Survival Queen of the Frozen Wastes novel Chapter 520

Chapter 520 Final Countdown

The countdown display read 13 hours.

RedBean looked up at the numbers and frowned.

“Thirteen hours? I thought the Black Fog already reached Floor 8.”

Riley did not answer right away.

She stared at the mechanical timer for a moment, sorting through all the information she’d gathered so far.

+10 Free Coins

Black Fog swallowed one floor upward at regular intervals, forcing all players to keep climbing higher. The hall was a safe zone, yet it wouldn’t stay safe indefinitely. The timer above the hall read 13 hours, which meant that wasn’t how long until Black Fog arrived

here–it was the total time the hall would remain secure.

“There are two separate countdowns,” Riley said.

The nearby guild members all turned to her.

“When the Black Fog consumes the outer areas of a floor,” Riley explained, “players get a window of 24 to 48 hours to move around. Once the outer zones are fully swallowed, the central hall becomes the last safe spot, with an additional 12 hours of protection.”

Hanna caught on instantly.

“So the outer areas of Floor 8 only have about an hour left?”

“Roughly.”

Riley’s gaze stayed locked on the clock.

“In one hour, all outer tunnels, monster zones, and checkpoints will be consumed by the Black Fog. The hall will stay safe for another 12 hours. Once the time runs out, anyone still here will either get forcibly wiped or swallowed by the Fog.”

RedBean muttered a quiet curse.

“No wonder those raiders rushed to squeeze out every last supply they could.”

When the end drew near, almost no one had a choice.

Riley looked away from the timer and continued scanning the hall.

Bruce had mentioned four guild members they’d sent ahead earlier. There was no sign of them here. They’d most likely headed for the next floor to find help.

Beyond the regular survivors, several NPC merchants lingered in the corners.

They looked different from the vendors in the secret market. They had no fixed stalls. Instead, they wandered slowly along the hall’s edges, carrying shoulder poles or wooden chests on their backs.

One end of each pole hung with potion bottles. The other was stacked with dried rations, bandages, crossbow bolts, torches, and other low–tier consumables.

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12:25 pm PTM

Chapter 520 Final Countdown

+10 Free Coins

Everyone knew how dangerous these NPCs could be. Even with all their goods out in plain sight, no one dared rob them.

A short, stout merchant wore a constant smile. He pitched recovery potions to a group of injured players. His wooden chest looked small, yet it held an endless supply of stock.

“Standard hemostatic bandages, two Frost Tokens each.

“Low–grade recovery potions, twelve tokens per bottle. Limited stock, first come first served.

“Torches, bolts, compressed rations–all available. There may not be merchants on the next floor, so stock up while you can. I also take odd–item trades. Fixed prices, no haggling!”

His business was booming.

Most players had burned through nearly all their potions, food, bolts, and communication cards fighting their way here.

No combat was allowed in the safe zone, but the next floor was full of unknown dangers. Even with inflated prices, players gritted their teeth and spent their tokens to resupply.

Riley watched a young player’s trembling hands hand over more than a dozen Frost Tokens. He tucked his new low–grade recovery potion carefully inside his inner pocket the second he got it.

Bruce spoke in a low voice.

“These NPCs sure know the best time to set up shop.”

“The system knows exactly what it’s doing,” Red Bean added. “Everyone’s drained after fighting so hard to get here. Consumables sell better than anything right now.”

Riley nodded in agreement.

The dungeon rules were never kind.

It gave players a safe zone and accessible merchants, but only if they managed to stay alive long enough to reach it—and only if they still had tokens left to spend.

Hope Guild’s arrival had already drawn plenty of attention.

Not all of it was friendly.

People from several major guild camps on the hall’s west side glanced over simultaneously. Each group had close to a hundred people, arranged in organized formation.

Frontline fighters sat in the front. Wounded members and support staff stayed in the back. Supply piles were neatly stacked in the center of each camp.

One glance was enough for Riley to tell they belonged to major organized guilds.

They had structure, leadership, and plenty of leftover strength.

Several men who looked like squad leaders talked quietly among themselves, their eyes drifting toward Riley again and again.

One group’s hostility was especially obvious.

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