Chapter 122: The Frost of Fear!

Chapter 122: The Frost of Fear!

As General Trist began to finalize the discussions, the sound of a struggle beyond the door echoed through the room. A loud, jarring crash broke the air, snapping everyone to attention. The impact rattled the walls, and then—without warning—a body came hurtling through the door. It smashed into it with such force that the door swung open, slamming against the wall and exposing the scene outside.

There, standing with the cool, dangerous elegance of a predator, was Ashley Duve. She strolled in, her presence commanding the space with a dark, seductive authority. Behind her, ten men followed in close formation, their eyes fixed on her with a kind of fanatical loyalty, like wolves at their master's heel.

"Ashley..." General Trist sprang to his feet, as if struck by an electric shock, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and loathing. His fingers tightened around the edge of the table. This woman—this witch of a woman—had finally arrived, and her presence carried an air of impending doom.

Ashley took her time, each step a calculated move as her gaze swept over the room, a wicked smile tugging at her lips. "General Trist," she cooed, her voice dripping with venomous charm. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important." Her tone was mockingly polite, but her eyes flickered with cold menace as she observed the gathered officers, each one instinctively shrinking back from her presence.

The room was heavy with tension, a pulsing silence as Ashley's entourage fanned out, encircling the officers like a pack of hounds. No one dared speak. General Trist stood his ground, struggling to steady his breath as he locked eyes with her.

"Why are you here, Ashley?" he demanded, his voice steady but his pulse racing. He knew well the reputation of the woman before him, and the mere sight of her sent a chill down his spine. She had not come for idle conversation.

Ashley arched an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "Why, General, I thought I'd stop by and... check in on our little project. After all, it's not every day that I grace the halls of your precious base," she sneered, her voice laced with sarcasm. "I hear there's a certain project that should be in my hands by now. Or," she tilted her head slightly, her smile turning cruel, "should I tell Rhemon about the delay myself?"

The officers exchanged worried glances, their faces drained of color.

_The General's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. What should I do? he pondered frantically. I had planned to involve Tessa, but these hounds aren't going to give me an inch, let alone an extra day. What's my move here?

Ashley's voice sliced through his train of thought, sharp and mocking. "Are you deaf, General? Or should I... loosen you up a bit?" She chuckled, an eerie sound that slipped between cold malice and playful menace, her expression flitting from deadly serious to disturbingly mischievous.

This woman is a level-three agent, he reminded himself, feeling his pulse quicken. Everyone in Rhemon's upper circle supposedly has unique abilities, all granted by him. God only knows what this lunatic is capable of. General Trist kept his face impassive, but his gaze was fixed on Ashley, his mind racing with caution. One wrong word, one misplaced challenge, and she might unleash that unknown power.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he took a breath and addressed her carefully. "Can you... give us just one more day?" he implored, each word weighed with controlled tension.

Ashley froze, then broke into a scornful, mocking laugh, a sound that made the officers shift uncomfortably. "A day?" she sneered, looking down at him as if he were an insect daring to beg for mercy. "Do I look like a courier to you, a delivery girl to run back to Rhemon with your excuses?"

She took a step closer, and her face shifted from mocking amusement to cold fury. "Or are you trying to mess with me?" Her voice had darkened, every word now carrying an unmistakable edge of threat.

The room held its breath as the General faced her down, his own eyes hardening. "I'm not playing games, Ashley," he replied, managing to keep his tone even. "But if this program is rushed, it risks complete failure. Rhemon wants results, not scraps."

Ashley tilted her head, her piercing gaze boring into him as if she were peeling back the layers of his resolve. "I think," she began, her tone low and dangerous, "that you overestimate your value, General."

She looked over her shoulder at her team, giving them a brief nod. "One day," she finally relented, though her tone promised no mercy if the deadline was broken. "But if you waste it, if you fail him again... I'll be back." Her smirk returned, icy and predatory. "And let's just say, you won't like my... follow-up visit."

Just as she turned to leave, Ashley stopped and sauntered over to General Trist, her eyes gleaming with a twisted sense of delight. She placed a slender, deceptively gentle hand on his thigh, her touch deceptively light but carrying an unmistakable weight of malice.

A jolt of unnatural cold shot through him, and before he could even comprehend, an icy chill crept across his thigh, seizing his muscles and spreading like frostbite. The skin prickled, turning blue, and an unbearable numbness began to climb up toward his waist. His breath hitched, caught between fear and pain as he fought to maintain control, knowing that any movement, any show of weakness, might provoke her further. The biting cold crept closer, like tiny needles pressing into the delicate nerves around his groin, and a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead despite the numbing frost.

Ashley leaned in close, her breath warm against his cheek, mocking the freezing agony radiating from her hand. Her lips twisted into a wicked smile as she whispered, "Now you see what happens when I'm... displeased."

The General's vision blurred momentarily, and the agony threatened to override his composure entirely. He could sense his control slipping, the paralysis edging closer to something permanent. And just as the frost threatened to consume the last of his strength, Ashley withdrew her hand, and the cold faded as quickly as it had come. Blood rushed back to his leg in a painful wave of warmth, leaving him shaky, but he remained rooted to his chair, his breaths shallow and ragged.

She straightened, her gaze as chilling as the touch she'd just unleashed. "Consider this your warning, General," she said, her voice a low purr that sent a shiver through the room. "Cross me again, and I won't be so... forgiving." Her eyes glinted as she took in his weakened state, satisfied with the silent dread she'd instilled.

With a final mocking smile, Ashley spun on her heel and strode out, her entourage trailing obediently behind, the air thick with tension in her wake. General Trist remained motionless, trying to gather his bearings, realizing just how close he'd come to a fate far worse than death.