Lord of The Mysterious Realms Chapter 1220

The Extraordinary item B-01-1-0341, the Doomsday Fire Wall, could be active for twelve hours a day, forming a wall of all-consuming fire that partitioned the very space it occupied. The object itself was a bolt of fiery red silk, but once activated, its flames were utterly uncontrollable. For safety, its daily activation was never pushed to the limit but was instead halved to six hours. During the downtime, they relied on manpower and a shrinking defensive line to slow the snowmen's relentless advance.

The fiery curtain the god now beheld in the night sky was the Fire Wall in all its terrible glory. He could feel a chaotic spirit frantically licking at everything in its path—it was more than mere flame; it was a physical manifestation of greed, gluttony, and destruction.

"Just how many terrifying things exist in the material world?"

The god wondered, perplexed, his gaze shifting to the distant north. Beyond the wall of fire, a cold and oppressive spirit emanated, the signature of the snowman legion. A quick estimate suggested their numbers were well into the thousands. The Church's desperate haste in mobilizing the entire continent's forces was, he concluded, the right decision.

"I have a feeling the Fire of Grace could resolve this, but I doubt it would be a permanent solution... Very well. Let me consider what other methods are at my disposal."

The small, silver-armored beast carried the god toward the fire wall. People on the ground had already spotted their approach, yet they found themselves unable to perform the simple act of looking up.

This time, Jenkins made no effort to conceal his aura. This was the desolate expanse of the Far North, not the bustling metropolis of Nolan. The full might of the God of Lies was unleashed upon this cold world, and the most direct manifestation was this: as his silhouette streaked across the sky, the very trajectories of the stars seemed to subtly shift.

The stars themselves had not truly moved; it was merely the concept of "Lies" spontaneously exerting its influence upon the world.

The golden "meteor" tore through the fire wall that stood between heaven and earth as if it were nothing. The instant they made contact, the ice palace cupped in the god's hand trembled violently, and then the flames vanished completely.

A golden silhouette flooded the dark night sky, its brilliance so overwhelming that the seven-colored aurora paled into insignificance.

Jenkins took a deep breath, stroking the fur on the unicorn's back. He then attempted to dismount, standing unsupported in the air for the very first time.

He was a god; of course, he could do such a thing. As he truly stood upon the void, a strange sense of satisfaction washed over him, making Jenkins feel as if his understanding of the world had deepened by another step.

A golden radiance, the very essence of divine power, showered down upon the cold night. The God of Lies hung in the sky like a second sun, illuminating the vast lands of the Far North. Though the mortals below dared not raise their heads, though the golden light was blindingly brilliant, they could still perceive in their hearts the great being standing in the air and the image he currently projected.

His form was protean, shifting between human and inhuman, ever in flux. Only the palace held aloft in his right hand remained constant.

The god looked down upon the land, the consumption of his divinity allowing him to instantly locate every single snowman. He saw their past and their present; his eyes flickered with the totality of their existence.

After a long moment, he sighed and looked down at the palace in his hand.

"I see," he murmured. "Was this part of your plan as well, Lord of Winter?"

The snowmen were not ordinary creatures, nor were they entirely an exotic species. They were more akin to pure elemental beings, born from the very spirit of the world. In the ancient past, in an age before the Lord of Winter had ascended to his throne, these creatures had been his kin, his pets.

The great cataclysm of that epoch was linked to these very snowmen. In the aftermath, the Savior of that age had immolated himself, grasping a blazing sun to become a god and accomplish a great feat. But the snowmen were forever tainted by the seeds of that disaster, becoming indestructible.

To manage the aftermath, the Savior who had saved the world and the Lord of Winter jointly signed a binding contract, imprisoning the snowmen in the snow-covered lands of the Far North. This was the earliest form of the "Frost Victory Contract"; back then, it was used solely to contain the snowman legion and went by a different name. How they became tainted by the elemental spirits of the material world and attained their current unique status is another long story, one irrelevant to the present.

Not long ago, deep beneath the parliament building, the power of that parchment scroll had seeped through its seal due to Lack Stuart's misuse, transforming some people into snowmen for this very reason.

This explained why the Lord of Winter had given that priest an item to resolve the frost mutation but had not tasked him with dealing with the snowman legion. The Lord knew that no matter how powerful the snowmen became, they could never leave the northern continent.

Once the blizzard was dispelled, they would naturally retreat to the northern ice cap. But to solve the problem permanently, a suitable replacement for that contract—an item now of immense importance to the material world—was needed to contain the snowmen.

That replacement, of course, was the palace held by the God of Lies.

"It feels as though that Lord has just dumped his unfinished business on me," Jenkins mused.

Now understanding the full picture, he realized he had already burned through a third of his divinity. Factoring in the power required to maintain his current, sun-like radiance, he had little strength left to spare.

"Let's put an end to this now!"

The number of snowmen was still too great. Under the circumstances, it was not yet time to use the castle in his hands.

A sword materialized before the god. The holy blade, moving without wind, descended from the night sky, spinning before him.

The spinning blade grew larger and larger until, by the time it plunged into the ice, it towered like a mountain peak.

Along the snowman legion's path of advance, countless bones erupted from beneath the snow, soaring into the night sky—the remains of the Far North's natives and the fallen defenders of the front line. As the sword stabbed diagonally into the ice, a colossal skeleton giant formed from the swirl of white bones extended its right hand through the darkness at the perfect moment.

But it was not enough. The bones alone were insufficient to form a giant capable of drawing the massive blade. Jenkins had little divinity remaining; creating from the void was easy, but he had to rely on his own abilities now. Infusing his powers with divinity, after all, was far more efficient.

Wind and snow swirled. Under the effect of [Ice Solidification], countless snowflakes filled the gaps in the giant's form. At the same time, a cackling black shadow merged into the titan's body, engulfing it in black, demonic flames.

And so, the being that reached out to draw the holy sword was a skeletal giant with deathly pale skin, its head thrown back in a maniacal laugh. Black fire and shadow gave a terrifying light to its empty eye sockets, and the ice and snow that formed its skin became its sturdiest armor.