From Outcast to Overlord The Unyielding Heir (Leander Ashcroft) novel Chapter 517

"Frostborne Halo!" the Hermit shouted.

Huge crystalline wheels of ice spun across the sky. As they turned, violent downdrafts ripped air from every direction, and a biting cold spread out to blanket the heavens.

The Hermit had sat unmoving on the Artic plains for fifty years. He had not shifted a muscle, not spoken a single word. As the revered master had put it, this was the peak of meditative discipline.

Few seasoned mystics could keep such a regimen for even a season. The Hermit endured it for five decades through sheer will and extraordinary power. Over time, his aura fused with the frozen wastes. He had become, in a way, a walking piece of the North itself.

Now the chill that had lived in him poured outward. The sky froze in a three-hundred-meter dome, and the ice crystal wheel dove straight at Leander.

Ice chips skittered under Leander's feet. He raised one hand. The instant the wheel struck, he threw a punch.

Whoosh!

A brutal, upward surge of force, so fierce it cut through everything, hit the center of the wheel.

Crack!

The wheel's core caved in under Leander's blow. Hairline fractures spidered outward, racing across the surface.

"Hmm?" The Hermit's eyes narrowed. For a heartbeat, then, boom, the giant wheel detonated.

Shards of ice exploded outward. Those watching looked up. It seemed as if frost and snow had started falling for no reason. Under the lights, the crystals caught the glow and glittered like a river of stars. The spectacle was beautiful, but nobody there seemed to care about the view. All eyes were fixed on the two figures in the sky.

No one in the crowd was willing to look away. Even as they marveled at Leander and the Hermit, curiosity rooted them to the spot.

The Hermit barely reacted when the wheel shattered. He stamped the ground, and his body shot dozens of zhang. He brought his palms together, and the cyclonic cold behind him detonated into eighteen streams of ice wind.

"Frostbound Dragon!" The eighteen streams of icy wind layered over one another and twisted together until they merged. Each one stretched for dozens of feet, and together they wove a web that sealed off every inch of space around Leander.

This was one of the Hermit's signature techniques learned on the Artic plains. Ten years earlier, while sitting over the frozen waters, a strange blue whale had slid past beneath him. With a single thought, he condensed eighteen ice currents, plunged into the water, and froze the whale solid.

A decade later, the technique had only sharpened. The Hermit was confident he could bind even a mighty azure dragon.

The air erupted with sonic booms. The eighteen currents rolled and boiled. Even before they arrived, their cold had already started to crystallize the atmosphere.

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