Chapter 89– The Axe That Freezes Kings
The next morning, the sun had barely risen over the horizon, its warm golden light spilling across the frost-covered landscape. Reyn, Liora, and kale were already on the road toward their next destination. From their vantage point on a nearby hill, they could see the lake they had left behind — now a frozen masterpiece of jagged ice and shimmering frost, dotted with the towering, perfectly preserved forms of sea monsters mid-attack.
To the people of the nearby city and surrounding villages, the sight was unlike anything they had ever seen. By the time the group had traveled halfway to their next stop, word of the "miracle lake" had spread. Dozens — then hundreds — of people streamed toward the shore, their voices carrying in awe and wonder.
Children laughed and squealed as they ran across the ice, their boots crunching and slipping on the slick surface. They weaved between the frozen monsters, giggling as they tried to touch the frost-covered scales or pose beside the enormous fangs of a shark-like beast.
"It's like a festival," Liora muttered from the back of the cart, glancing over her shoulder. "If only they knew what was really under there…"
The city guards were less enchanted. Posted in a loose perimeter around the lake, they kept shouting warnings to the more reckless citizens — particularly the children — to stay away from the center, where a single, frost-rimed weapon jutted from the ice like a monument: the Leviathan Axe.
"Back away from the weapon!" one guard barked, voice shaking slightly. "That is not a toy!"
Even from a distance, a cold, heavy pressure radiated from the axe. The more seasoned adventurers in the crowd kept their distance, muttering about curses and ancient magic. Still, curiosity simmered in the air like an itch waiting to be scratched.
Before the crowd grew too large, a figure stepped through the throng — a tall, broad-shouldered man in battle-worn armor. His chest bore the insignia of a B-rank adventurer, and a massive sword was strapped to his back. Several bystanders recognized him and whispered his name with respect.
"That's Brannor the stone breaker," one villager said. "maybe he could handle that thing."
Brannor strode confidently across the frozen surface, ignoring the guards' warnings. His boots crunched over frost until he reached the weapon. He planted his sword in the ice, gripped the Leviathan Axe's haft, and lifted it with surprising ease.
A ripple of unnatural cold burst outward. The crowd gasped — and then screamed.
Cracks spiderwebbed through the ice. From within the sculptures, eyes began to glow. Claws twitched. Gills flared.
One by one, the frozen monsters broke free, chunks of ice exploding outward in sprays of frost. The barrier surrounding the lake shimmered to life, a dome of faint, glowing light trapping everything — and everyone — inside. Brannor spun around, trying to run, but slammed into the invisible wall.
The smaller beasts lunged first, snarling and snapping, but the moment Brannor swung the Leviathan Axe, the air exploded with icy vapor. Frost raced up the creatures' limbs, slowing them enough for him to shatter them with a follow-up strike.
He was doing well holding his onw until the true threat he'd forgot about had fully freed itself.
Most of the giant serpent Volmir's immense, scaled body was already protruding from the lake, frozen mid-lash, its fanged head towering over the icy expanse. When Brannon first pulled the weapon free, that frozen mass slowly shattered violently, his massive serpentine body spiraling upward in a storm of churning waves and ice. His crown of bone-like spines gleamed in the sunlight, his eyes burning with pure rage. The echo of his roar rattled the air like thunder.
The sight of the axe seemed to drive him into a frenzy. His muscles rippled, water surging around him as he launched himself forward. Brannor barely managed to block the first strike — a massive tail sweep that sent him sliding across the ice.
"Come on!" Brannor growled, charging with the axe raised high. The weapon's frost magic bit deep into Volmir's scales, making him recoil, but it only seemed to enrage the beast further.
With terrifying speed, Volmir slammed his tail down, shattering the ice and sending Brannor skidding into the barrier again. His helmet cracked against the shimmering wall, and his grip on the Leviathan Axe faltered.
The moment the axe left his hands, it clattered across the ice — and everything froze again.
The wave mid-crash solidified into a glittering wall. Volmir's maw froze inches from Brannor's face. Every monster locked in place, the world turning deathly still.
Brannor lay gasping, frost clinging to his beard. Without the axe, he couldn't move the monsters, and without the axe, he could finally leave the barrier.
Outside the shimmering wall, the guards stood pale-faced, their eyes darting between the frozen behemoth and the deadly, beautiful weapon at the center of it all.
Over the following weeks, the frozen lake became a strange tourist attraction. Merchants set up food stalls on the nearby roads, artists tried to sketch the scene, and countless adventurers came to test their luck. Some tried brute strength, others used magic to shield themselves from the cold or weaken the barrier. None succeeded—every single one either dropped the Leviathan Axe in panic as the monsters swarmed, or collapsed before reaching the barrier's edge.
It stayed that way for months, the legend growing with every failure. Then, four months later, a crowd gathered to watch yet another attempt. This time, the challenger was not some famed knight in armor or renowned mage draped in enchanted robes. It was a woman in simple traveling clothes, carrying a small bundle on her back.
As she stepped onto the ice, the bundle shifted—and the crowd realized it was a baby, wide-eyed and giggling. The woman said nothing, her expression calm and steady, even as the onlookers whispered in disbelief.
"She's not seriously—"
"Is that a baby?"
"Where's the father?"
She walked right up to the axe, unflinching in the frigid wind. The moment her hands closed around its hilt, the ice cracked and the frozen monsters began to stir—but she didn't falter. Each step forward was deliberate, her grip tightening as the barrier shimmered in front of her.
Behind her, the baby laughed louder, delighted by the chaos, as though finding the awakening monsters hilarious. Gasps rippled through the crowd when the woman reached the barrier and stepped through without slowing.
It was only after she vanished from sight that a murmur spread, one voice cutting through the confusion:
"Wait… was that Seria Tidebreaker?"
The name spread like wildfire. Seria Tidebreaker—the legendary A-rank warrior who had kept these lands safe for a decade, the one who usually handled threats of this scale herself—had just walked into the barrier with nothing but a baby on her back.
In the days that followed, rumors burned hotter than the merchants' cooking fires. Why had she come now, after so many failed attempts? Why was she carrying a child? And perhaps the most whispered question of all—where was the father? One thing was certain: both Seria and the laughing child would be remembered. And somewhere in the minds of the crowd, there lingered a feeling that they had not seen the last of them.