Chapter 45: Ice Ice Baby
“This is boring,” Emma complained, as she downed her third bottle of Hapsburg Original Absinthe without so much as a flinch.
There was a slight burning sensation as it went down, but nothing more than what she'd feel from a bout of light exercise and certainly nothing deserving of the drink's dire reputation. Of course, that was to be expected given her experiences thus far.
[Status effect: Poison resisted.
The fun of drinking is one part sensation and the other social. You're getting neither right now, so I'm not surprised you're bored.]
"Well, I can't fix being Undead," Emma hummed. "The social aspect, on the other hand?"
Calling Sir Bearington into being, Emma switched from sampling the goods herself and began to ply her companion with the contents of the minibar. Bears, Emma knew enough to recall, were omnivores that ate almost anything; considerations for taste and preference fell behind more practical questions, like what was readily available without much effort to obtain. That said, given a glut of choices, they could be picky like anyone else.
"Don't like the fizzy stuff I see," Emma chuckled as she caught the bottle of coke before it could make a mess of her armor. "How about this one?"
Half an hour of testing later, Emma had a fairly good idea as to Sir Bearington's choice of beverages. Anything carbonated was tossed away, whilst smooth drinks fared best. Water, obviously, but he also showed an appreciation of apple and peach juice along with some iced tea, the latter proof that even bears could adapt to life in England. Unfortunately for Emma, any attempts to create food for him were denied; the minibar only acknowledged herself, and rightly did not offer solid foods to someone without a way of eating them. Thus stymied, Emma returned her attention to experimenting with alcohol.
[+5 Reputation with the Russian Remnant]
"Very funny," Emma giggled as Sir Bearington downed a bottle of vodka without difficulty, surprisingly handling the burn of alcohol better with aplomb and as immune to intoxication as herself. "Is that ever going to be relevant?"
[That depends on you. The large population centers are gone, but life still endures in more inhospitable areas, and Russia is a big big place. How do you feel about visiting the Oymyakon Highlands?]
"The coldest place on Earth?," Emma grimaced, recalling a few YouTube videos she'd watched. "No thanks, I don't actually want to be frozen solid."
If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
The conversation tapered off after that, as Emma returned to her fun. Sir Bearington ended up displaying a surprising fondness for Whiskey and an ambivalent attitude towards everything else. There was only so much playing around she could do though, leading Emma to make one final request of the minibar.
"The minibar does not supply cocaine." The overseer deadpanned, sounding exasperated as she spoke for the first time on the fifth floor. "Why would you even ask for that?"
"Sorry," Emma giggled. "It was just something from an American film I wanted to try."
Receiving no further response, Emma decided to take the rest of her time off to actually rest. Not bothering to climb into the bed, she simply slumped against Sir Bearington, relaxed her grip on consciousness and was out like a light before she knew it.
---
When Emma awoke, rising slowly from her slumber against Sir Bearington's soft fur, the room was much as she'd left it, with one glaring exception standing out immediately ahead.
"Did I really sleep for that long?" Emma boggled, staring at the twin doors that had appeared; each identical to the other save for the labels adorning them.
[Yes, and no. Your body is ageless, and need not be considered. Your mind has experienced the effects of 9 hours of sleep, whilst your soul has aged 32 hours in that period. The room around you experienced 5 seconds throughout your slumber, otherwise remaining pristine thanks to the enchantments built into Scholomance itself.]
"Wait, what?" Emma blinked. "I thought I had to spend at least twenty-four hours here?"
[You have, in a sense; like many spells, the default measure of age corresponds to your soul. All other considerations are ephemeral and therefore of lesser importance. A good thing to remember; that although Overmind's rules governing Scholomance are extensive, there are still loopholes to be found for the determined. We already knew at the reception that someone with significant experience in spacetime manipulation was watching us. This would not be beyond their abilities, though why they went to such an extent baffles me; generally speaking, masters of time are not known for their impatience.]
"Well, I'm not complaining," Emma brushed off this particular mystery as she headed to the door marked CONTINUE.
Pushing it open, Emma was blown back by a sudden gust of freezing wind, sending her tumbling into Sir Bearington.
"No," Emma stared at the exit in horror. "I refuse to believe this is still a coincidence; we were just talking about northern Russia. More interference from the overseer?"
"Believe it or not, the level selection remains completely random," The overseer retorted. "All of the elements are in the rotation; both the widely accepted classics and those more apocryphal in nature. You've already breezed your way past a Water level, why are you so surprised to see Ice featuring now?"
Shaking her head slowly, Emma decided to move on, knowing she wasn't getting any more answers here. It took ten seconds of pushing to get Sir Bearington out of the rather narrow and traditional door, with Emma following close after. The door winked out behind her, leaving Emma at the beginning of a vast ravine, surrounded on either side by impossibly tall walls of ice that blotted out the sky, leaving only one path straight ahead. In a stark contrast to the previous floor's pamphlet, a single sign was planted into the similarly frozen floor, with the only two instructions in sight.
"Once past this sign, the trial begins. Reach the end of the ravine, never stop moving." Emma read the sign. "A speed trial maybe? Time to ride then."
Climbing onto Sir Bearington's back, Emma ordered him forward into the frozen abyss.