Chapter 177: Alternating Chill and Heat
Storm Ridge, north of Tiriel Throat.
This land, once scorched by raging flames, now bore the cruel fate of endless Cold Wind.
“By my god Solem above,”
“You, ancestor of all Frost Giants, grant eternal slumber to our enemies.”
“Blizzard, your mighty breath—transformed into cold, join us in battle, and let fear freeze their bones forever!”
Frost Giant priests chanted ancient incantations in unison, their bodies etched with glowing, mystical Runes.
【The Descent of Eternal Frost】
Heavens churned with swirling masses of freezing mist, surging and writhing like living shadows. They surged across the land, devouring silence, and unleashed a terrifying Blizzard upon the once-peaceful earth.
This was the Eternal Frost Power, passed down through generations of Frost Giant tribes—powerful even without sacred relics. If they had obtained the Everfrost Horn, this Blizzard would have been even more devastating, capable of swallowing the entire Storm Ridge in ice.
The Blizzard surged southward, racing across the wasteland, as hundreds of Frost Giants marched within its fury. Howling Cold Wind mingled with war cries and rough, guttural chants.
“We are biting frost, churning ice mist.”
“We are the piercing Cold Wind, the icy specters, the eternal howl.”
“Humans tremble before us. Even Dragons bow beneath our breath.”
“We come from ancient times, chasing the glory of old—let the white storm reclaim the earth once more.”
“We—are the endless Frost Disaster!”
Kasa Youshuang, chieftain of the Youshuang Tribe, donned a grotesque armor forged from white Dragon scales. He smeared black war paint across his face, mounted the largest Tundra Land Drake, and raised his massive double-bladed axe with one arm.
“For the Youshuang Tribe!”
“Reclaim the sacred relic—restore our ancestors’ glory!”
Sunlight vanished beneath the storm. The wasteland was ruthlessly bleached white by their passage. In the blinding haze, the giant army loomed like a towering wall of ice, advancing southward.
This cataclysmic spectacle shook the earth itself. All life in the wasteland trembled in dread.
The howling Cold Wind carried a dire message to Anzeta’s denizens—
Frost Disaster had arrived.
Beyond the Tiriel Throat, the armies of the Kingdom of Ashen stood ready.
Ogres gripped their Great Shields, Goblin infantry formed tight lines with Long Spears, Wyverns hovered low, wings flapping heavily. The Steppe Land Drake, serving as a mobile war fortress, let out a deep, grumbling snort.
“Damn…”
“Not this cursed nonsense again.”
The Dragonblood Goblins, cursed by their sensitivity to cold, spat bitterly—remembers of past horrors long buried.
For the first time, the Kingdom of Ashen faced an enemy of such magnitude. The Frost Giant horde, riding the Cold Wind, rendered the Human forces of Tiriel Battle utterly insignificant.
Yet, this threat kindled a fierce, blood-laced fire within them—the red Dragon bloodline flaring with battle lust.
Lanpu stared at the approaching Blizzard, his expression grim.
“This level of spell…”
“The casting isn’t arcane. More like divine. The scale… it’s nearing ninth-tier. A real pain in the ass.”
The Ogre mage assessed calmly, his voice steady. Yet fear did not touch him. As always, he adjusted his Golden Wire Eyeglasses, analyzing with cold precision.
Dolo, impatient, snapped, “Lanpu! Can you even handle this so-called Frost Disaster? Just standing there staring won’t stop the storm!”
Lanpu glanced sideways, his tone flat, laced with dry mockery:
“Pushing me won’t solve anything.”
“Dolo, are you afraid? After that near-death experience with a Frost Giant-blooded human?”
Dolo’s jaw clenched. Smoke burst from his nostrils. That humiliation still stung. And Lanpu, ever the opportunist, reopened the wound.
“Lanpu, I warn you—don’t undermine morale!”
“I’m merely stating facts.”
Lanpu grinned—a grotesque, twisted smile.
“For a spell of this caliber, I can’t handle it alone. But we have our greatest asset—Master.”
…
In human form, Kai Xiusu stood motionless atop the mountain, surveying the Frost Giant advance and the monstrous Blizzard descending upon the south.
“You think only you can shape the weather?”
“Frost Giant.”
He whispered, lifting his hand. The Ring on his finger—his ever-tightening grip on the Eye of the Storm Sovereign—flared with an electrifying glow.
A spell of the Eighth Layer of the Arcane Web:
【Weather Manipulation】
A surge of raw mana rippled across the land. Within kilometers, the climate shattered. Temperatures soared. Moisture in the soil evaporated in seconds. The air grew thick, humid, and searing—swelling into vast, churning Steam Clouds.
This seething warmth clashed violently with the oncoming Cold Wind.
“Hiss—”
A boundary zone erupted—thousands of meters long—a wide, shimmering Fog Belt. Flying Hail and snow instantly vaporized. New steam roared upward. Thick, scorching winds blocked the storm’s advance.
Two opposing forces collided—countered, clashed, wore each other down.
And then—miraculously—the temperature stabilized.
The battlefield became a mist-laden wasteland, littered with puddles, where fire and ice met in uneasy truce.
The battle had not yet begun. But the war of spells had already commenced.
Kai Xiusu narrowed his eyes, his will anchoring the Eye of the Storm Sovereign, countering the northern Blizzard.
“This spell is impressive. Even Control Weather can’t fully dominate it.”
“The Frost Giant spellcasters are no ordinary mages.”
“Can’t summon a Cataclysm like we did in Tiriel Battle.”
Even Kai Xiusu was surprised by the Blizzard’s resilience. The Eternal Frost Runes’ power was nearly on par with his own Eighth-Level spell.
Within the storm’s white chaos, several Frost Giant priests stood grim, their faces tight with disbelief.
This was the first time in history they’d encountered such resistance. For the first time, they felt… matched.
“Solem above…”
“The Eternal Frost Power… is being blocked.”
Their storm marches had always been unstoppable—ravaging the Northern Regions without restraint.
Now, for the first time, they faced a force that could even the odds. A strength worthy of their full attention.
In the rear, within the “Observation Group,” Trelshka sensed the sudden shift in weather. He stared at the clash between Blizzard and Hot Wind, stunned.
“A duel of this scale… in Anzeta, a magical wasteland?”
“Neither Frost Giants nor Red Dragons should even be here.”
Trelshka frowned, silent. Something was deeply wrong.
(End of Chapter)
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