from magic appeared on the ground in front of her, resembling a blazing line of fire. As the last note echoed repeatedly among the ice cracks, emerald-colored spell flames leaped upward, creating bright trails that surrounded everyone. After a burst of crackling, dazzling sparks, they vanished—leaving only charred remnants and an ice wind that suddenly became much stronger.

Before anyone could even take a breath or feel a heartbeat, the journey through space ended. Moriel was relieved that the intense energy within Zuxkskel hadn’t caused irreversible damage to this teleportation. The world around her became clearer—perhaps due to the reality of physical existence, or perhaps not.

Chloe and Jane, who recovered from the teleportation’s shock sooner, rushed forward almost at the same time. Through the gap between them, Moriel saw Kayro, holding her staff, turning back in surprise at these persistent intruders.

It was a rather magnificent ice palace—more splendid in person than through telepathy. The floor was a single piece of flawless ice, so slippery that even the slightest carelessness could lead to a fall. The mirror-like, transparent ice reflected their shadows, making it impossible to tell how thick it was. The surrounding walls were also smooth, precisely cut surfaces that met at slightly inward angles, curving upward to form a high ceiling.

In the center of the ice palace stood a trapezoidal tetrahedral altar, about a person’s height, also made of ice that must have been frozen for countless years. Kayro stood on the steps in the middle of the altar. Her already pale face became even more radiant under the pale, flickering light on the altar, like ice and snow reflecting sunlight.

Xinbu quickly made several gestures with her hands behind her, her fingers moving so fast that Moriel could barely see them, only discerning that it was likely some kind of powerful attack spell.

“Such a nuisance,” Kayro said, pausing her staff slightly, her voice clearly annoyed.

The white cold light beside her surged dramatically, and a ring of tiny ice crystals burst forth from the altar, spreading toward everyone. The holy flames on the holy warriors instantly died out, and frost covered their armor. Chloe’s energy sword flickered twice, becoming highly unstable. Xinbu stepped back as her prepared spell was counteracted and dispersed. Even Moriel couldn’t help but shiver, feeling the cold wind penetrate her from skin to bone, as if her “cold protection” had done nothing at all.

Kayro didn’t attack further because the light from the altar shot upward. Though the pale light column was dazzling and even beautiful, it couldn’t hide the malice and fear within—it was a vivid evil that was enough to intimidate any living being.

So even Lady Mist, who had fully taken control of Kayro’s body, immediately turned to control and soothe her. Meteor-like ice flames splashed out from the light column one after another, each impact on the ice floor causing a loud rumble—proving that another layer of ice had formed around the palace.

“We’re all sitting on the crater of a volcano now.” Kairo suppressed the light back to its original size and smiled faintly, a look of disdain for all beneath her gaze in that smile: “To have reached this final throne… Do you wish to witness the resurrection of a god, or turn into meaningless ice shards?”
“Is that your goal, Lady Mist?” Ximb was, after all, a legendary archmage blessed by the Goddess of Magic, with an insight into energy transformation and operation unmatched by others: “To absorb its life essence to nurture divine fire and gain the power to rebuild your sacred realm? That’s an ancient abomination! One even true gods fear greatly! And you, having just risen from the ashes after being destroyed by Darkday Xeric, think you can manipulate everything at will?”
“I didn’t think I could control something like Xuxkell. Otherwise, why would I let it run around?” Kairo looked down at her, the mist around her coiling around the altar like snakes, with many tiny ice crystals of perfect geometric shapes mixed in the thick fog: “But now… it doesn’t hurt to tell you.”
“I have to admit, that lucky upstart Xeric was quite skillful at certain tricks.” Kairo glanced toward a corner of the ice palace, and Moriel followed her gaze to see a black humanoid lying limp there—seemingly… O’Sullivan.
“All these years, he’s been very thorough. After defeating me, my temples in the primary material world were destroyed one by one, and my followers were driven away and hunted until they were nearly extinct. I couldn’t even maintain a basic consciousness, only sleeping in a void of spiritual emptiness. But then, just as he was on the verge of total victory, he made a huge mistake. Well, not exactly a mistake… Sister Moriel, your help that time was truly invaluable! Though I am the Goddess of Lies and Illusions, I do keep track of grudges!”
“We helped you defeat the electors sent by Xeric in that meaningless adventure… You absorbed the Darkday divine power from Jason and hid it in a pendant, luring me into bringing it out,” Moriel said coldly. “But it can’t be called help, respected lady. Your lies deceived us, and we reluctantly became your pawns—nothing more.”
“That was just Old Billy’s lie. He was quite loyal, though sadly his confidence didn’t match his abilities. But I did treat him well—entrusting that thing to him. Who knew he’d give it away so carelessly…” Kairo waved her hand, unwilling to talk further: “It’s his own stupidity. Who can blame him? My original plan wasn’t this risky!”
That thing? Moriel quickly associated it with the “Scroll of the God of Forging,” which had first been used to forge Forty-Seven. Just as she was about to ask further, Ximb spoke up first: “Whatever your plan is, it must stop! As a god, don’t you understand what kind of disaster the world will face if Xuxkell is fully unleashed?”

“Stop? As you can see, the mad Xyrik is distributing his divine power like it’s nothing to try and create voters in order to kill me completely. How can I stop him? Of course, if he hadn’t used such foolish methods, I wouldn’t have been able to gather enough divine power to absorb Xykskel’s energy. But who knows what else he might do? If he comes after me in person next time, in his transformed form, I really won’t be able to handle it… Don’t worry, as long as I get enough power to rebuild my divine realm, I’ll leave! If this detestable being causes any trouble in the meantime, that’s not my problem!”
“Only demons from the bottomless abyss would act like this,” Jane said, holding her sword with holy flames burning along its blade. “In the name of the Glorious Lord, I will stop you at any cost!”
“Can’t you guys be a little more sensible, holy warrior girl?” Kayro pointed his staff at the light on the altar, with mist swirling between them. “I’m barely holding back a significant portion of Xykskel’s energy from exploding completely… If you want to fight me here, even if you win, have you thought about how to deal with a fully awakened Xykskel? Oh, right—once things get out of control, this ice palace built within him will collapse first. How will you escape then, and how will you stop it?”
The situation suddenly stalled. Looking at Kayro’s calm demeanor, what he said seemed plausible, leaving Moriel and the others feeling hesitant—could they really only be witnesses here?
A shrill mechanical screech suddenly rang out between them. Ice shards flew everywhere on the mirror-like ground, and a roaring chainsaw, like a shark’s dorsal fin exposed at sea, moved around recklessly, causing increasingly large cracks.
Forty-Seven crawled out of the hole he’d created, covered in ice shards, like a zombie unwilling to rest. He appeared dull, no longer able to maintain his giant form, but his chainsaw sword was still full of power, and his eyes were bright—yet devoid of any emotion.
God only knows how he got here!
A trace of tension appeared on Kayro’s face.
“Impressive,” she said. “The limit of construct creations. Hey, Sister Moriel, though I’m not sure if you can fully control him… aren’t you going to do anything?”
Forty-Seven stood there, hot air blowing intermittently from vents all over his body, like heavy breaths. His chainsaw sword was transforming—the blade folded in, and a thick barrel extended outward. The clinking of gears and mechanical noises likely indicated that this terrifying gun was being loaded.
“Forty-Seven, wait…” Moriel hesitated for a moment before speaking.
The steel warrior turned to look at her, his red eyes filled with a deep silence. The moment their eyes met, Moriel knew clearly that she couldn’t stop him. He was doing what he had to do, fulfilling his destiny, something predetermined from the moment he was born.
We will ultimately yield to fate. She said nothing more and raised her hand to cast a spell.

“Such stubbornness!” Kayro screamed—as a series of explosions accompanied by bursts of flames erupted from the gun barrel, showering the ground and altar with intense blasts.
The ice ring reappeared and expanded, pushing back the bullets, magical energy, and attackers. Pale ice flames rose from the altar, reaching all the way to the ceiling.
Forty-seven swung his metal machine gun to shatter the ice wall in front of him and pressed forward. He wasn’t aiming to attack Kayro—or Lady Mist—none of it mattered to him. He was only targeting the altar, the ice flame energy of XuzxXuzxKerel.
No matter how much he loved watching cartoons and movies, he had to do what needed to be done without hesitation.
“I knew you were just like her—a tool that can only follow preset commands!” Kayro flew upward, her skirt flaring. “Then just like her, be buried forever inside XuzxXuzxKerel!”
She pointed her staff at the pillar of ice light, and swirling mist enveloped it, drawing down that icy, destructive energy. Space twisted and writhed under this stream filled with hatred, as if a serpent slithering along the ground, rushing toward Forty-seven.
The icy light struck him silently—without causing any disturbance even as it penetrated the walls.
But Forty-seven was instantly driven into the wall by that ice light. He still maintained his forward momentum, leaving a silhouette in the ice layer before disappearing.
After Kayro’s powerful strike, the ice palace collapsed inward, with terrifying ice spikes protruding from the ground, walls, and ceiling amidst loud noises.
Only a small patch of ice flame remained on the altar, flickering. It seemed Kayro’s claim that she was suppressing XuzxXuzxKerel’s energy wasn’t entirely true—these flames seemed more like something she already controlled.
Molier emitted a beam of dark negative energy from her fingertips, like a sharp arrow, following the powerful spell cast by Xinbu and shooting toward Kayro in the air. A tsunami-like surge of magical energy disrupted and scattered the mist, destroying any defense that came into contact with it, while the enhanced weak-energy beam struck Kayro’s calf—she cried out in pain and barely managed to summon an ice wall to block the light sword thrown by Chloe, who was agile as a monkey and leaped onto the wall near her. She staggered downward, and three holy warriors immediately surrounded her, their holy flames forming a nearly continuous barrier of light.
Layers of mist swirled endlessly, pushing everyone back. Some cold light points appeared in the mist—vague human figures made of ice, covered in sharp ice spikes like swords, with more swirling around them, forming walls of blades capable of crushing enemies.
The tall ice beings bent slightly and launched their attacks silently, only to be bathed in the rain of fire unleashed by Molier and Xinbu. Mist, holy flames, flying figures, surging magical energy, rows of ice swords suddenly piercing from the ground… As the battle reached its climax, the ice palace shook, becoming increasingly unstable.
Forty-seven felt as if he were falling endlessly, unable to move, like debris still retaining some consciousness after being destroyed, drifting forever through the universe.

He was born to fight against these titanic ancient giants. With countless burning worlds as battlefields, he and his fellow magic robots charged forward, flew, and even passed by stars. Though each had a different form, seemingly each being a separate model, they all charged at their enemies with relentless cold determination—some of them even more terrifying than Xuzexker, as remembered in this body’s memories.

As powerful giants capable of challenging the gods were brought down, entire armies of mechanical golems were torn apart and destroyed, with even more victims among other species like dragons. A faint ripple passed through Forty-Seven, sparking a small spark in his mind. Forty-Seven immediately sent back a hundredfold stronger mental message, sending it deep into the dark and icy depths.

More. At least dozens of larger debris pieces, along with countless fragments, were buried within Xuzexker’s body. He wasn’t alone—these peers, like him, had fought in even more ancient times before the history of their birth and now slept forever alongside their enemies.

Among the mechanical debris, Forty-Seven sensed one that was almost as intact as himself, much slimmer, yet still maintaining a poised stance as if charging with a spear. Perhaps through some form of mutual information sharing, Forty-Seven knew it was Kairo who guided her to Xuzexker’s prison, and she helped Kairo open the entrance, all to fulfill that long-vanished command—to completely and utterly destroy the enemy.

The blue starlight in her eyes had gone out; she showed no reaction to Forty-Seven’s scans. Forty-Seven continued searching aimlessly, one by one. The rest were already completely destroyed—half a leg, an arm attached to a shoulder, a fragmented head… Given their shattered state, it was no wonder they were gone. He didn’t know how much longer he could sustain this state before falling into the same silence as them. Here, there, in the cultivation chambers, beneath the ice and snow—there was no difference.

Suddenly, Forty-Seven thought of Megatron, who had pursued the lost Cube, traveled millions of light-years to Earth, only to get trapped in the Arctic glaciers. What had he felt then?

This thought struck Forty-Seven like a thunderbolt. He had once pursued Morriel with almost equal determination. It wasn’t an order—neither when he had one body nor another. It was his own will, a fierce will, fierce energy—flowing within him. He had used it for the first time in the Misty Temple of the swamps, and Morriel had also helped him unleash this energy, hotter and more intense than the sun.

Forty-Seven still didn’t know what it was—the Blood Axe called it the Forging God Scroll, while that idiot covered in black smoke called it Phaethon’s Blood. Whatever it was called, now Forty-Seven regarded it as a spark. This time, he actively and independently unleashed it, using it to ignite the frozen magical energy within his body, mixing the two like two-colored ice cream.

All the debris fragments trembled, drawn to Forty-Seven, as if he were an irresistible black hole. But “Kari” was an exception—she was complete enough, independent enough for him. Forty-Seven had no interest in merging with a “woman.”

Actually, he knew too that discussing the gender of magic golems was pointless—mowers don’t have genders anyway. But he was forty-seven, and he had long since found ways to amuse himself in the gaps between wars—he was different.
…
PS: The first forty-seventh round! Forty-seven’s home round!
I originally wanted to write about it bursting out of hatred and showing its power, but there wasn’t enough time, so I’ll stop here for now… Thank you all!