The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 546: Stupid ice!

The final stretch toward the summit was brutal enough to make Isabella question every decision she had ever made. She stepped forward carefully, boots crunching across the frost that glittered like crushed diamonds under her feet.

The light changed first.

A strange white glow settled around them, soft and hazy.

Then came the breeze—sharp, biting, whispering against her cheeks like needle-thin fingers.

And when Isabella took the last step onto the summit plateau...

She froze.

Literally.

Her whole body stiffened at the sudden slap of icy wind. Everything in her peripheral vision turned white. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, landing on her hair and eyelashes.

It was snowing.

Heavily.

On a mountain inside the Beast World.

"Oh, hell no," Isabella whispered, hugging herself immediately.

Glimora squeaked angrily at the cold and buried her face inside Isabella’s collar like a tiny ball of despair.

Osiris blinked, staring at the snowfall with a confused expression like someone had just thrown ice at his brain. His fiery core hated this place instinctively, and his wings (which were invisible at the moment) twitched with discomfort.

Isabella stepped forward.

The cold sank into her bones so fast she gasped.

She reached out mentally to her system.

"Bubu, store. Fur coat. Thick one. I am freezing."

The system didn’t just open.

No.

It materialized beside her like a floating tablet, pulsing in bright red warning colors, as if preparing to ruin her entire life on purpose.

BUBU:

You cannot purchase anything for this task.

Isabella stared at the message.

She squinted.

Her mouth fell open.

"...What?"

BUBU:

You must complete this task without help or additional items.

Do not complain.

Isabella’s jaw dropped further.

"Bubu. Sweetheart. I am a pregnant woman. You cannot do this."

BUBU:

Incorrect statement.

You are no longer fully human. Your body adapts faster.

Proceed.

"Oh my god," Isabella whispered, gripping her head. "You demonic piece of glitch code—"

BUBU:

You must complete the task without wanting anything unnecessary.

Adapt quickly. Mountain creatures do not receive fur coats either.

Isabella blinked rapidly.

"Mountain creatures are literally built for the cold! I am built for bed, warmth, and snacks!"

BUBU ignored her completely, its little digital chimes ringing like laughter.

BUBU:

Complaints logged.

Still irrelevant.

Proceed.

Isabella’s eyelid twitched violently.

Osiris, who had been silently watching her argue with thin air like a madwoman, stepped carefully beside her.

"What is wrong with you?" he asked softly. "Are you scared of the cold?"

Isabella turned.

Very slowly.

Her glare could have melted the summit into lava.

"No. I am arguing with my system who wants me to die."

Osiris blinked again, confused. He looked around, then at her, then at the "invisible thing" she was yelling at.

"...There is nothing here. You are yelling at snow."

"I am not yelling at snow!" she snapped. "I am yelling at my system!"

Osiris just stared at her blankly.

Glimora patted Isabella’s cheek like, mama please calm down before you burn the mountain.

Osiris hesitated, then said something that stunned her.

"What do you need from inside? Tell me. I will get it."

Isabella blinked.

For half a heartbeat, she saw someone reliable in him—someone helpful, someone willing, someone protective.

And then she remembered he was Osiris.

Annoying. Loud. Stupid. Walking-problem Osiris.

Her eyes narrowed. "No. Mind your business."

Osiris sighed like she was the burden instead of the other way around. "Fine. Freeze then."

"Gladly."

Together—but absolutely not holding hands—they walked deeper into the summit.

The snow grew thicker.

Wind howled softly around them, lifting white flurries into swirling patterns. The ground was a sheet of glittering frost. Blue skyflowers grew from cracks in the frozen ground, pulsing with the faintest glow.

Somewhere in this frozen wonderland...

Lived a hummingbird no bigger than Isabella’s palm.

A magical creature that could repair nerves, heal organs, and save Shelia.

But to earn its nectar...

It needed a bowl.

A bowl carved from ice.

Which Isabella did not have.

Which meant—

She had to carve it herself.

Her soul left her body in frustration.

She stood there, arms limp at her sides, staring at the glittering expanse of ice with the expression of a woman debating whether she should simply lie down and accept death.

Osiris watched quietly.

This was normal for her.

He knew her enough to realize that silence meant something was very wrong—or she was about to kill him.

Possibly both.

He tilted his head. "Why are you staring at the ground like that?"

Isabella took a deep breath.

"I need... a bowl."

Osiris blinked. "A bowl."

"Yes."

"From ice."

"Yes."

"And you do not know how to make it."

"Correct."

"...Why not just make Osiris do it," Osiris muttered under his breath.

"Because my system said I cannot get help!"

Osiris blinked again.

Twice.

Then he made the most offended face ever.

"So you would suffer alone instead of letting me help. You are stubborn."

Isabella snapped immediately. "Do not insult me. I am a delicate pregnant woman suffering emotional distress!"

"Delicate where," Osiris muttered.

"What did you say."

"Nothing."

They glared at each other long enough to stop snowfall in its tracks.

Glimora sighed and sat in the snow dramatically like she was done with both of them.

Isabella rubbed her hands together and approached a thick chunk of ice sticking out from the ground like a frozen boulder. It sparkled blue-white in the dim light.

She kicked it.

Hard.

"Ow!" Isabella grabbed her foot. "Stupid ice!"

Osiris put a hand over his mouth to hide a smile.

"What are you laughing at?" she hissed.

"Nothing," he said. "You are just very small."

"I will throw you off the mountain."

"You cannot lift me."

"Watch me."

The argument echoed beautifully across the summit.

Glimora climbed onto Isabella’s head and tapped her forehead like, mama please calm down.

Isabella inhaled deeply.

She had a job to do.

She would save Shelia.

She would complete the task.

She would not let her system call her weak.

She placed her hands on the ice block.

Cold burned through her palms.

She hissed but held on.

Her fan wasn’t made for carving. Neither were her hands. She had to improvise.

She pulled out a small dagger from her space—one she had gotten earlier for cutting fabric—and pressed the sharp edge against the ice.

Her breath fogged out in the air.

She sliced.

The ice didn’t budge.

She sliced again.

Still nothing.

Osiris leaned in from behind her silently and watched.

Isabella gritted her teeth.

She stabbed the ice.

A small chip flew off.

"Finally!" she shouted triumphantly.

Osiris, unimpressed, said, "If you keep this pace, the bowl will be ready when you turn eighty."

She glared murderously. "Shut up."

She kept chipping.

Small fragments of ice scattered across the ground.

Her fingers turned red from cold.

Her breath came in puffs.

Glimora shivered on her shoulder, hugging her neck for warmth.

Osiris watched her closely, a strange heaviness in his gaze.

Something like admiration.

Something like worry.

He wanted to lift her away from the ice.

To carve it himself.

To keep her warm.

But he couldn’t.

She couldn’t accept help.

This was her task...

Her burden...

Her promise.

And so

He watched her carve the beginning of a bowl from a frozen mountain.

Slowly.

Painfully.

With a determination that even the icy winds respected.

Until her dagger slipped.

It flew out of her hand.

It stabbed into the snow several feet away.

Isabella froze.

Osiris stared.

Glimora gasped like a dramatic auntie in a theater play.

Isabella whispered slowly:

"Oh no."

Osiris whispered back:

"Oh yes."

The wind whipped around them.

Snow fell harder.

The half-carved ice chunk glowed faintly under the skyflower light.

Isabella took one shaky breath and reached toward her lost dagger.