Two months passed in the Frozen Spire.
I'd counted the adventuring parties. Thirty-seven groups had entered the tower. None had made it past floor seventy. The closest had been a raid group of ten players, all level seventy-five or higher, with legendary equipment and perfect coordination. They'd reached floor eighty-three before the Frost Dragon Matriarch had wiped them.
I'd felt every death. Watched through the tower's senses as they fell, one by one. And every time, I'd been forced to acknowledge a terrible truth: part of me had been relieved when they failed.
Not Glaciana's part, but Sarah's part. Because every group that fell meant more time. More time to think, to plan, to search for a loophole in the system. More time before I had to face someone in my throne room and fight them with everything I had.
I'd spent those two months experimenting with the boundaries of my restrictions. I couldn't weaken the guardians, but I could study the tower's mechanics obsessively. I couldn't help challengers directly, but I could understand exactly how they might help themselves. Knowledge wasn't the same as action, I'd reasoned. Knowing the optimal path through the dungeon wasn't the same as showing someone that path.
It was a thin distinction, but I clung to it.
I'd also discovered that I could access something like a status screen not for myself, but for the tower. It showed me statistics: completion attempts, mortality rates by floor, average party level, common failure points.
I tried not to look at it too often.
On the sixty-third day, I'd started marking time by scratching lines into the ice behind my throne, a small rebellion against the timeless void. I felt something different enter the tower.
Not a party. A single presence.
I sat up straighter in my throne, focusing my awareness downward. One person, moving through the entrance hall alone. That was unusual. Suicidal, even. Most of the tower's floors were balanced for parties of three to five. Solo players usually didn't make it past floor ten.
But this one... this one felt different.
I couldn't explain how. The warmth of their presence wasn't just heat. It was intensity. Like standing near a bonfire versus a candle.
I watched as they encountered the first group of frost elementals. Three of the creatures materialized from the walls, their bodies crackling with ice magic. Standard enemies, designed to teach new adventurers the basic mechanics.
The figure raised one hand.
Blue flames erupted from their palm, not red or orange, but a vibrant azure that seemed to burn even brighter against the ice. The flames washed over the elementals, and they didn't just melt. They evaporated, turning to steam so quickly I barely registered their deaths.
"What the—" I leaned forward, my attention fully captured now.
The figure moved forward, their cloak billowing behind them. I still couldn't make out details at this distance, but I could feel their level. Eighty-nine. Just six levels below me.
High enough to be dangerous.
They progressed through floors one through ten in less than an hour. Most parties took three or four hours for that section, carefully pulling enemy groups, resting between fights, searching for treasure. This person didn't stop. Didn't rest. Just moved forward with efficiency, blue flames consuming everything in their path.
By floor twenty, I was sitting on the edge of my throne.
By floor thirty, I was standing.
By floor forty, I'd realized something that made my heart race: this person wasn't just strong. They were perfectly built to counter me. Blue flames that burned hot enough to vaporize ice. Fire magic that didn't follow normal rules. I could see it in the way the flames clung to surfaces, refusing to be extinguished by the tower's cold.
This was a hard counter. In gaming terms, this was like bringing a fire team to an ice raid.
Floor fifty. The Glacial Sentinel that had stopped so many parties before fell in less than three minutes. The figure barely slowed down.
Floor sixty. The Frost Dragon Matriarch, my most powerful guardian before the final floor, dove from her perch with a roar that shook the entire tower. I felt the battle through the tower's senses: ice breath versus azure flames, claws versus blade, ancient magic versus whatever strange power this challenger possessed.
The dragon lasted seven minutes.
When her death cry echoed through the tower, I felt it like losing a limb. The Matriarch had been part of the tower for centuries, according to Glaciana's memories.
And this person had killed her alone.
Floor seventy. Eighty. Ninety.
They were coming. Actually, truly coming. And I had no idea if I was terrified or relieved.
Maybe both.
I returned to my throne and sat down, forcing myself to breathe slowly. Around me, the throne room began to shift. This was automatic, triggered by a challenger reaching floor ninety-five. The walls became more transparent, revealing the storm that perpetually raged outside the tower. The temperature dropped even further; cold enough to kill a normal human in seconds. Pillars of ice rose from the floor, providing cover and creating a proper arena.
The room was preparing for a boss fight.
And so was I.
I felt the moment they stepped onto floor ninety-nine. One more floor. One more set of guardians, my personal honor guard, six Frost Knights that had never fallen.
They fell in twelve minutes.
Then, silence. I knew they were standing before the final door, the massive gateway of ice that separated the last floor from my throne room. I could feel them there, just beyond my sight, catching their breath. Preparing.
The door began to open, ancient mechanisms grinding as tons of enchanted ice swung inward.
And I saw him.
He was younger than I expected, maybe mid-twenties, with sharp features and an athletic build. His armor was a mix of leather and light plate, scorched and frost-burned from ninety-nine floors of combat. But what struck me most was the color scheme: his hair was a vivid blue, hanging in slightly messy strands to his shoulders. His eyes were the same azure, almost glowing in the dim light.
And around his right hand, blue flames danced without burning him.
He stepped into the throne room, and our eyes met.
For a moment, neither of us moved. I saw him take in my appearance. The throne of ancient ice. He was assessing me, just like I'd assessed dozens of bosses back when I was a player.
Looking for tells. For patterns. For weaknesses.
"Glaciana," he said, and his voice was surprisingly warm for someone wielding flames that burned blue. "The Eternal Frost Queen. I've been searching for you for a long time."
I stood slowly, letting Glaciana's grace and power flow through my movements. The system's restrictions pressed against my consciousness, reminding me: engage with full capabilities. Don't hold back. Don't throw the fight.
"You've made it far, challenger," I heard myself say, my voice carrying that eerie echo. "Farther than most. But this is where your journey ends."
It was a stock boss line, pulled from Glaciana's memories. But even as I said it, I was studying him. The blue flames. The determined set of his jaw. The way he held himself, confident but not arrogant. Tired but not defeated.
This was it. This was my chance. If anyone could actually beat me, it was him.
But the restriction wouldn't let me make it easy.
So I'd have to make it fair.
"What's your name?" I asked, deviating from the script. The system didn't stop me. Apparently small talk wasn't against the rules.
He blinked, clearly surprised. Bosses didn't usually ask questions.
"Kieran," he said after a pause. "My name is Kieran."
"Well, Kieran," I said, and ice began to form around my hands, crawling up my arms in spiraling patterns. "Show me your flames."
The battle began.