Chapter 184: The Fall of Glacier (Part 1)
“By Solem above…”
“They haven’t even reached us yet—look at them…”
“How could we possibly defeat such an enemy?”
As the Wasteland transformed into a hellish wasteland of molten lava, the surviving hundred Frost Giants stood frozen in terror, their eyes wide with dread, fearing nothing more than being targeted by the monstrous Red Dragon.
Ogre Heavy Infantry closed in, surrounding the giants like a living wall. With grunts of effort, three or four Ogres—each as thick as a man’s thigh—dragged out thick ropes, coiling them around the giants’ limbs and torsos. Once secured, the captives were dragged southward, destined for use as expendable labor.
“These Frost Giants will become valuable assets for the Empire,” Kai Xiusu said, his eyes glinting coldly. “They are forbidden from breeding. Forbidden from worship. When idle, they’ll be locked in the dungeons of Darkness.”
“They’ll be used for wall construction—fortifying our frontlines. They’ll be forced into backbreaking labor, whipped into submission. And their blood… will all belong to me.”
Kai Xiusu felt no pity for these so-called Frost Disasters, the monstrous giants responsible for countless massacres. He bore no moral hesitation in exploiting them—only a single, ruthless purpose: to extract every last ounce of value from them.
“Yes, as you command,” Lanpu said, his voice trembling with excitement.
He felt no sympathy for these kinfolk—only a Mage’s thrill at the prospect of studying their “Eternal Frost Power.”
Dolo stepped forward to report:
“Master, I’ve learned everything from Wahala Glacier. Their mouths were surprisingly easy to pry open.”
“Besides the three hundred Frost Giant Warriors who marched south, there were about a hundred elderly and weak, and several dozen Warriors stationed there. While they were gone, Nur Youshuang—the eldest High Priest of the Youshuang Tribe—was in charge.”
“The High Priest…?”
“I see.”
Kai Xiusu nodded calmly.
To destroy the Youshuang Tribe, he must eliminate this figurehead of faith—eradicate the very concept of worship among them.
Since he had already provoked Solem, awakened the wrath of a slumbering god, why not go further? Why not wipe out every last believer of this deity in Anzeta—turn the entire tribe into slaves of the Empire, leaving nothing but ruin and despair in their place.
After all, in the wake of the giant empire’s collapse, the presence of giants upon Earth had grown increasingly rare. Storm Giants and Cloud Giants had largely departed the Prime Material Plane, serving lawful deities, celestial beings, or even noble Metal Dragons. But the Frost Giants—raiders by nature—had been worn down by endless wars, driven ever northward until they now clung to the frozen edges of the world.
“Tell me where it is,” Kai Xiusu said. “I will bring them a disaster they will never forget.”
“As you command.”
Wahala Glacier.
Inside the crude, massive Ice Citadel of the Frost Giants.
“It’s over… everything is ending.”
“My prophecy was not wrong. The Fated Cataclysm is coming. He will destroy all. Enslave my people.”
Nur set down the Truth Ice Sphere, his frail hands trembling as he rose slowly from his seat. The young Warriors flanking him rushed forward to help, but the old priest waved them aside with a sharp, dismissive gesture.
He began muttering, half-crazed.
“No… no… perhaps there’s still a chance.”
“Quick—go! Summon every young warrior in the tribe!”
The Frost Giant Warriors exchanged confused glances. Though puzzled by the High Priest’s panic, they obeyed out of long-standing reverence for his centuries of authority, rushing to gather the younger fighters.
Dozens of Frost Giant Warriors assembled beneath the Great Glacier.
“What’s wrong with Elder Nur?”
“Why summon us now?”
“Kasa hasn’t returned yet. The Sacred Southern Campaign is still ongoing. What’s so urgent?”
The younger warriors whispered among themselves, their voices laced with confusion—until the hunched, emaciated figure of Elder Nur appeared.
“Kasa’s campaign is over,” he said, voice low and cracked, yet unnervingly clear. “They met the Fated Cataclysm. Complete annihilation.”
The words struck like a thunderbolt.
A wave of shock swept through the gathering. The Frost Giants could no longer contain their rising fury and despair.
Though they had been left behind as guardians of the sacred glacier, they longed for southern raids. They believed Kasa would strike terror into the hearts of all humans in the south.
And now—within mere days—three hundred of their finest warriors had been utterly destroyed?
It wasn’t just unbelievable. It defied the very laws of their people’s existence for centuries.
“Elder Nur, your spell must’ve gone wrong!”
“Are you mad?”
“Kasa can fight dragons bare-handed! How could mere humans defeat him?”
“Elder Nur, we are Frost Disasters!”
The old Frost Giant Priest sighed, his gaze filled with sorrow.
He had once believed the “Fated Cataclysm” in his prophecy referred to them—that the Frost Giants would be the storm, the unstoppable force that would crush all in the North and rebuild their empire in blood and ice.
But now he saw the truth: they were not the storm.
They were the victims.
With a trembling hand, Nur drew a rough circle in the ice with his wooden staff. A gust of frigid wind howled through the chamber—then, in the air before them, the image of a terrifying Red Dragon appeared.
Beneath it, dozens of Frost Giants writhed in molten lava, their limbs flailing, their flesh melting, bones exposed as the searing heat consumed them. The sight was horrific—screams trapped in silence, mouths open in eternal agony.
Nur stopped the vision.
“Do you see it?” he asked, voice strained.
Silence fell.
Had they not seen the vision, they would never have believed it. The idea that Kasa’s entire army—his mighty force—had been driven to utter destruction was beyond comprehension.
“We are the last line of defense for the Youshuang Tribe,” Nur said. “All women and children—evacuate. This is our battle.”
“Elder…” One young warrior stepped forward, but was silenced by Nur’s icy stare.
The younger warriors stood rigid, hearts heavy with unspoken questions. They obeyed without protest, moving swiftly through the glacier’s tunnels.
Only Kasa’s young son—Koman Youshuang—was brought before him.
The Frost Giant was only thirty years old, still a youth, barely four meters tall—just a boy in the eyes of the ancient priest.
But Koman was no fool. His gaze burned with hatred—raw, unyielding fury, the eternal grief of a Frost Giant who had lost his family.
“I will kill that dragon,” he vowed. “For my father. Elder Nur, let me fight! I am Kasa’s son. I do not fear death!”
Nur placed a trembling hand on the boy’s head.
“I was already near death,” he whispered. “But you are different. You carry the bloodline of the chosen. You are our last hope.”
“Run, child. Go south. To the Anstica Mountains. Carry our name forward. Let the name of Youshuang one day… make the world tremble again.”
With trembling hands, the old priest slipped a shimmering, shifting ring onto Koman’s finger—a relic pulsing with faint, otherworldly light.
(End of Chapter)
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