Chapter 165: Snowstorm
"Fight to the death, traitors!" Dolo roared, heaving his Bloodfire Battle Axe high as he charged forward. The Duke’s personal guards were no match against the Goblin Army’s onslaught. With every swing of his massive axe, a crimson arc cut through the air, severing limbs and spilling blood in a relentless cascade.
From afar, archers attempted to pick off the monstrous intruder, but the Great Goblins’ long spears erupted in a storm of gunfire—crackling, smoke curling from their barrels.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Like the grim reaper tallying names, each gunshot claimed another archer. The improvements in firearms, the blessings of Dragon blood, and years of war-hardened discipline had turned these Great Goblins into deadly instruments on the battlefield—capable of annihilating a hundred-man human force in mere moments.
Dolo wiped blood from his face, exhaling a plume of white vapor as he sneered.
"We’ll go fetch that pathetic Duke. Let him experience what hell truly is."
After months of peace, he’d grown restless for war. Without waiting for the Red Dragon to assign him, he’d volunteered for this lightning assault—eager to return to the bloodshed.
His Goblin Army had been unstoppable, conquering city after city, and his confidence had swelled accordingly. This battle had gone exactly as expected—Great Goblins armed with the latest model, the Dragonfire Lance, shattered defenses with brutal efficiency, crushing resistance like dry twigs.
But then, just moments ago, as they broke through the City Defense Force, a long, eerie horn blast echoed from within the city. The sound was unnatural—chilling, bone-deep. It sent a shiver down Dolo’s spine, and doubt flickered in his eyes.
But… what was that sound?
Screw it. First things first—grab the Duke.
Dolo thought.
Suddenly, a violent gust tore through the air. A few snowflakes landed on his face, making him flinch and shiver.
This Dragon-blooded Goblin, who despised cold, scratched his head, trembling. His grotesque face twisted in confusion.
Did I misremember? It’s not even winter yet…
How can it be snowing?
Even in the barren expanse of the Anzeta Great Wasteland—called the "Land Without Spring"—early snowfall was rare. And here, in this relatively warm city?
"Huuuurr—"
The wind howled louder, colder. Ice pellets the size of peas began pelting the ground, swirling into a miniature storm in midair—a sudden, unnatural snowstorm.
Now Dolo was truly alarmed. His grip tightened on his axe. He realized with dread: this storm wasn’t natural.
He stepped back, retreating from the area, shouting over the wind:
"Alert! This isn’t normal weather! It’s a spell!"
The Great Goblins scrambled to flee, but the snowstorm pursued them—moving with unnatural purpose, howling as it followed their retreat.
"Damn it. It is a spell."
"Who the hell in this backwater town has a spell like this?"
"Those snake-eyed bastards in Intelligence deserve a bullet!"
Dolo glared back at the approaching storm, spitting in fury.
Norton Duchy was the weakest among the Kingdom of Ashen’s noble houses—barely a shadow, a vassal dog of the Bosk family. And yet… this kind of magic?
Impossible.
Then, at the heart of the blizzard, a figure emerged.
A giant, pale blue-skinned and grim-faced, hovering midair, his back bound by a massive horn. Glowing ice-blue runes pulsed across his body. In his hand, he gripped a jagged ice spike—master of the storm.
It was Duke Oliver.
He laughed wildly, his eyes blazing with icy fury, pupils like frozen stars radiating a piercing blue light.
"Shiver, followers of the Crawler!"
"Behold true power!"
"I am the Blizzard!"
His laughter intensified the storm. The blizzard grew fiercer, expanding in all directions.
Those Great Goblins who hadn’t fled in time were frozen in place—within moments, their bodies locked in ice, covered in frost, their final expressions preserved in silent horror. Lifeless statues, standing where they once stood.
"Look… is that… Lord Duke?"
"Good heavens… what is that?"
"So cold…"
"I’m losing feeling…"
The storm ravaged the city. Many civilians had no time to escape. Duke Oliver cared nothing for their lives. He unleashed the full power of the Everfrost Horn, turning the area within a hundred meters into a frozen wasteland—snow-covered streets now lined with twisted, frozen statues of the fallen.
"What in the name of the abyss is that?"
"This isn’t a low-level spell!"
Dolo fled, panting, cursing under his breath. Even he—Dragon-blooded and battle-hardened—knew he wouldn’t last a minute in that icy realm.
"Boom!"
The Dragonblood Goblins saw the storm approaching and didn’t hesitate. They dropped their axes, leaping twenty meters in a single bound—barely escaping the freezing grip of the storm. Thanks to their Dragon blood, their agility was unmatched, allowing them to flee just in time.
"Followers of the Crawler! You can’t escape!"
"You cannot counter the Blizzard!"
Duke Oliver showed no mercy. He pursued Dolo all the way to the city’s outskirts, determined to erase this so-called "Envy War Fiend"—to strike a fatal blow against the Red Dragon’s most trusted lieutenant.
"This can’t go on!"
Dolo, now at the city’s edge, turned back. The storm was closing in. His face darkened. Clenching the crimson crystal in his hand, he pressed it hard—desperate.
"Master, save me!"
This was the Fiery Dragon Crystal—a Message Crystal exclusive to the chieftains of the Kingdom of Ashen. It could summon the Red Dragon directly in moments of dire peril.
Dragonblood Goblins were fearless in battle—but Dolo wasn’t ready to die like this, swallowed by a spell he couldn’t understand. So he swallowed his pride and called for help.
"Huuuurr—"
The storm screamed.
Dolo still refused to surrender. With every ounce of strength left, he charged toward the heart of the blizzard—toward Duke Oliver.
"I’ll rip you apart!"
But the white void closed in. His massive frame trembled. His movements slowed. Ice crept over his face, thickening across his Dragon scales. Frost clung to his eyelids, sealing them shut.
Yet, his Red Dragon blood burned within him—fierce, relentless. He still lived. His teeth chattered uncontrollably. His eyelids flickered open and shut, one slow, desperate blink at a time.
"Damn it…"
"If I die here… Lanpu’ll never let me hear the end of it."
"I… can’t… die… here…"
At the brink of death, Dolo thought.
Just minutes in the cold, and his body was numb—sensation gone. His mind slowed, as if sinking into frozen silence.
(End of Chapter)
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