Chapter 175: Kasa's Ambition
Storm Ridge, Temporary Frost Giant Encampment.
Once a lush, verdant forest, the land now lay stripped bare—its trees felled by the Frost Giants, their trunks scattered like broken bones across the frozen earth. Howling cold winds swept down from the north, piling thick snowdrifts into towering dunes. Amidst this desolation stood a crude command tent, woven from the bones of land-walking dragons and layered with thick animal hides. Nearby, a mountain of spoils looted from nearby settlements heaped high—grain, furs, armor, weapons—all trophies of violent conquest.
Within the encampment, Frost Giant shamans knelt in ritual, whispering ancient incantations to the frozen void. With each chant, they summoned shimmering Frozen Domains, vast, ice-bound sanctuaries that shielded their people from the elements and repelled intruders. These domains became the foundation for raids—harsh, merciless strikes against any human settlements within reach.
Kasa stood at the crest of the ridge, a Double-Bladed Axe planted firmly into the snow at his side. His gaze, cold and unblinking, locked onto Baya—his face bruised, his body scarred, his eyes hollow with defeat.
“Baya,” Kasa’s voice was low, like the wind before a blizzard. “Where are your people?”
“And why return empty-handed? Where are the spoils?”
Baya hung his head, jaw clenched tight. “Chieftain… we encountered a bone too hard to break. There was… a stronghold.”
He hesitated, then forced the truth from his lips.
“Twenty-six warriors… Heroically Fallen.”
His voice twisted into a snarl. “But fear not—I will crush that fortress. Give me fifty more warriors, and I swear—”
Kasa’s brow furrowed. His gaze turned furious. He cut Baya off with a sharp, brutal gesture.
“Twenty-six? For a single fortress? Do you have any idea what your father accomplished six decades ago? He razed the entire city of Nethri, plundered centuries of accumulated treasure… and lost only eleven of our own.”
Baya’s voice dropped, strained. “That was no ordinary fortress. Behind it… stood a true Dragon.”
Kasa silenced him again—without pause, without mercy.
“Patience is the mark of a true leader. You lack it. Your command is revoked. Temaa shall take your place.”
He fixed Baya with a stare that brooked no defiance. “I will not tolerate such reckless folly again.”
“Yes, Chieftain,” Baya muttered, his fists clenching at his sides. He wanted to argue, to defend his honor—but the unyielding weight of Kasa’s gaze crushed the words in his throat.
Kasa gave a subtle nod.
From behind Baya, Temaa stepped forward, his eyes alight with sudden hope. He knelt before the chieftain, who dipped a finger into a jar of crimson pigment and drew two jagged lines across his forehead—the mark of a Frost Giant war chieftain, a symbol of command in battle.
Inside the command tent, Kasa spread a massive hide map across a stone table. The parchment was stained with ink, marked with crude symbols—paths, borders, landmarks. Around it sat several young Frost Giant shamans, their bodies strong, their minds sharp. Meanwhile, Elder Nur, frail and bent with age, remained behind at the Wahala Glacier, overseeing the weak, the old, and the children.
“Veer,” Kasa asked, his voice cutting through the silence. “Can you pinpoint the exact location of the Everfrost Horn?”
The young shaman nodded slowly. “We cannot be certain, Chieftain—but we can estimate, based on the old records.”
He tapped his staff on the map, tracing a jagged line across the southern edge of Storm Ridge.
“According to our ancestors’ charts, within this region lies only one human city: Northwind Keep.”
Kasa’s eyes gleamed. “Good. Excellent.”
He stood straighter, his voice rising with conviction.
“Capture that city. Recover the Everfrost Horn. And with it, our Ancestral Glory shall be reborn.”
The shaman bowed. “The prophecy is clear, Chieftain. The Horn lies within Northwind Keep.”
Kasa’s smile was cold, triumphant. But then, a flicker of doubt crossed his face. He narrowed his eyes.
“Tell me… is there any record of a Dragon in these mountains?”
The Youshuang tribe had long been cut off from the south by the towering Kolkha Mountains. Their knowledge of the region remained rooted in the past—sixty years old, at best. The shamans exchanged glances.
“No such record exists,” one admitted. “But… Chieftain, if I may speak freely—our intelligence is outdated. To these frail humans, sixty years is generations. The world beyond the mountains… it may have changed utterly.”
Kasa stroked his chin, eyes half-lidded. Then, slowly, his gaze hardened—burning with ambition.
“Foolish mortals. No matter how they evolve, they are still destined to fall beneath our might.”
“And a dragon… one that did not even exist sixty years ago? A mere youth? Pathetic. It will only add another glorious chapter to my legend—a Dragon slain by Frost Giant steel.”
He turned toward the map, his voice echoing like ice cracking.
“When we reclaim the Everfrost Horn, I will carve the entire Northern Regions into a single, eternal Frozen Domain—restoring the lands once ruled by our ancestral chieftains!”
“Under the Might of Youshuang, all resistance will crumble. All defiance will be erased.”
---
Northwind Keep, Council Chamber.
Kai Xiusu sat upon the throne, his fingers tracing the latest intelligence reports. His crimson eyes flickered with quiet amusement.
“They’ve reached Rockfort already? Their advance is… impressively swift.”
Dailenna stood beside him, her expression grave. “Frost Giant rapid movements are legendary across the north. They travel in small, agile groups—dozens of giants marching in the wake of the Cold Wind, sweeping through settlements like winter’s breath. Their speed outpaces any human army in recorded history.”
“Currently, Bathor City and Sg Town have suffered minor raids. No major losses. But Rockfort was hit by their main force—and still held.”
She paused, then added, “The Crimson Scales Patrol reports they’ve abandoned Storm Ridge. They’re concentrating their strength, preparing to push south. Their target… is almost certainly the Everfrost Horn.”
Kai Xiusu rose from his throne, stretching his wings with a slow, deliberate motion. His muscles tensed, his posture regal.
“Good. That’s exactly what I want.”
He smirked. “I’ve grown tired of playing defense—running from crisis to crisis, never in control.”
“Enough of this farce.”
He turned to Dailenna. “Order every unit in the kingdom to hold the Frost Giants at Tiriel Throat. Let them advance as far as they like—just keep them north of the pass. If they go further, they’ll ruin the southern harvest.”
“The age of the Giant Empire is long dead. These scavengers, feeding on the bones of our ancestors… they belong in the grave.”
Dailenna hesitated, then spoke again.
“Master… there’s one more thing.”
Kai Xiusu raised an eyebrow.
“Oh? And what is it?”
“A envoy from the Bosk Duchy has arrived. They claim they wish to assist the Kingdom of Ashen in resisting the Frost Disaster.”
Kai Xiusu’s eyes narrowed—just slightly. A flicker of interest sparked in the depths of his Red Dragon pupils.
“Oh? How… generous of them.”
He leaned forward, a slow, dangerous smile curling at the corner of his lips.
“Bring the ‘benevolent’ ambassador in. I’d like to see what old Lionheart is hiding in his pocket.”
A shadow of amusement danced in his gaze—like fire beneath ice.
(End of Chapter)
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