The Winter Queen, ruler of the northern ice plains in the Elf Kingdom.
Though she never called herself the Elf Queen, her domain spanned farther than the Elf Queen’s, enforced by even crueler methods. The elders turned a blind eye, enabling her relentless invasions and wars. This merciless queen’s ambitions swelled without end, on the verge of claiming the entire ice plains as her personal backyard.
If the Winter Queen from the first playthrough had been a boss that absolutely had to be defeated, she was now poised to become the most formidable adversary short of the Evil Dragon. Her power was at least at Soul Tier Layer 6—and in the worst case, she might even reach Super Tier.
Countless souls had served as stepping stones for that elf, and Sophia was merely one among thousands of sacrifices. In pursuit of greater strength, she had succumbed to the Winter Queen’s temptations, only to have the vast majority of her power stripped away by the gods’ seal.
“This is the sort of powerhouse born from an S-level world…” Xuefei muttered to herself.
What troubled her even more was the War God.
How had the War God and the Winter Queen ended up together by some stroke of coincidence? Or rather, what trap had she laid that forced Sophia into hiding?
If news of Sophia’s plight were to go public, the alliance between the Demon Race and the Winter Queen would shatter irreparably, plunging the Camiran Continent into a maelstrom of racial bloodshed and strife.
What on earth had happened?
Curiosity, doubt, and the contents of the letter swirled in her mind:
“Can you save me?”
“You”?
Why would the War God—that one—use such a deferential term? Dolores might be quick on her feet and adaptable, but for the most ancient of gods to pen this letter meant something profound was at play.
What could compel her to lower her head… and why issue a cry for help?
Xuefei paced through the forest, a thread of crimson light piercing the thick canopy to dapple her cheek.
She paid no mind to the furtive little fairies lurking silently behind the trees. The woods fell utterly still. Yet as the creator of this very forest, Xuefei harbored no fear of shadows—particularly since Dark Filth creatures favored the dark.
All at once, the trees ahead vanished, giving way to a stark, barren clearing in a perfect circle. She halted beside a cluster of bushes.
For some reason, unlike the surrounding lands teeming with new life, this spot remained untouched by regeneration, its soil still scarred and twisted from the ravages of war.
Xuefei came to a stop and stretched out her hand toward the suspicious ground, declaring with utter confidence:
“Reveal yourselves, you divine powers…”
The earth gave a faint shudder. Metal fragments erupted from the soil, gleaming under the blood-red moonlight in a shade matching Xuefei’s own pupils.
Any veteran of the battles would have recognized those shining shards at once: remnants of the Divine Soldiers’ armor.
Enveloped in a surge of purplish-crimson energy, the fragments liquefied, coalescing into several golden orbs of light. Beneath Xuefei’s influence, the orbs flushed scarlet, then dissolved into a flowing river of purple, seamlessly reabsorbed into her lithe frame.
“Awoo~~”
“As expected, nowhere near as tasty as Leia’s… but still pretty delicious. Ah, just as I thought.”
A flush crept across Xuefei’s cheeks—whether from the blood moon above or the growing heat of her soul, she couldn’t say.
“Hehe, no sense wasting this Divine Soldier’s power.”
~~~
Soon after, Xuefei unfurled her dragon wings and soared back to the palace, straight to her beloved Dragon Nest.
With Leia not yet returned, Xuefei gently nestled the still-warm dragon egg into the cushioned hollow. Beneath the soporific glow of the lights, the egg’s luster shone like the Dragon Nest’s own radiant sun, drawing Xuefei to it like a moth to flame.
Dragons lacked the soft, insulating feathers of birds, but they could warm their eggs with dragon wings and a deliberately raised body temperature. This steady heat pulsed in rhythm with the mother’s heart, augmented by the Dragon Consort’s innate maternal essence to offer flawless nurturing.
It felt as though in some past life, she had been a man…
Xuefei secured the egg between her thighs and curled into a supremely comfortable pose amid the rippling cushions. Her pale, slender arms entwined with her dragon wings in a protective embrace, transforming her into the very picture of a wee mother dragon safeguarding her hoard. Steal that egg from her, and she’d wail like a bereft child.
Xuefei recalled countless comics where dragon eggs fell prey to adventurers and heroes, inevitably crushed beneath the protagonists’ heels as mere plot fodder.
But Xuefei swore that if anyone dared pilfer her dragon egg, she would make them pay with their life, teaching them the true cost of such folly.
“Mama’s home late—sorry. I promise, no more delays~”
Had it… grown just a little bigger?
All the events unfolding in the outside world had nearly caused Xuefei to forget the crucial task of incubating the egg. But once she settled back into position, suddenly nothing else mattered. The intimate friction between her flesh and the smooth eggshell, the shared warmth of their body heat and the faint pulse of heartbeats—it was a silent expression of love.
Simply put, there were three distinct ways to hold a dragon egg.
The first involved leaning back against the plush folds of a soft cushion, enveloping the egg with one’s body. This was precisely what Xuefei was doing at the moment. Thanks to the cushion’s support, she could rest her chin atop the egg while her head reclined against the yielding padding. In this pose, the egg pressed snugly against her slightly tilted belly, mimicking the perfect embrace of a mother’s form. It was Xuefei’s favorite method.
The second was to lie directly on top of the egg.
Yet that would place undue pressure on the baby. Besides, the dragon egg was already quite large, and it would only grow bigger with the nourishment of a mother’s love. As such, Xuefei rarely chose this approach.
The third was the side hold.
Curling up like a kitten, with the egg nestled at the center of the body, cradled in a warm embrace. This was the most common and straightforward technique. Owing to the strength of her dragon tail, Xuefei could use her legs, tail, and dragon wings to envelop the egg completely against her body. However, unlike the first method that required a cushion, the egg’s underside rested closer to the ground, making it less than ideal.
In short, Xuefei was quite adept at incubating eggs.
Just as she prepared to shift positions for a “side hold,” Xuefei suddenly noticed that the space beside her was empty—everything had vanished.
“My… my dragon egg?!”
Xuefei stared blankly at the spot next to her, as if her very soul had been drained away.
Impossible…
It couldn’t have disappeared right under her watch. Impossible!
Who could have done this?
“It’s gotten a little bigger, hasn’t it? All thanks to Xuefei’s loving care~”
“Leia?!”
When Xuefei spotted Leia standing before her—having appeared out of nowhere, stripped down to scant undergarments—she understood instantly.
Leia had seized the moment while Xuefei was turning over, stealthily lifting the dragon egg and now cradling it playfully in her arms.
For a heart-stopping instant, Xuefei had truly feared the egg was gone…
That fleeting despair was almost more than she could bear.
With eyes brimming with grievance, she gazed at Leia clutching the egg. She reached out a hand, only to halt midway, her words tumbling out in a stammering mess. In the end, bereft of any other recourse, Xuefei dissolved into tears. Her body shuddered with sobs before she wailed aloud.
“You bad Leia, waaah…”
