Card Apprentice Daily Log

Chapter 2979: Heralds Of The Frosage – I

Date: Unspecified

Time: Unspecified

Location: Myriad Realms, Dark Realm, Gelid Alps, Snow Elven Region, Forsell District, Frosnow City

The First Bloom Festival—the traditional New Year of the Frosling race.

It was a celebration tied explicitly to the old calendar of the fallen Froswell Realm. Because of the complex astrophysics calculations and the intense time dilution between their original home and the Dark Realm, the festival actually occurred four times within a single Dark Realm year.

Therefore, like clockwork every quarter, a massive migration wave would trigger. Froslings from every corner of the territory would pack up and gather at the Forsell District—specifically converging right here in Frosnow City. They came to celebrate the First Bloom with their loved ones, reunite with their fellow kin, and briefly forget the weight of their subjugation.

The Chieftain and the heads of all the Frosling tribes had been planning to utilize this massive holiday gathering to organize a seamless, collective exodus straight to the Winter Valley.

The goal was to vanish from the Snow Elves’ territory before their masters even had time to organize a proper manhunt, let alone establish a military blockade.

They weren’t stupid. They knew the Snow Elves would eventually notice an entire race disappearing from their censuses. But they were banking entirely on the element of surprise, catching the elven garrisons completely unprepared and scrambling for answers.

Most importantly, they were counting on the forces of their new master to protect and aid them during the high-risk transit. That was the real reason they were in such a frantic hurry to swear their unconditional allegiance to me tonight.

Considering the massive realm difference between the average Snow Elven warriors and the average Frosling warriors, they knew that without my direct intervention, my forces, and my heavy hitters protecting them through the journey, a mass migration would just turn into a mass slaughter. They needed a god to shield them, and they had just bought one with a blood covenant that was basically a race-wide slave contract.

Their idea was simple: someone who was able to effortlessly produce a potential Ruler-class core forging technique must have a massive, terrifyingly strong Ruler-class force backing him. In their minds, as long as that powerful backer willed it, even on their own home turf, the Snow Elves wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing to stop the mass migration of the Frosling race from the Gelid Alps to the Winter Valley.

They weren’t wrong to assume that. Anyone with a sane mind would have reached the exact same conclusion.

Unfortunately for them, they were dead wrong.

I didn’t have a grand, sweeping Ruler-class army waiting in the wings. I wasn’t the vanguard of some unstoppable cosmic empire. I was a lone, non-native Demon Merchant operating from the shadows, whose strongest retainers topped out at the peak of the Semi-Ruler class.

If the Snow Elves mobilized their true upper-echelon powerhouses to stop this exodus, there was no massive fleet coming to bail us out. We were entirely on our own, playing a high-stakes game of smoke and mirrors where a single misstep meant absolute annihilation.

But looking at the worshipful, desperate faces of the tribal heads before me, I didn’t let my expression waver for a fraction of a second. A master strategist doesn’t need a massive army if he can make the enemy believe he has one—and if they could execute their roles with flawless, lethal precision, the Snow Elves wouldn’t realize what happened to the Froslings after tonight.

I swept my gaze across the chamber, meeting the reverent eyes of the Froslings before issuing my command. “Bring me those whose lives are nearing their natural end, yet whose resolve remains unbroken. Let them give their final breath in service to our people.”

The Chieftain and elders didn’t question my orders. The Chieftain simply clapped his hands, signaling the attendants outside to let the chosen veteran Froslings in. Moon Fright had already thoroughly informed them of my specific demands if they wanted to follow me, so they had made all the necessary arrangements as per my wishes beforehand.

Slowly, about six dozen elderly Froslings filed into the room, coming in pairs from each represented tribe. Despite their advanced age, they carried themselves with a quiet, heavy dignity. They bowed to me one by one before respectfully taking their places, standing right behind their respective tribal heads.

I nodded to each one of them, my sharp senses immediately picking up the familiar, dense pulse of the noble-class energy signature radiating from their frail bodies. Unlike the ordinary elders who had received me alongside Moon Fright at the city hall, these veterans had clearly been granted the Frosilk method. It meant these old souls were deeply trusted by the high command.

However, time and war had taken a brutal toll on them. They were not only deeply aged, but they were covered in a lifetime of jagged battle scars. Some had lost limbs, others were missing eyes or senses, and a few looked outright grotesque from the poorly healed trauma.

Well, it was exactly what I had asked for. I had explicitly specified that it would do as long as they still drew breath. However they needed to be absolutely trustworthy, experienced, and fully prepared to die for the future of their race. Also expendable enough that their sudden absence wouldn’t cause a ripple among the general population.

They were the perfect candidates for what came next. To the Snow Elves, they were just a bunch of broken, decaying slaves past their prime. To me, they were the perfect foundation to show off my prowess to my new retainers.

Then, I manifested six dozen Primordial Calamity Daughter Cores, each taking the form of a lustrous golden pill that floated suspended in the chilling air of the meeting hall. With a precise burst of celestial force, I flicked my wrist, delivering exactly one pill to each veteran Frosling warrior.

I looked over the broken, scarred vanguards and declared, “Those of you who are prepared to surrender even death to my will, swallow the pill and be reborn as my heralds. Let your final breath mark the beginning of your eternal service.”

“Your wish is our command, Your Highness!”

The veteran Froslings answered in a booming, synchronized roar that shook the very dust from the ceiling. Without a single trace of doubt, fear, or hesitation, they reached out, caught the floating golden pills, and swallowed them whole.