Chapter 174: Limit
At the very moment the lethal chill in Fenrir’s palm erupted, he suddenly heard two crisp metallic clicks—Clack! Clack! The sharp sound of mechanisms snapping into place was especially distinct at such close range. Nolan, who should have been completely unable to move, suddenly had a pair of half-foot-long, cold gleaming blades spring out from the elbows of his Immovable Bulwark armor.
In the next instant, the supposedly immobilized Nolan drove both elbows sharply backward without warning. The movement was so fast, and the two were standing nearly chest to chest, that even Fenrir, with all his combat experience, failed to react in time. The feral grin on Fenrir’s face froze instantly. All his focus had been on unleashing Frostbite, and he had never imagined Nolan could counterattack under such conditions. Wasn’t this damn bastard supposed to have his soul blasted out of his body?!
With a sickening squelch sound, flesh was pierced as the sharp blades drove cleanly through Fenrir’s chest, emerging from his back, slick with warm blood.
“How… is this… possible…” Fenrir’s eyes widened in disbelief as he looked down at the bloodied spikes jutting from his chest, then up at Nolan. Nolan still stood with his back to him, offering only a hopeless silhouette. Fenrir opened his mouth as if to speak, but instead a mouthful of blood mixed with fragments of his organs sprayed out.
It made no sense. He should have been completely stunned by Soul-Suppressing Howl, his soul suppressed and his body entirely beyond his control. How could he still move? Fenrir could not understand.
Yet the Frostbite in his palm did not stop because of his shock. The terrifying cold, containing the full power of a mid-Gold-tier attack, struck Nolan squarely in the back. With a loud bang, a burst of white frost exploded across Nolan’s chestplate. Fenrir had clearly realized the abnormal defensive power of Nolan’s armor. Ordinary slashes were ineffective, so this move was a pure low-temperature attack meant to counter heavy armor with extremely high physical defense.
The terrifying cold penetrated through the thick plates of Immovable Bulwark and surged into Nolan’s body. The Mythic-grade armor displayed its full defensive strength, forcibly reducing a full-powered Gold-tier strike down to roughly Silver-tier. Yet even the weakened cold was still deadly.
Nolan felt the chill spread through his entire body in an instant, invading his organs and draining away his heat, leaving even his blood filled with icy shards. His health plummeted like a waterfall, dropping in a single moment to below one-third—dangerously low.
“Ugh—!” Unable to hold back, Nolan spat out a large mouthful of blood mixed with dark red ice fragments.
Fortunately, Frostbite required sustained application to reach its full power. Fenrir’s fatal interruption from Nolan’s desperate counterattack broke his control of the skill. Had it lasted even one more second, Nolan might truly have been frozen into a human-shaped ice sculpture.
“Cough… cough…” Nolan coughed violently, feeling as though his lungs might split apart. A lingering fear gripped him—he had come dangerously close to defeat. He had to admit that in that exchange, he had lost. He had relied too heavily on his advantage as a “player,” trusting the so-called “system prompts,” and that habitual mindset had nearly cost him his life at the hands of the old fox Fenrir.
The immense satisfaction of instantly identifying the real body among six clones had made him lower his guard. He had never expected Fenrir to pull off something like “mirror reflection.”
In Glory, the diversity of skills and the freedom of professions gave everyone a unique experience, but it also meant combat difficulty depended not only on level, but also on proficiency and imagination. In a game, it was brilliant design that enriched the experience; in this real world, it meant danger often lurked in the unexpected—just like Fenrir’s illusion this time.
Soul-Suppressing Howl had indeed been a killing move. Against any other opponent, more than ten seconds of mental disruption would have been enough to die several times over. If Nolan had not once been trapped and repeatedly tormented in Qroshu’s mental world, greatly strengthening his mental power and will—allowing Lord’s Authority to reach an astonishing ninety percent resistance to mental-control magic—he would certainly already be dead.
If not for his Dragonkin bloodline, which gave him over fifty percent more health than a typical heavy warrior of the same level, he would not have survived either. Although Soul-Suppressing Howl had not fully controlled him, it still caused about one second of soul shock, during which he truly lost control of his body. But his powerful mental resistance allowed him to break free faster than expected.
As for the final Frostbite, any other Silver-tier warrior—even wearing the same divine armor—would have died without question. It was precisely that extra fifty percent of health that allowed him to withstand the lethal blow. Even with the life-saving skill Unyielding, a point-blank hit from Frostbite could have frozen his internal organs to pieces. Even if he survived for five minutes after his health hit zero, the agony might have rendered him unconscious or frozen him completely immobile, leaving him to die unnoticed on this chaotic battlefield once the effect ended.
This battle had truly been perilous.
“Thank you, Fenrir.” The bloodstained blades snapped back into place as Nolan turned around, looking through the visor slit at the man before him. Fenrir’s face was filled with disbelief as his life rapidly faded. “Next time, I won’t be careless.”
With that, Nolan lowered his wrist and drove Mountain’s Resonance mercilessly into Fenrir’s heart. With a dull sound, the heavy blade easily pierced through armor and ribs, emerging from his back. Fenrir’s body trembled, and the ice-blue longsword clenched in his mouth finally fell with a clang onto the ice.
With his remaining right hand, he tightly grasped the arm Nolan had thrust into him. Even in death, he could not understand—he had clearly held every advantage, clearly driven this young man into a corner—so why was he the one who died in the end? But he would never receive an answer.
His grip slackened and fell away. Fenrir’s tall body swayed before collapsing backward onto the ice, shattering it into a spray of fine crystals.
【Major Battle Objective Completed: Kill “Frost Wolf” Fenrir】
The system notification floated before Nolan’s eyes, but he had no mind to read it. With Fenrir’s death, the Frostbite Domain he had constructed lost its support and began to collapse rapidly. Cracks spread across the once-solid ice beneath Nolan’s feet as the endlessly flowing Somme River reclaimed its course.
Large chunks of ice churned and collided in the muddy water, producing dull, rumbling sounds. The allied soldiers frozen into ice sculptures sank along with the breaking surface into the frigid depths.
Nolan pulled out Mountain’s Resonance and flicked the blood from its blade. He coughed violently before spitting out another mouthful of blood mixed with tiny shards of ice. Seeing “Frost Wolf” Fenrir’s sword lying nearby, his player instincts kicked in, and he reflexively bent down to pick it up—only to cry out in pain.
The final Frostbite had left him with internal injuries. Even bending slightly made his organs feel scorched by freezing pain. He quickly took out a bottle of Leus’s specially made healing potion and drank it in one gulp.
Compared to experience points, the real combat experience from this battle was far more valuable. The sword itself, called Ice Wolf, was not top-tier despite being Fantasy-grade, but as a unique elemental weapon, it would be useful for a companion.
He let out a sharp whistle. From not far away, his warhorse neighed in response and galloped over, nimbly stepping across the breaking ice floes. Nolan mounted in one motion and surveyed the battlefield.
Hank was shouting “Disarm and you won’t be killed!” while driving the last of the allied troops into the water. The fighting on the southern bank was nearly over—countless casualties, with the remaining forces surrendering in organized groups.
On Ailindel’s side, the allied army had already collapsed into panic, scattering in all directions, while the Black Armored Legion encircled the final stronghold.
It was time to wrap things up. Nolan turned his horse and rode toward the northern bank.
However, something seemed to have gone slightly wrong on Vivi’s side.