Dual Cultivation Path

The frozen cathedral of the Ice Element HQ shimmered under its vaulted ceiling, where chandeliers of crystalline shards refracted light into prismatic rainbows that danced across the icy walls. Roderic Vane stood before the sapphire orb, its frigid glow fading as his qi failed to spark an ice affinity, his breath puffing white in the crisp air. The chamber's chill bit at his lungs, sharp and clean with the scent of snow and mint, but it couldn't cool the heat surging through him—not when she stood there, her presence a storm of frost and allure that rooted him to the spot.

She was 22, her long black hair cascading in thick, lustrous waves past her waist, its inky sheen catching the icy light like a midnight river. Her olive skin glowed against the silver-blue tunic she wore, a garment that clung to her lush, breathtaking figure—full, heavy breasts straining the bodice, hips flaring wide, and an ass so perfectly curved it seemed sculpted by a master's hand. Her violet eyes, sharp and unforgiving, pierced him with a cold stare, her lips curled in disdain as she stepped forward, clipboard lowering, frost trailing her steps like a whisper of menace. "Let's talk, quarry rat," she said, her voice a shard of ice that cut through the chamber's stillness.

Roderic's grin faltered, his face flushing red as her words sank in, but the heat in his gut—already simmering since the relic's awakening—flared wild and uncontrollable. Her allure hit him like a wave, her curves a magnet pulling at his senses, and his cock hardened painfully in his patched trousers, lust surging through him like a tide he couldn't stem. "I—uh—" he stammered, but she didn't wait, her silver-blue tunic swaying as she turned, gesturing sharply for him to follow.

Barnaby Quill, standing nearby after his own test, raised an eyebrow, his lopsided smile twitching with curiosity. "Trouble?" he mouthed, but Roderic could only shrug, his heart pounding as he trailed her, boots crunching on the rime-dusted floor. The other novices—two who'd tested with them, a twitchy boy and a silk-clad girl—cast wary glances, their murmurs lost in the vastness of the hall. The Ice Elder, her white braid gleaming under her silver robe, watched with piercing blue eyes but said nothing, her attention drifting back to the next group.

She led him to a corner of the chamber, a shadowed nook where a pillar of frost rose to meet the ceiling, its surface sculpted with swirling patterns that gleamed faintly in the refracted light. The air here was colder, a biting frost that nipped at his ears and fingertips, the wall behind them a sheet of ice so smooth it reflected their figures like a mirror—his tall, lean frame in patched cloth, her poised silhouette radiating power. She turned to face him, her black hair swaying, violet eyes narrowing as she stepped close, her clipboard tucked under one arm, her free hand resting on her hip—a stance that only accentuated the swell of her breasts and the curve of her waist.

"Listen well, quarry rat," she began, her voice low and edged with menace, each word a splinter of ice that seemed to frost the air between them. "What you saw yesterday—me, in my dorm—that stays buried. If you breathe a word of it to another soul, I'll kill you. I've cultivated ice for six years, honed it to a blade's edge, and I'll freeze your heart before you blink. Understand?"

Her words were sharp, lethal, her qi a palpable chill that pressed against him, a testament to her refined strength—years of mastery dwarfing his raw, unpolished talent. She was a senior Ice Cultivator, her power a quiet storm, and he felt it in the shiver racing down his spine, the cold sinking into his bones. But Roderic barely heard her. His eyes—hazel and wide—had drifted, drawn irresistibly to her magnificent breasts, their full, heavy shape straining against the silver-blue fabric, the tunic's neckline dipping just enough to hint at the soft, olive-toned skin beneath.

His mind spiraled, lost in a haze of lust that drowned out her threat. He imagined them—those breasts—bare as he'd seen them in that fleeting dorm moment, round and proud, their weight pressing against silk. He saw himself closer, lips brushing their curves, sucking them with a hunger that pulsed hot and wild in his veins, her skin warm against his tongue despite her icy demeanor. The fantasy gripped him, vivid and consuming, his cock throbbing harder, his breath shallow as he stared, oblivious to the frost in her voice.

She noticed. Her violet eyes flicked down, catching the direction of his gaze, and her lips parted in a sharp inhale, her expression shifting from disdain to fury. "Are you even listening?" she snapped, her voice rising, but he didn't flinch, still lost, his grin gone slack, his face flushed with a heat that clashed with the chamber's chill.

Then her hand moved—fast, a blur of silver-blue—and cracked against the side of his head, a sharp smack that echoed off the icy walls. Pain flared, a stinging jolt that snapped him back, his ears ringing as he staggered half a step, hand flying to his skull. "Pervert!" she hissed, her voice a whip of ice and anger, her black hair swaying as she leaned closer, her violet eyes blazing with a fury that matched the frost trailing her. "You filthy, lecherous rat—staring at me like that? Disgusting!"

Roderic blinked, the lustful haze shattering, his grin replaced by a wince as he rubbed his head, the sting grounding him. "Ow—sorry, I—" he started, voice shaky, but she cut him off, her clipboard clattering to the floor as she pointed a trembling finger at him, her olive skin flushing with rage.

"Keep your mouth shut," she snarled, stepping back, her tunic swishing, her curves still pulling at his gaze despite the reprimand. "Not a word—not to your little friend, not to anyone—or you're dead. I mean it." Her qi flared, a burst of frost that frosted the floor beneath her boots, the air crackling with her intent.

She turned to storm off, her black hair whipping behind her like a banner, her silver-blue tunic catching the light as she moved, every step a testament to her power and fury. Roderic's head throbbed, but his voice broke through, impulsive despite the sting. "Wait—what's your name?" he called, his tone a mix of curiosity and defiance, his hazel eyes glinting even as he winced.

She paused mid-step, her back stiffening, then half-turned, her violet eyes narrowing over her shoulder. "Cressida Lorne," she said, her voice a scoff, dripping with scorn as if the act of answering him was beneath her. "Remember it—because it'll be the last name you curse if you cross me." With that, she strode off, her black hair swaying, frost trailing her wake, leaving Roderic alone in the corner, the air still humming with her icy wrath.

He stood there, hand still on his head, the sting fading into a dull ache, his breath steadying as the lust ebbed—though not entirely, her image lingering vivid and unshakeable. Cressida Lorne—22, a senior Ice Cultivator, a beauty with a blade's edge. His cock twitched again, the memory of her breasts flickering back, but he shook it off, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. "Hell of a warning," he muttered, glancing at the frosted floor, then turned to rejoin Barnaby, the Ice HQ's chill no match for the heat she'd sparked in him.