CHAPTER 52

"I'm not a mage!"

Rowe clenched Verrigan's Fist tightly as radiant Holy Light flared from its head like a hammer striking an anvil.

The One-Eyed Frost Giant was momentarily stunned, hastily raising his weapon to parry. But Verrigan's Fist burst into flames mid-swing, scorching the giant's blue flesh. The creature let out a guttural cry, "Ahhh!"

Frost Giants were notoriously vulnerable to heat—fire was their bane.

The holy flames burned deeper than expected, and the giant's hands blistered and began to fester, the icy flesh sizzling grotesquely.

Rowe charged with Verrigan's Fist blazing like a meteor.

Chong!

The broadsword of the frost giant clashed with the divine weapon, flames bursting outward in a halo of heat and light.

This time, the giant was ready. Though some of the flames licked his arms, his stance was steady, his grip tightened around his sword. He dug his heels into the snow-packed earth and refused to falter.

With their positions stabilized, the difference in strength became apparent.

Rowe, though fueled by the Holy Light, was still a youth—thin and underaged. While the Light's might could pierce darkness and purify evil, it couldn't give him the raw physical strength needed to match a full-grown frost warrior in a brute-force clash.

Clang! Clang!

Every slash from the frost giant sent tremors through Rowe's arms. His parries were strained, each impact pushing him backward. After several exchanges, his arms trembled from fatigue, his grip beginning to falter.

Chong!

Another brutal strike from the frost giant forced Rowe to his knees. His weapon nearly flew from his grasp. Sweat mixed with snow on his brow as he gasped for breath.

The frost giant grunted, eyes burning with hatred. He advanced methodically, applying relentless pressure.

But then—Holy Light shimmered again, wrapping around Rowe like golden armor. He activated Divine Protection.

In a split-second decision, Rowe dropped Verrigan's Fist from his defensive stance and instead lunged forward, taking the giant's sword directly to his chest—protected only by armor and divine shielding.

Simultaneously, he swung the warhammer upward with all his strength, the Holy Light igniting mid-arc.

The pain hit him instantly. Even with Divine Protection and enchanted armor, the impact from the frost giant's blade left him breathless, ribs creaking under the force. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth.

But the gamble worked.

BOOM!

Verrigan's Fist smashed into the giant's face, Holy Light and sacred fire erupting in a blinding explosion. The head of the one-eyed frost giant twisted unnaturally, flesh searing off as his body slumped, dead before it hit the ground.

Rowe collapsed to one knee, clutching his chest. He gasped for air and quickly channeled the Light into himself, healing as best he could.

Around him, the battle continued.

Only three of the original eight ice bear cavalry remained. The elite Ander squad quickly overwhelmed them, striking with ruthless precision. Within moments, all enemies nearby were down.

They regrouped and made quick adjustments. One soldier dead. Four injured. Eight frost-riding enemies defeated.

For a standard infantry unit, it was an impressive record. Perhaps the best among all the teams scattered throughout the camp.

But there were no cheers.

Because when they looked around, all they saw was chaos. The entire outpost was falling apart.

The Berserkers. The Valkyries. The Heroic Spirit Warriors. Every elite Asgardian force had been deployed. Still, they were losing.

Hela herself was a storm of death—her long sword flying from her hand, spinning like a divine predator. It cut through frost giants with elegant brutality.

But even she was being pushed back. Frost giants surrounded her endlessly. Fatigue crept into her strikes, anxiety into her eyes.

Then a fresh group of ice bear cavalry spotted Ander's unit and began charging.

Ander stepped forward, raising his sword. "Prepare to fight!"

He clenched his fist, muttering under his breath. "Lord Uller should have seen this. Why haven't reinforcements arrived…"

Rowe's brows furrowed in thought.

Uller, Heimdall's father and the current guardian of Bifrost, possessed the gift of foresight and the power of far sight. There was no way he hadn't noticed the seventh outpost under siege. Where was the backup?

Before he could finish his thought, a brilliant ice-blue beam of light shot into the sky—aimed straight at the mirror image of the sun stationed at the heart of the camp.

It was an attack meant to cripple them all.

The defenders were too stretched thin to react.

The beam tore through the sky with divine intensity, crashing down toward the sun-mirror.

At the last moment, a golden light barrier rose to intercept it. The Mirror of the Sun's enchantments activated defensively.

Golden and blue energies collided with cataclysmic force, bursting outward like exploding stars. Waves of magical energy rippled across the battlefield, knocking soldiers from their feet.

But it wasn't enough.

The golden shield cracked.

Then shattered.

The icy beam struck the mirror.

BOOM!

The artifact exploded into shards, each fragment gleaming briefly before falling like crystalized tears.

And with it—the warm protective aura of the mirror disappeared.

Jotunheim's unforgiving cold roared in to fill the void. Snowstorms howled through the camp. The temperature plummeted.

A frost giant's voice rose above the storm, filled with glee.

"Hahaha! My king is here! Asgardians, your end has come!"

Frost giants howled in triumph, emboldened. The warriors of Asgard faltered.

"It's Laufey!"

"Laufey the Frost King!"

Rowe looked to the battlefield's edge. A towering, gaunt frost giant rode into view atop a massive frostbear. In his hand was an ice-blue artifact—an angular box that pulsed with ancient power.

Laufey.

Frost King of Jotunheim.

As Asgard's warriors screamed in defiance, a team of Heroic Spirit Warriors charged at him.

But Laufey remained calm. He lifted the blue box.

It shimmered once—and an ice-blue beam arced out. The warriors didn't even have time to cry out before being frozen mid-charge, then shattered into icy debris.

With the sun mirror gone and Laufey revealed, morale collapsed.

Soldiers began fleeing.

"Prepare to retreat!" Hela called out through gritted teeth. Her sword spun in one final sweeping arc before returning to her hand as she forced her way out of the encirclement.

A pocket of remaining warriors gathered around her, forming a defensive retreat pattern.

Ander's team, battered but intact, fought their way to her side. Several had fallen in the process.

Hela's eyes scanned them—and landed on Rowe, limping, warhammer in one hand, healing staff in the other.

Her gaze flickered with surprise. Then she pointed.

"You. With me. Cover the retreat."

Rowe blinked.

Wait, what?

He wasn't even part of Ander's squad. He was a healer. Why was she—

Princess Hela, we met once. Do you really have to single me out?

He opened his mouth, but she was already issuing her next command.

"Heimed," she called. "Run to the first outpost. Tell them to send reinforcements. Now!"

"Yes, Princess!"

Heimed didn't wait. In a burst of divine speed, he took off.

Within moments, he vanished—leaving only an afterimage.

Clatter-clatter…

His armor and weapons dropped from the afterimage like abandoned shells, clanking against the icy ground as they slowly came to a rest.

Rowe's jaw dropped.

What… What kind of speed was that?

Faster than a flying horse. Faster than light.

Faster than logic.