The Ice-Bound Verdict: Shadows Before Annihilation

Ethan slumped on the couch, waiting for the Judgment Scale to cool down, when Lin Yiwan approached. 

She had just finished the dishes, moving quietly across the floor. The room was warm, so she wore only shorts and an oversized T-shirt that showcased her long, flawless legs glowing under the light.

Ethan's gaze was drawn to her.

Too bright, his mind whispered. Look away. He repeated the mantra "See no evil" twice in his head and prepared to glance elsewhere—until the system's voice chimed in his mind.

Ding! Judgment Scale cooldown completed.

Lin Yiwan sat beside him, curling her legs on the couch, hugging her knees as she watched the news in silence.

Ethan turned his head away and took a deep breath.

"Activate Judgment Scale."

In his mind's eye, the scales appeared again—one side radiant with angel wings, the other shrouded in demonic darkness.

"Predict: What is the probability that my next dungeon will be a Catastrophe-class apocalypse?"

This was a clever bug Ethan had found in the system. He couldn't predict the next dungeon using the Eyes of the Doomed since they were on cooldown. But the Judgment Scale let him estimate probabilities. By including himself in the equation, it worked.

Determining the danger he might face was a valid request under the system's rules.

He mentally congratulated himself on the trick.

But his satisfaction faded quickly.

The moment he asked the question, the angel side of the scale shot up while the demon side plunged to the ground.

0%. Zero probability.

His next dungeon…

Wasn't Catastrophe-class.

His pupils shrank.

If it wasn't Catastrophe-class, then what could it be?

He swallowed hard.

A dungeon with nearly a 100% mortality rate—and it wasn't even marked Catastrophe-class?

Impossible.

A Plague-class or even Disaster-class apocalypse couldn't kill him.

There was only one explanation.

His breath hitched.

Annihilation-class.

The kind of apocalyptic event so total, so complete, that the system had recorded only two instances in history.

One was Eternal Night and the Curse of Time. Zero survivors.

The other was the Lunar Collapse, ten years ago. Just one player survived.

Was a third Annihilation-class apocalypse approaching?

A chill ran down his spine, colder than any snowstorm outside.

No. Not yet. Don't jump to conclusions.

The images he saw from the Judgment Scale suggested he would be killed. But not by the environment.

By others.

This could mean the dungeon wasn't necessarily impossible. Maybe he simply would be killed next time. Perhaps the betrayal would come from a fellow player. That would make sense.

It was the only hope he had.

Because if it truly were an Annihilation-class, there would be no escape.

Not even a glimmer of light.

He recalled the two known Annihilation-class events—Eternal Night and Lunar Collapse. He had read every record available. Yet, he still had no idea how anyone survived either, let alone how to defeat one.

Even Catastrophe-class scenarios allowed players a chance.

But Annihilation?

They were at a loss from the beginning.

"Mr. Ethan? Are you alright?"

Lin Yiwan's voice drew him back. She noticed the change in his expression and knelt beside him, her eyes filled with concern.

"I'm fine," he replied, forcing a smile that felt weak.

But inside?

He was screaming.

He had no revival coins left.

For most players, dying in an Annihilation-class dungeon meant losing a revival item.

But for him?

It meant true death.

No respawn. No second chance.

Just silence.

Even last time, he had only survived the Catastrophe-class because staying outside the dungeon would've killed him anyway. He had been forced to dive in and gamble his life.

All he ever wanted was to survive.

Why did the system keep pulling him into hell?

Lin Yiwan studied him closely now, sensing something deeper. When their eyes met—his filled with sharp desperation—she trembled.

Did he foresee something again?

Outside, the snowstorm howled like a banshee. The flakes sacrificed themselves to cover the world in white, but inside the room, it remained warm.

Yet Ethan's heart felt ice-cold.

He only had to wait until tomorrow. Once the Judgment Scale cooled again, he'd ask the real question:

"What are the odds that my next dungeon is Annihilation-class?"

By midday, the snowstorm grew worse.

A knock rattled their door.

One of the professors had come by, asking—pleading—for food.

Lin Yiwan refused.

"Our supplies are limited," she said flatly.

Even when the teacher became irritated and offered money, she remained firm.

This wasn't the time for charity.

Money would soon lose its value. Once you lent out food once, you sent a message:

They have enough.

In the apocalypse, naivety gets you killed.

Lin Yiwan returned to the couch, worry etched on her face.

"That was just the first wave," she murmured. "There'll be more. If more come, I'll have to take other measures."

Ethan tilted his head. "What kind of measures?"

Her voice dropped. "I'll kill them. They're just NPCs. It won't affect the real world. In reality, they're still alive."

Ethan: …

Damn. Ruthless.

He liked that.

"Then I'll leave my safety to you," he exhaled.

Honestly, his chances of dying in this frozen world were about the same as surviving the next dungeon.

So, no pressure.

This next dungeon wouldn't be about natural disasters. It would test human nature.

And if the army failed to stabilize the country… If faith in the government collapsed…

So would the last thread of civilization.

That moment hadn't arrived yet—but it would.

The teacher's visit was just the beginning.

At noon, Ethan and Lin Yiwan shared a quiet, hearty lunch.

By afternoon, when they turned on the television again, only one channel remained.

The local stations had gone dark.

Only the national channel is still broadcast.

The anchor had changed. Gone were the suits—now he wore a thick down jacket, visibly shivering as he read from the prompter.

"The People's Army has begun mobilizing. Supplies will arrive in the following cities by tomorrow…"

Ethan scanned the list. Gan Shui City—his city—wouldn't get aid until the day after tomorrow.

The blizzard was too fierce. Airplanes were grounded. Trains frozen. Only human effort could bring help now.

The screen cuts to footage—soldiers in heavy coats, their faces half-covered, trudging through the endless snow, each one carrying heavy packs across a dead white world.

One step at a time.

And for Ethan?

Each step forward was a countdown to the next dungeon.

And possibly…

The end of everything.