Rin descended from the clouds, arms crossed, his gaze sweeping the frozen wasteland below. The air cracked beneath his landing, shards of ice scattering like glass. As silence reclaimed the battlefield, he began his search—for any remnants of life that had endured the ice age he'd unleashed.
And then, a voice echoed in his mind—the Codex, dry and unimpressed.
"Do you think you're cool or something?"
Rin smirked, brushing frost from his sleeve.
"With an entire nation watching me? Of course. A sovereign must look the part."
Rin sensed that something wasn't right but he kept on walking on the frozen plane of ice. As rin took a couple of steps forward, he took a leap to observe the area. In the far distance he saw the surviving members of the 50 emerging from the frost shards
The instant his boot met the frozen ground, a faint crack echoed—a brittle sound swallowed by the cold. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Rin froze, a slight confusion flickering across his eyes.
Then the world breathed in.
In an instant, lines of pale light flared beneath his feet—runic sigils etched into the frost—glowing brighter, sharper, until they seared through the ice like veins of awakening power. The air around him grew heavy, trembling, each particle shivering in anticipation. The runic circle spread across a large radius
And then—
BOOM.
A column of azure light erupted skyward, tearing through the clouds like a spear of winter wrath. The shockwave burst outward, scattering snow and debris in a roaring halo. Frost spiraled up the beam's spine, unfurling wings of ice that spread across the sky—vast, crystalline, divine.
The ground convulsed. Rings of frozen energy rippled across the terrain, each pulse birthing jagged shards that speared outward like the teeth of some colossal beast. In an instant, the explosion consumed the plains, engulfing everything within reach in a maelstrom of blinding cold.
Figures nearest the blast were flung back, their armor flash-frozen mid-motion, expressions locked in glassy disbelief. The air crystallized, turning breath into glittering dust as the expanding wave carved frost patterns into the earth—fractals blooming like frozen flowers.
When the roar finally faded, silence fell—a silence so deep it seemed to devour sound itself.
Where once there had been life and motion, now stood a crater of shimmering blue—ice layered upon ice, rising in jagged ridges around a central spire of translucent crystal. At its heart, the light of the trap's core still glowed faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat in the quiet ruin it had created.
The wasteland stretched endless, a silent dimension had become sculpted from cold and time. Mountains of ice rose like ancient titans, their jagged peaks etched against a sky of perpetual twilight. Frost draped every surface—cliffs, ridges, lava and ruins alike—glimmering faintly beneath a ghostly aurora that drifted through the storm-thick clouds.
The place that was once brimming with heat was lower than absolute zero and at the heart of this frozen expanse stood rin
Seeing that rin had triggered the trap, the leader started moved towards the trap they had set before hand to see rin.
Far away, a group of figures broke from their hiding, scrambling toward the frozen spire. The leader—a silver-haired youth with trembling hands—halted at its base, staring into the crystal prison that encased Rin.
"He's… he's in there."
"We did it! The seal worked!"
"There's no way he's breaking that!"
They laughed—nervous, relieved, triumphant. Some even turned away, already talking about what rank their victory would earn them.
But the leader hesitated. Something gnawed at him.
On instinct, he flicked open his arm-slate, pulling up the Conflux leaderboard.
And froze.
Rin Sylvanyr — 100% HP.
"No… impossible—"
A sound split the silence behind him—
the sharp crack of frost fracturing.
All eyes turned.
From within the frozen seal, faint fissures began to crawl across the surface, veins of light spreading like a heartbeat beneath the ice.
Seeing this, ten warriors surged forward, panic flashing behind their eyes. Mana flared around them as they coated their blades in layers of frost and fury. With a unified cry, they stormed toward Rin—intent on striking him down before the seal could fully shatter.
They knew the truth: if the seal broke, so would he.
But they were too late.
By the time they reached him, the cracking had ceased—
and their blades met a wall they could not breach.
Sparks of frost exploded on impact, scattering harmlessly across Rin's unmoving form. The force of their strike rippled outward, but he remained untouched, encased in a serene radiance—
untouched, unbroken, unbothered.
Their eyes widened as realization dawned—
his defense wasn't faltering.
It was evolving.
Rin took a single step forward.
A pulse of frost erupted from beneath his feet, spreading outward in an instant—
an expanding wave of glacial wrath.
The ten Sylvanyr descendants froze mid-charge,
their movements halting, their breaths crystallizing.
Ice climbed swiftly from their boots to their crowns, sealing them completely—
figures of defiance turned to statues of regret, locked in perfect stillness.
Then Rin took his second step.
With a calm motion, he swung his hand.
The air itself screamed—
a roaring gust cleaving through the silence,
shattering the frozen figures into a storm of glittering shards.
The force did not end there.
The wind carved across the landscape,
splitting a distant frozen volcanoes clean in two—
its peak sliding apart in eerie silence,
as snow and stone cascaded down like falling stars.
And as the echoes faded, the arena erupted.
A wave of cheers thundered through the grandstands,
rolling like a storm through the frozen coliseum.
Spectators leapt from their seats,
some shouting in disbelief, others roaring in awe.
"He split a volcano!"
"Ten in one swing!"
"He didn't even try!"
Commentators fought to be heard over the uproar,
their voices cracking with excitement.
"Did you see that?! That wasn't a swing—that was legendary!"
Rin stood there, unharmed, one hand resting casually at his side, the other tucked into his sleeve. The spire that had once held him cracked and fell away behind him in slow motion, each piece turning to mist before it could hit the ground.
Rin's gaze met the leader's—flat, unhurried, inevitable.
"You're right about one thing," Rin said softly.
"It was a good seal."
The smile that followed wasn't cruel.
It was the kind of smile a sculptor gives before breaking his own statue—just to prove he could.
A shimmer tore open across the frostfield—
a mass teleportation circle, radiant and spiraling.
One by one, the survivors leapt in, their bodies dissolving into arcs of light as they fled to the far side of the lava dimension to regroup.
But they weren't fast enough.
Just before the portal closed, a shadow stepped through—
Rin.
He emerged from the fading light, calm and relentless, his presence bending the air like gravity itself.
The moment they saw him, the formation broke—
fear snapping their unity.
They stumbled back, eyes wide.
From the edge of the frostfield, the leader recovered first. He raised both arms high, mana veins blazing like molten silver beneath his skin.
"Drown him!" he roared, voice cracking through the haze.
"Let the weight of the mountain bury the myth!"
The horizon answered.
Peaks convulsed, cliffs splitting apart as entire ridgelines groaned and tore free from the crust. A tide of ice and snow reared up like a living beast—an avalanche vast enough to smother the sky, rumbling toward Rin with the fury of a collapsing world.
He didn't flinch.
Rin rolled his shoulders once, slow and deliberate.
Frostlight rippled along his right arm as plates of glacial crystal unfolded and locked together, each segment clicking into place with mechanical grace.
The revolving forearm-blade ignited—
a halo of pale light spinning to life.
One swing.
The motion carved silence through the storm.
A single crescent of pressure ripped outward,
cleaving the avalanche in two.
The halves froze mid-roar—then reversed,
racing back along their own path,
dragging shards and echoes with them.
When the thunder faded, ten silhouettes remained—
caught mid-motion, eyes wide,
entombed in pillars of reflected frost.
A moment later, they shattered—
fragments scattering like mist on the wind.
The ground convulsed under the strain;
molten rivers cracked and stuttered,
their heat strangled by the widening cold.
Visibility fell into a white squall,
and in that storm of silence,
the dimension itself began to kneel—
rewriting its equilibrium around the sovereign at its heart.
Seeing their formation pushed back, the leader gritted his teeth and slammed his palms into the frost.
Mana surged. The air howled.
From beneath, a freezing vortex erupted—spiraling winds laced with shards of ice that coiled upward like a blizzard given form. The storm twisted inward, dragging everything toward its center with crushing force.
Rin stood at its heart.
The vortex constricted, sealing shut in a burst of frost. For a moment, the world was still—only a tomb of solid ice remained, gleaming like a crystal coffin.
A faint crack echoed. Then another.
The tomb shattered.
Rin stepped out unharmed, frost steaming from his shoulders, eyes cold and unblinking.
Panic rippled through their ranks.
Even as the leader barked orders, trying to hold them steady, the others broke formation—
fear trumping discipline.
Desperation took over.
They raised their hands and unleashed a storm of ice spears, each one wreathed in freezing mana strong enough to shatter steel. The projectiles tore through the air—
only to disintegrate on impact, colliding with the invisible barrier that surrounded him.
None reached their mark.
The Sylvanyr elf mages behind them joined in, summoning a barrage of freezing bolts from the clouds. The sky itself seemed to open, raining death from above—
but each shard dissolved before touching him, devoured by the cold radiating from his presence.
Their spells faltered. Their courage followed.
Realizing their attacks were meaningless, they drew back and dropped into stances—
blades poised, fists clenched, eyes grim.
Rin's expression didn't change.
He flexed his arm once; the revolving ice blade spun to life again, gleaming in the stormlight.
"Finally," he murmured.
Then he moved—
a blur of motion, cutting through the snow toward them like inevitability itself.
The storm had quieted—only breath and frost remained. Their numbers had dwindled, yet their eyes burned brighter. Even cornered, Sylvanyr pride refused to bend.
Snow swirled in slow spirals around them—twelve figures fanning out through the stormlight, eyes narrowed, mana veins blazing bright against the frost.
He didn't raise his guard. He didn't need to. In a situation like this a king need not draw steel against his own blood.
Rin let his revolving blade fade into mist.
Both hands came free, palms open, shoulders loose.
"Let's see what discipline buys you," he murmured.
The first trio lunged—a synchronized blur.
A kick scythed low, a blade carved high, a spear thrust centerline.
Rin slipped between them.
One step—tilt of his torso—he caught the spear shaft, twisted; its wielder flipped head-first into the snow.
He pivoted, forearm parrying steel, elbow snapping back into a jaw—
a shockwave cracked the air, frost rippling from the point of impact.
Before the bodies hit the ground, two more were already airborne—flanking, palms charged with glyphs.
Rin raised his hand; an ice ring blossomed mid-air.
Their strikes collided with it—
rebounded—
a pulse burst outward, launching them back through their comrades like meteors skipping across a frozen sea.
"Formation Δ—now!" the leader barked, though his voice cracked beneath the weight of Rin's gaze.
Five broke off, flashing sigils across their skin—speed, weight, flow, all doubling in an instant.
They came like lightning, weaving chain-attacks—
palms, knees, spinning slashes—
every movement interlocked, an orchestra of fury.
Rin met them head-on.
His right hand caught a wrist mid-punch—
left hand drove a chop into a collarbone—
he ducked under a heel drop, swept the leg, used the falling body as a springboard, twisting over the next strike.
A heel kick arced down—
ground erupted in a frost burst.
He landed behind them, coat fluttering.
All five froze mid-turn—
ice climbing their spines, sealing motion before thought could follow.
"Seven," Rin counted softly. Silence answered him—brief, taut, trembling.
The remaining seven hesitated—then roared as one, surging forward in overlapping waves.
Two hurled ice chains—Rin snapped them with backhand flicks.
Another conjured a spiral of frost blades—he spun through them, palms tracing arcs, each blade deflected into its twin until the storm devoured itself.
Three more closed in together, their fists wrapped in glowing runes.
Rin caught the first strike bare-handed—
a flare of mana burst between their palms, sparks scattering.
He shifted his weight, redirected momentum—
the attacker slammed into his own ally;
Rin's knee rose, cracked into the third's guard, sending him skidding across the tundra.
Rin then swinged his hand freezing and eliminating the six of them
Only the leader remained—breathing hard, sword trembling, aura flaring wild.
He stepped forward once, steadying himself.
Frost hissed beneath his boots.
Then, lowering his blade in salute, he whispered—half-awe, half-defeat:
"This… this isn't battle," he whispered. "It's art. The language of gods."
Rin's eyes softened, half-lidded beneath drifting snow.
"Flattery," he said, "won't spare you."
The leader smiled anyway—
because standing before that calm, he finally understood the gap between courage and divinity.
Light cracked overhead; the veil began to tremble.
Rin exhaled, glancing up at the fracturing sky.
"Tch. Break's over."
Rin's ice was a inch away from him when a surge of radiance engulfed them—
and as the dimension bled into white, the leaderboard flashed:
Rin Sylvanyr — Rank 5.
Codex Record — Instinctive Ice Defense ("Frostguard Reflex")
Type: Reactive Technique (Instinct-Based)
Element: Ice
Users: High-Tier Sylvanyr Royals (Rose Sylvanyr, Rin Sylvanyr, etc)
Classification: Advanced Mana-Control Art
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"A blade that never lands is not weak — it simply met a mind that was already waiting."
— Sylvanyr Proverb
---
Description:
The Frostguard Reflex also known as Automatic defense is not a spell, barrier, or divine shield — it is instinct, weaponized through mana and control.
When danger enters the user's perception — whether through sight, sound, or intent — the body responds faster than thought, layering condensed ice along the predicted impact point.
Each layer is thin as breath, dense as crystal, and constantly replenished through flow control, allowing continuous regeneration mid-battle.
To an onlooker, the user appears invincible — blades shatter, spells disperse, strikes leave no mark — but in truth, every defense is an instantaneous micro-construction, formed and replaced faster than the eye can trace.
---
Mechanics:
Trigger: Subconscious instinct (Mind's Eye)
Process: Mana surge → localized condensation → layered reinforcement
Strength Factors:
1. Mana Output (power = layer density)
2. Control Precision (stability = reaction speed)
3. Instinct Depth (awareness = accuracy)
Weakness: Erasure
People that understand the technique could use mana disruption to weaken their control making their defense Sloppy
---
Expert Usage:
Rin Sylvanyr manifests stacked-layer defense — dozens forming at once, regenerating on contact.
Rose Sylvanyr refines it further — her layers so thin and responsive they appear invisible, intercepting even unseen strikes.
To novices, it's a trick of luck.
To Sylvanyr royals, it's a language of survival written in frost.
---
Fun Note (Arena Commentary):
Spectators call it "absolute defense."
The Codex disagrees:
"It's not invulnerability. It's precision — so sharp, the world mistakes it for perfection."