The Ultimate Lich King of the Multiverse

"With you siding with an outsider like that, your goddess is probably heartbroken right now."

Yoru had been serious just moments ago, but after hearing Ais's teasing words, he couldn't help showing a helpless, bitter smile.

"If she's got a problem, I'll just beat her up."

Ais pouted, showing she clearly didn't care. Yoru chuckled, shaking his head at the thought of Loki's pitiful status in her own Familia.

"Sorry, Ais. It's not just for Nine Hell. I have my reasons to win for Hestia too—and I don't plan on losing to a girl."

Yoru shook his head, his smile slowly fading. With each word he uttered, the temperature around them—briefly warmed—began to plummet again at an alarming rate.

He hated it… but there was no choice.

Maybe he had defeated Nine Hell using what could be called a "cheap trick," but against this version of Ais, he had no chance of winning otherwise.

This body… was too fragile. Yoru didn't understand why, but he knew—this wasn't how his body was supposed to be.

He should be strong. Truly, indescribably strong.

Not something words could explain. Not something reason could grasp.

That immense strength… it hadn't disappeared. Just... buried.

It was something Yoru shouldn't touch—sealed deep within his soul, frozen under a time-lock of glacial ice.

A mysterious power. A forgotten past.

But now, none of that mattered. He needed power. He craved it, desperately, urgently.

Sorrow of the forgotten. Memories lost in death. Visions that haunted the soul even in oblivion.

Torment.

Memories of the Forgotten.

A soul's deepest vigil.

Surrender.

Eternal rest.

Drowning.

Drowning in endless pain.

What… what was it that even the Forgotten could not forget?

Flesh etched with agony—and from that pain, came power.

Even with nothing left but the soul, it still longed… for the warmth of an embrace.

Death is not the end. One day, he will return—bringing destruction with him.

Forgotten… Forgotten by whom?

As the question echoed in his dazed mind, something inside Yoru began to change drastically. The frost that encased his soul awakened.

His long black hair slowly lost all color—turning deathly pale.

Impure frost began to spread from beneath his feet. That strange, firewood-looking staff returned to his palm—and unlike all the times before, the frost surrounding Yoru didn't lash out with biting cold.

Instead, it gathered inward, offering all of its chill to its master alone.

Moments later, a long sword completely forged of frost materialized in Yoru's hand.

"Come, Ais. I'll defeat you… in the field where you are strongest."

Surging elemental energy.

Terrifying, forbidden power.

A twisted smile tugged at Yoru's lips as he raised the blade.

Ais frowned. She could feel something had changed—dramatically—in Yoru. She couldn't say what it was, only that it was dangerous.

No—fatally dangerous. Like a venomous serpent, coiled and waiting to strike.

"This isn't ice magic… this is the power of frost!"

One of the gods watching spoke in sudden realization.

"Ice? Frost? What's the difference?"

Hestia blinked, confused.

"Ice magic is spell-based," the god explained. "But frost… frost is a power that uses the user's own body as its vessel."

The god paused as the others turned their attention toward him. Then, he continued:

"Ice-type magic is rare, but not unique. Any decent mage can use it. Like Nine Hell, for instance—her signature spell is ice-based, isn't it?"

"'Ecstasy—Fimbulwinter,'" Loki muttered. "It's not so different. Freezes huge areas in an instant."

The god nodded and continued.

**"Ice magic is rare. But frost… frost is completely different. It's not a spell. It's a kind of innate talent—a racial inheritance."

"Ooh? Which race is that from?" the gods asked, their curiosity piqued.

The god's expression turned grim.

"The Undead."

Only the undead could wield the power of frost.

The bodies of the living couldn't contain such an element—an element so cold it could freeze even blood itself. Only the unclean souls of the undead could withstand it.

"Are you kidding? Yoru can't be undead. He's human! Even if he's not fully human, he's still alive. He's warm, he has a heartbeat—he bleeds like anyone else!"

Hestia's retort was sharp and immediate.

"Eh, who knows," the god shrugged. "I'm just sharing what I know. But I'm sure of one thing—what he's using is frost. As for whether frost is exclusively undead… well, I guess only the gods of death or the underworld could tell you. I mean, if he were descended from either of those, wielding this kind of power would be easy."

The room fell silent.

Because no one wanted to bring up those two.

One was Hades, god of the underworld.

The other, Hel, goddess of death.

The gods didn't even like saying their names.

"Hahaha… There's no way he's descended from those two lunatics. No chance."

One of the gods laughed nervously, and the others quickly echoed him.

After all, when the death gods got bored and tried to orchestrate a mass slaughter, the rest of the gods had united to kick them back to the divine realm.

Who knew what chaos they would've unleashed had they stayed?

"Anyway, forget that nonsense. We should focus on the match. Ais-chan might be in real trouble right now."

The tension began to ease. And as one of the gods spoke, all attention returned to the mirror and the battle that was about to explode.

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