The Siberian permafrost was a desolate wasteland where the biting wind whipped ice granules against the seams of golden armor with a high-pitched whistle.
In the heart of this frozen void stood Alex, the Aquarius Gold Saint.
His long black hair and pristine white cape snapped violently in the gale, yet he remained as immovable as the glaciers themselves.
With every breath he took, the mist froze instantly, crystallizing into delicate ice flowers that hovered in the air before shattering.
Behind him loomed the Spire of Ice—the ancestral sanctuary for those who commanded the freezing arts.
As the guardian of the Aquarius Temple, it was Alex’s duty to forge the next generation of warriors.
Specifically, the Cygnus Bronze Saint.
“Pathetic,” Alex remarked, his voice cutting through the wind with a chill that rivaled the environment.
Before him, a young boy clad in thin, ragged training clothes knelt in the snow.
Blood trickled from a gash on his forehead, and his breath came in ragged, desperate gasps.
This was Hyoga.
Moments ago, Hyoga’s Diamond Dust had barely managed to scuff the surface of the ancient ice wall.
It was a far cry from Alex’s demand: the total pulverization of a hundred-meter-thick slab of prehistoric ice.
“I…
I can’t do it…” Hyoga rasped.
Alex felt a flicker of annoyance.
He knew exactly who this boy was—one of the five legendary Bronze Saints, and the “Master-Slayer” who was destined to eventually kill his own mentor.
If it weren’t for the innate instincts of a Gold Saint binding him to his duty, Alex would have left the boy to the wolves long ago.
With a flick of his wrist, Alex sent three needles of ice flying like daggers.
They pierced Hyoga’s pressure points with surgical precision.
“Gah!” Hyoga’s body went rigid, his jaw locking as he suppressed a scream of agony.
“Your will is brittle,” Alex stated coldly.
“True Absolute Zero isn’t just a temperature; it is a state of mind.
It requires a calm so profound it can sever the threads of fate itself.” He stepped closer, his golden boots crunching on the frozen crust.
“Discard your sentimentality.
It is your weakness that keeps your mother’s body trapped beneath the depths of the icy sea.
If you fail again, I will take that cross around your neck and cast it into the abyss.” “Shut…
shut up!” Hyoga’s pale blue eyes ignited with a sudden, feral rage.
He clutched the crucifix pendant—the final memento of his mother, Natassia—as his Cosmo began to burn.
“HAAAA!” With a guttural roar, Hyoga lunged, unleashing a blast of freezing air that surged toward Alex like a physical tidal wave.
Alex merely tilted his head.
He reached out a gold-clad hand and caught the freezing vortex mid-air.
With a light squeeze, the attack that could flash-freeze a battalion shattered like a common snowball.
“Is that all?” Suddenly, the vibration of a phone interrupted the silence.
Alex reached into his robes and pulled out the device.
The caller ID displayed a single, heavy title: *The Pope*.
He answered.
A soft, measured male voice drifted through the line.
“Alex.
Saga has escaped his imprisonment.
Return to the Sanctuary immediately.
I have need of your strength.” Alex frowned and ended the call.
‘So, Saga finally made his move,’ he thought.
‘The Holy War is beginning.’ He turned to leave, his white cape billowing behind him.
He didn’t look back at the boy who was now encased in a pillar of ice, a temporary tomb created by Alex’s lingering frost.
“Break free on your own power,” Alex’s voice drifted back to the frozen apprentice.
“Or let this be your grave.
A Saint of Ice has no room for a warm heart.” As he boarded the Sanctuary’s private helicopter, Alex leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes.
Though he possessed the speed of light and could have flown back to Greece in an instant, he wasn’t in a hurry to face the Great Pope—Aries Shion.
Things were different now.
Because of Alex’s arrival, the history of this world had already begun to drift off course.