The war didn’t slow, it escalated.

  Goblins kept pouring from the dungeon entrance, shrieking, howling, launching fireballs and arrows with wild, reckless glee.

  Kriiihk! Sssshaaak!

  But amid the chaos, something changed.

  One by one, the players who had fallen earlier, tanks, swordsmen, a few mages, respawned at the designated safe zone inside Stellar’s inner ward.

  When they sprinted back through the streets toward the northern gate, they saw something they couldn’t believe.

  One formation still stood.

  The tanks hadn’t fallen.

  The swordsmen still slashed.

  The mages behind them were alive.

  And behind them all, calm and still, was Frostina.

  She stood like winter itself, cold, still, and untouchable. Her white robe shimmered faintly in the light of burning fireballs and shattering frost. The air around her was laced with mist, trails of steam rising from where heat met cold.

  A massive goblin wave charged the outer wall.

  And Frostina moved.

  “Icicle Grave.”

  With a flick of her fingers, she turned a page in her tome. Ice erupted from the ground in a sweeping arc, a field of jagged crystal spears stabbing upward and impaling the goblins as they reached mid-sprint.

  Pshh!!

  Dozens of goblins fell at once.

  The respawned tanks stared, stunned, as Frostina’s frost magic cleared the front line just long enough for them to retake their positions.

  “Hurry, you’ve been slacking.”

  She said with a flat voice.

  As the path opened, the tanks exchanged looks, then charged forward without question.

  Swordsmen followed, rushing past her and falling into their prior formations. Mages stepped back into range, picking off stragglers with renewed purpose.

  The goblins never stopped.

  But neither did Frostina.

  Frostina hadn’t taken a single step since the battle began. She still stood exactly where she’d first joined her team, at the rear of the formation, her white robe dusted with frost, fluttering in the volatile wind of fire, magic, and steel.

  From that same spot, she carried the entire battlefield.

  Her magic didn’t just protect her own team anymore. It reached further.

  Much further.

  When the revived tanks and swordsmen came running back to the front lines, they arrived just in time to see jagged trails of ice arcing past their heads, glacial bolts lancing across the battlefield, targeting goblins that had pushed too deep into weakened squads.

  “W-What the hell…?”

  “She’s… covering all of us?”

  Some teams were still waiting for their mages to respawn. Others were still missing their tanks or swordsmen.

  But they didn’t fall.

  Because before the goblins could deliver the finishing blow, a sudden spike of frost burst through their bodies or a sweeping pulse of cold magic froze their legs in place just long enough for someone to land a desperate counterattack.

  They looked around for the caster.

  And saw her.

  Frostina.

  One team watched as their mage tried to retreat, chased by three goblins—

  SHHRRKK!

  All three froze mid-sprint, frost latching around their ankles, their limbs locking in place like statues.

  From another squad’s flank, a fireball soared toward a wounded tank.

  Fwoooosh, SSSHHHK!

  A curtain of ice rose between them just in time. The fireball struck and burst into a harmless hiss of steam.

  Someone else gasped as an Ice Spear javelined past their shoulder and nailed a goblin that had slipped through the cracks.

  Every spell she cast was precise, focused, and efficient. She wasn’t throwing magic wildly, she was watching the entire battlefield like a chessboard and striking exactly where the line was about to break.

  And still, she never moved.

  Even the center, where FireFlame had once stood, was no longer empty.

  Frostina’s spells laced across the middle lane with relentless rhythm.

  Glacial Shot!

  Icicle Bloom!

  Cryo Eruption!

  The ground exploded in frosted spears, scattering goblin ranks and clearing space for the returning players to rejoin the fight.

  The sound of goblin shrieks filled the air.

  Kriieeek! Skyaaah! Gkkkhhh!

  Slowly, one by one…

  The players began to realize it.

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  She wasn’t just saving her team.

  She was keeping the entire north side from falling.

  And then, more footsteps approached.

  Their footsteps faltered the moment they passed through the warded perimeter.

  The priests had returned and looked around in disbelief.

  “...Whoa.”

  “Is that really her?”

  “She’s covering the whole front... by herself?”

  One of them instinctively stepped forward, staff raised.

  “We should buff her…”

  But the moment they moved, Frostina’s voice carried across the field.

  “No need.”

  She didn’t even glance their way.

  “Do your job. Support the others.”

  It wasn’t a command.

  It was a reminder.

  A priest shouldn’t focus solely on one person in a raid with dozens of others.

  The priests hesitated but then they nodded.

  They turned and scattered, running to the teams that had no protection, no healing, no support.

  And Frostina?

  She turned another page in her grimoire.

  The tome pulsed once.

  Frozen Bloom.

  KRAKAKKSSHHH!

  Dozens of ice thorns exploded in a spiral, piercing, freezing, breaking.

  And the points of her name on the leaderboards kept rising.

  But the players in her battlefield knew.

  She wasn’t farming glory.

  She was creating space for everyone else to earn theirs.

  Frostina was the one carrying the battlefield.

  Then she heard Cryssa’s voice flicker through her mind, laced with amusement and anticipation.

  (“He’s coming!”)

  Frostina didn't flinch. She replied back, her mental tone quieter than before.

  “Nice timing. I’m getting tired too.”

  Unlike the others, who moved in-game avatars with their gaming capsules, Frostina used her real body. Her connection to this world wasn’t filtered through screens or motion sensors.

  She felt the weight of every spell.

  The strain of every cast.

  Her stamina wasn’t infinite.

  Frostina’s gaze remained steady, her robe gently swaying in the frost-kissed air. She didn’t move, because she couldn’t afford to.

  Each long-range cast drained more from her. The ones she had been firing across the field had been necessary, but they came with a cost.

  Her arms felt heavier. Her breathing slower.

  And yet she kept casting.

  She had to cast a long-range spell one more time.

  Just before FireFlame’s return—

  Ice Rain.

  From the sky, hundreds of frost-tipped shards fell like a divine storm.

  Shhhrk! Thunk! Pshk!

  Each icy spike drilled straight into a goblin’s skull with surgical precision. No splash, no misfires, just crisp, efficient extermination. One hit per target. No more, no less.

  The battlefield, once writhing with goblins, fell eerily silent.

  Goblin bodies crumpled like dominoes.

  Krrrkk… thunk. thunk. thunk.

  It felt like the server itself had given up.

  Every surviving player was stunned in place, heads slowly turning toward the lone figure still standing at the rear.

  Frostina didn’t even glance up from her glowing tome.

  “I’m done helping,” she said quietly.

  Just that.

  The goblins kept pouring from the entrance, but now she only lifted a finger when they strayed too close to her own team.

  And everyone else got the message.

  She hadn’t spoken it aloud, but they heard it clear as day.

  —That was your lifeline. Now fight.

  Then, from across the edge of the field, came the clatter of respawn boots on stone.

  Thump-thump-thump.

  FireFlame had returned.

  He charged in with all the subtlety of a brick through stained glass.

  The battlefield was surprisingly… stable. Normal, even. He didn’t seem to notice anything off. No chaos. No screams. No collapsing formations. Just players fighting competently on their own.

  He squinted slightly, but dismissed it.

  He skidded into his usual spot at the center, arms raised like a returning champion.

  “PRIESTS! BUFF ME!”

  The priests responded immediately.

  “Light Barrier!”

  “Defense Up!”

  “Attack Enhance! Critical Surge!”

  Voom! Flash! Sparkle!

  Bright buffs flared… just not on him.

  A tank down the line lit up with a glowing shield.

  A dual-wielder mid-swing got a speed buff.

  A startled mage blinked as her hands shimmered with power.

  FireFlame was stunned.

  “...Huh?”

  And the excuses came fast.

  “H-Huh? I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were back!”

  “I-I just used my buffs! It was reflex!”

  “Mine’s on cooldown!”

  FireFlame blinked.

  Just when he was about to scold them, goblins started coming.

  But in true FireFlame fashion, he gritted his teeth and charged forward anyway.

  Even without buffs, he was still high-level. Still capable of slashing through several goblins on his own. For a brief moment, his confidence flared again.

  Until the goblins started piling in again.

  He cut one down, then two, but three more came immediately after. Then five.

  Then ten.

  He shouted as his blade swung wildly.

  “M-Mages! Help me out here!”

  All across the front lines, every mage turned simultaneously.

  But not toward the center battlefield.

  Toward Frostina.

  They watched her.

  She stood motionless, unmoved. Her frost magic only triggered when enemies got nearly within arm’s reach. She let them come close, uncomfortably close, before cutting them down with flicks of cold, surgical precision.

  Not flashy. Not loud.

  But chillingly efficient.

  It looked like she was putting on a show.

  Frostina tilted her head ever so slightly, just enough that the other mages might think she’d glanced their way.

  Her expression never changed.

  But the message was loud and clear:

  —If I’m not saving him, why would you?

  Though, in reality, she didn’t mean that.

  She was just trying really, really hard not to pass out.

  If she tried to help, she might collapse soon after.

  But they didn’t know it.

  Immediately, they began their own exaggerated theater.

  “Oh no! They’re swarming me over here!”

  “Ahh! I can’t cast properly!”

  “I’m getting overrun!”

  None of them were.

  But it looked like they were.

  “Dammit! Heal me!” he shouted, panic creeping in as red slashed across his HP bar.

  “I just healed the tank!”

  “Cooldown!”

  “Wait ten more seconds!”

  “No—! That’s too long—GAHHHH!”

  SHHRRKK! THUNK! SPLAT!

  Three goblins leapt on him with glee. One fireball caught him in the chest. An arrow punched through his shoulder.

  And with a frustrated scream, FireFlame went down.

  Again.

  He burst into glittering motes of blue light, like a firework nobody asked for.

  No one cheered. No one cried.

  Most didn’t even look up.

  They had a job to do.

  Working together.

  And at the rear, Frostina turned another page.

  Some glanced back and saw her smiling, as if she found it all amusing.

  But she didn’t.

  She was just trying not to groan out loud.

  Her mouth stayed shut.

  But her mind screamed.

  “When will this be over?!”