He was back in the car again, time passing almost unnoticed, completely drenched in icy water. The heat of the car had barely been enough to dry him a little bit, moving him past the discomfort of having wet clothes into the not-noticing they were wet because they were warm enough to just stick and not be also cold, when he had to go check the third pylon. He hopped off and was back on the car in a matter of minutes, this time foregoing any caution and awareness of his environment. It didn’t help that the storm was getting worse by the minute, diminishing the visibility and forcing Lloyd to drive slower, eating away at the time they had before disaster struck.

[3/4]

The last pylon was the farthest from their starting point, a whole quarter of circumference away from where they were now. The weather was rapidly devolving into complete madness outside, and the windows of the car were starting to freeze in those places where the heat was not pointed directly on them. Lloyd drove as fast as he could, and he was much more skilled than Albert ever gave his grandpa credit for. It was like he was getting to know this other side of him that was a whole different person. Yet, the mentor and mind games player who always like to challenge Albert and make him think, was still there.

But now his grandpa also displayed a level of confidence, control, and ability that did not fit his old gentle persona, and did not fit his grumpy but playful personality. Looking at him as he drove, the snow and hail pelting on the window behind him, his face was of concentration and focus, his expression stern steel. He was almost unrecognizable.

Behind the cold encroached, freezing the rear windows of the car and cooling the air to the point that even with the heat on their breath was clearly visible in puffs of white smoke. Outside, the ground had frozen, making for an extremely dangerous and bumpy ride through the solidified mud. The tires slid, the engine strained, the sweat pooled on the wrinkled forehead of the elder driver. Yet they made good time, and they were at the last location with thirty minutes left in the ticking clock that would spell doom for them and for the inhabitants of Temalas City.

“Last one.” Albert said before jumping out of the car.

“Keep an eye out,” Lloyd said, like he did three times already.

But Albert was already lost in the storm, and the old man only shook his head and pulled the car door close. Albert would have to learn by himself, then, he thought as he watched the young boy disappear in the storm. He relaxed, lit his cigar, took out a little gadget from his old days at work and waved it in his hand around until the ice was completely gone from the side of the car. He slightly undid his jacked and relaxed. This was going to take a little more than the others.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

Albert quickly ran towards the last pylon, fighting against the wind that tried to knock him off his feet and ram his face in the spikes of ice that jutted out of the frozen mud. The ground was white, grey and brown with little frozen puddles that reflected the black sky. The light was dim, like it was almost night but there had been no sunset. It was just grey, dark grey, with little streaks of lighter grey that was still dark but managed to illuminate some of the space around.

The visibility was almost none. The thick snowflakes were forged in the biting cold of the storm and were frozen razors that clawed at Albert’s face and clothes. He kept going, [Strengthening] helping him move against the storm and keeping him from losing sensation in the tips of his fingers. He had not prepared for the cold, and the thought of having to stay out of the car for another ten minutes or so to inspect the pylon made him almost want to quit.

But there was a city to save.

Hell, there was his own life to save. He was close enough to the epicenter that whatever chance he might have had to save himself before was now lower than zero. It would take a probability-defying event to save him. It would be cool to have probability-altering magic, though. Perhaps he should give it a shot.

There it was, the pylon. Growths of ice and snow coming out in diagonal spikes, urged on by the wind. And the [Appraisal], finally showing the problem.

[Forcefield Pylon. One of four pylons keeping the Tryte containment zone cut off from the outside world. Currently not working properly.]

More like suggesting that there was a problem. The Quest also updated to match the new task, which was to repair the pylon. There was a control panel at the base of the Pylon, his [Appraisal] told him when he tried to Appraise only parts of the pylon rather than the whole structure. The lid was frozen over, signaling that it was finally time to use a good old Fireball to pop it open.

Hopefully without damage. It was inside the lid that he finally expected to find—

Something wet rolled down into his mouth.

Metallic taste.

Was it blood?

Why was the world spinning?

Cold.

The ground?

Wet face. Cold. Hot. Blood mixing with the melting ice against his cheek.

So sleepy.

No.

Fake sleepy.

Something was off.

Circulating mana in the brain could help. Mana always helps.

The jitters. Ah, it’s hard to focus when the world looks so far away.

Deep through a tunnel.

No, wait. He was fainting.

Go back!

Circulate mana!

[Skill acquired: Mental Fortress I]