Chapter 23: The Advantage of Numerical Superiority

The vast plains grew increasingly tense with the arrival of the Frost Giant army. Countless ice spears danced through the sky, reflecting the mesmerizing hues of the setting sun as they streaked toward their intended targets—Hela, daughter of Odin, and Lothar, son of Thanos.

"Why don't you surrender quietly? That way, at least your death will be somewhat dignified. I doubt Odin would want to see his daughter torn limb from limb."

Wielding a massive frost axe, Malnor advanced steadily, leading his troops in tightening the encirclement around their prey.

"And you—though I don't know who you are, I'll acknowledge that you've done us a favor. As a merciful gesture, I'll grant you the opportunity to end your own life. Satisfied?"

Mjolna pointed his sharp axe blade at Lothar, but before he could finish speaking, the latter shattered an incoming ice spear with a single punch, unfazed.

"I don't like people pointing weapons at me." As he landed and stood upright, Lothar shook the frost from his hands, his words laced with an unmistakable killing intent.

They're not on the same side?

Summoning a shield to block incoming projectiles, Hela furrowed her brows as she observed Lothar, who was also within the Frost Giants' attack range. She had just led her squad in slaughtering the garrison defending these plains, destroying the giants' large-scale siege weapons, and was preparing to leave—only to encounter Lothar's fleet. Naturally, she had assumed him to be an enemy reinforcements unit. But judging by the current situation, she might have been mistaken.

Who in the universe just happens to pass by a battlefield with an entire fleet in tow?!

In all her years, this was a first for Hela.

"Since that's how you want it, you can die alongside Hela Odinsdottir!" With a wave of his massive axe, Malnor signaled the Frost Giants to attack. The horde roared and charged at the two warriors.

Rather than retreating, Lothar chose to meet the onslaught head-on.

A paradoxical mix of exhilaration and icy composure coursed through him. Darting between the hulking enemies, he struck with lethal precision—every punch either maimed or killed.

"Trading injury for injury? Admirable, but pointless."

"You are only two, and we are an entire army." Standing at the rear, Malnor observed the battlefield with a cruel grin as the two combatants fought fiercely.

A sheer difference in numbers wasn't something that could be overcome so easily—especially when both adversaries were already wounded.

Compared to Lothar, who fought relentlessly despite accumulating injuries, Hela's condition was clearly worse. The Asgardian physique possessed extraordinary regenerative abilities, but only when given time to recover. Already exhausted from her earlier battle and the destruction of enemy artillery, she struggled against the relentless onslaught of Frost Giants.

Her Asgardian-marked shield was torn apart, and her fatigue finally showed under the overwhelming assault.

"Your end has come, Hela Odinsdottir!" Malnor had been waiting for this moment. With a triumphant roar, he leaped high, the war axe gifted to him by King Laufey raised high, descending straight for Hela's head.

Though curious about the strange warrior battling his troops, Malnor never forgot who his true target was.

Clang!

Summoned in haste, Hela's enchanted metal defense shattered under Malnor's devastating strike, sending a shower of shimmering fragments through the air. Deep gashes appeared across her body as she lost balance and crashed to the ground, her intricate battle armor now soaked in blood.

"Hah..."

Struggling to steady her breath, Hela attempted to rise—only to be struck down again as another figure was flung toward her, colliding with her forcefully. Both tumbled to the ground.

"Cough, cough..."

Lothar spat blood, his shattered silver chest plate stained crimson. Shakily, he got back to his feet.

"Are you blind?!" Hela, having barely caught her breath, now found herself crushed under Lothar's weight and staggered to her feet, increasingly irate.

"I should be asking you that." Without acknowledging her complaint, Lothar ripped away the remnants of his ruined armor.

"..." If not for the fact that she still needed him as a distraction, Hela would have stabbed him right then and there.

"Your strength has impressed me, stranger." Standing among his warriors, Malnor eyed Lothar with keen interest as he adjusted his grip on his axe. "I'll make you an offer—kill Hela Odinsdottir with your own hands, and I will personally recommend you to our king, the ruler of Jotunheim—"

Before he could finish, a piece of Lothar's discarded armor struck him in the face, cutting him off mid-sentence.

"Seems like your recruitment attempt failed." Standing beside Lothar, Hela smirked as she brandished her sword.

Asgardians do not cower in battle.

That was a truth Hela had understood since the day Odin took her under his wing.

"You talk too much." Lothar bent his knees slightly, then propelled himself forward with explosive force. In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance to Malnor, delivering a powerful roundhouse kick aimed directly at his opponent's side!

"Honestly, perhaps accepting his offer would've been a smarter choice." Hela twirled her sword before diving into the fray alongside Lothar.

Lothar gave no response.

Blades flashed, fists clashed, and despite never having fought together before, the two warriors quickly fell into an instinctive rhythm, synchronizing their attacks seamlessly.

Kill or be killed.

Burying her sword into a Frost Giant's chest, Hela reached out—but no new weapon materialized in her grasp. Scanning the battlefield, she realized their enemies had not thinned.

"Out of strength already?" She pulled her scythe from a fallen foe, gripping it tightly as she steadied her labored breathing.

Boom!

Having just slain two giants, Lothar was suddenly struck by Malnor's axe, sending him hurtling back to Hela's side.

"Pathetic." Malnor scoffed, twirling his weapon dismissively.

"Hey, you dead yet?" Hela nudged Lothar's side with her boot.

"Not even close." Blood-streaked and battered, Lothar rose once more, his grin eerie against the crimson coating his face. His upper armor was reduced to tattered strips, revealing chiseled muscles covered in fresh wounds—some inflicted by the Frost Giants, others by Hela herself.

And yet, his battle spirit burned stronger than ever.

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