Storm Heights, north of the Throat of Trier.
This ill-fated land, once swept by raging fires, now faced endless, biting winds.
"By our god, Thrym..."
"You are the ancestor of all frost giants, granting our enemies eternal sleep..."
"The blizzard is your surging breath! Embody the cold and fight beside us, casting our foes into everlasting terror!"
The frost giant priests chanted an ancient incantation in unison, the arcane runes covering their bodies flaring with light.
Everfrost Descends.
Dense, roiling mists laden with freezing air churned in the sky, billowing outward until they whipped the once-tranquil wilderness into a horrific blizzard.
This was the Everfrost power passed down through generations of the frost giant tribe. And this was even without the sacred relic to aid them; had they possessed the Horn of Everfrost, this blizzard would have been far more dreadful, enough to engulf the entirety of Storm Heights.
The blizzard swept southward with alarming speed, and several hundred frost giants marched swiftly within it. Amidst the howling gale mingled war cries and a rough, booming song:
"We are the biting frost, the churning ice mist."
"We are the howling wind, the frozen wraiths, the eternal roar."
"Men tremble before us; even dragons bow before our gale."
"From ancient times we march, chasing bygone glory, to let the white tempest sweep the realm once more."
"We—are the unending Frost Calamity!"
Kasa Everfrost, chieftain of the Everfrost Tribe and a mighty frost giant warrior, donned fearsome armor crafted from white dragon scales. With war paint smeared in black across his face, he rode upon the back of the largest tundra landwyrm and raised his heavy, double-bladed axe with a single arm.
"For the Everfrost Tribe!"
"Reclaim the sacred relic! Restore the glory of our ancestors!"
The sunlight was nearly blotted out, the barrens brutally bleached a frosty white. Through the snow-blurred haze, the army of giants advanced southward like a towering wall of ice.
This cataclysmic spectacle shook the earth, leaving every living thing across the plains shivering in fear.
The shrieking wind proclaimed to all living souls in Anzeta—
The Frost Calamity had arrived!
...
Outside the Throat of Trier.
The armies of the Kingdom of Cinders stood arrayed in full battle readiness.
Heavy ogre infantry gripped their massive shields, hobgoblin foot soldiers leveled their spears in tight formation, wyverns beat their wings in a dark mass at low altitude, and wasteland landwyrms—hulking as mobile bastions—huffed low, muffled snorts.
"Curse it..."
"Not this damn stuff again."
Staring at the overwhelming blizzard, the cold-averse dragonblood hobgoblins spat in disgust, seemingly reminded of some bitter memory.
This was also the first time the Kingdom of Cinders had faced such a formidable enemy. Compared to this army of frost giants riding the gale, the human forces from the Battle of Trier seemed utterly insignificant.
Yet confronting such mighty foes only stoked their fanaticism—a fierce lust for battle bestowed by the red dragon bloodline coursing through their veins.
Trump gazed at the approaching blizzard, his expression grave.
"A spell of this magnitude..."
"The method of casting is not arcane; it resembles divine magic, and its scale is nearly at the ninth tier. A truly troublesome opponent."
The ogre archmage assessed aloud.
Yet before this terrifying sight, Trump showed no fear. He merely adjusted his gold-rimmed spectacles as usual, analyzing the situation with cold detachment.
Duoluo, waiting beside him with growing impatience, said, "Trump, can you deal with this supposed Frost Calamity or not?
"Staring blankly won't calm the wind and snow."
Trump glanced sideways at him, maintaining his characteristically flat, mildly mocking tone:
"Pointless badgering won't solve anything either.
"Commander Duoluo, surely you aren't afraid—not after nearly being killed by a human with a sliver of frost giant blood?"
Duoluo gnashed his teeth in fury, snorting a plume of smoke. That incident had brought him immense humiliation, yet Trump had tactlessly dragged it up again.
"Trump, I'm warning you! Don't you dare undermine morale!"
"I am merely stating facts."
Trump grinned, a sinister smile creeping across his hideous face.
"Against a spell of this magnitude, I have no way of solving it alone. However, we have our greatest reliance—the Master."
...
In human form, Cassius stood quietly atop the peak, looking down at the frost giants advancing southward and the terrifying blizzard sweeping along with them.
"Did you think you were the only ones who could command the weather?"
"Frost giants..."
Cassius murmured to himself.
He revealed the ring upon his finger; the Eye of the Storm Sovereign, whose power he commanded with ever-growing mastery, was pulsing with a breathtaking radiance.
It was a spell reaching the eighth tier of the Weave—
Control Weather.
With a powerful surge of magical energy, the climate over several kilometers shifted drastically.
The temperature spiked dramatically, and surface moisture rapidly boiled away. The air turned sweltering and humid as vast clouds of steam billowed skyward.
This restless wave of heat clashed against the freezing wind hurtling south, instantly setting off a violent reaction.
Whoosh—!
Amid the roaring rush of air, a wide band of dense mist stretched across a thousand meters where the two forces met. Swirling hailstones and snowflakes sublimated in an instant. Roiling billows of newly formed steam surged as heavy, scalding winds held the howling blizzard at bay.
The two opposing forces contended, collided, and ground against one another, remarkably stabilizing the surrounding temperature and restoring it toward normal, creating an expansive realm shrouded in fog and drenched in puddles.
Before the two armies had even made contact, the contest of spells had already begun.
Narrowing his eyes, Cassius focused his will through the Eye of the Storm Sovereign, contesting the blizzard sweeping down from the north.
'The quality of this spell is remarkably high; Control Weather cannot wrest total dominance away from it.
'The spellcasters of the Everfrost Tribe are no ordinary opponents.
'It seems I won't be able to unleash a calamity the way I did during the Battle of Trier.'
Even Cassius was surprised by the blizzard's tenacity; the power of the Everfrost runes was easily on par with his eighth-tier spell.
Meanwhile, within the windblown expanse of blinding white, several frost giant priests wore grave expressions. Having never encountered such a situation before, they were momentarily at a loss.
"By Thrym..."
"The Everfrost power has been... halted."
The frost giants' blizzard-covered march had always swept away all resistance, running rampant across the Northlands without opposition.
Yet for the very first time, these frost giants had encountered an evenly matched force—one they were forced to take seriously.
Among the "observation delegation" at the rear of the Cinder encampment, Trischka sensed the shifting weather. Watching the distant struggle between the blizzard and the scalding gale, he found it almost beyond belief.
'How could a magical clash of this magnitude occur in a magical wasteland like Anzeta...?
'Neither frost giants nor red dragons belong here.'
Trischka thought to himself.
Chapter 176