Defeating the World with the Power of One Dragon!

Chapter 442: The Giant Who Crowned Himself King, Unifying the Northern Realm

As friction rose between the Aola Kingdom and the Divine Kingdom of Theo, far to the north on an ice-blanketed tundra, a slaughter that would decide the fate of two great peoples raged fiercely.

In the tundra’s northern reaches, a broad frozen plain lay before them. Right now it was soaked with blood and strewn with severed limbs, the glaring crimson standing out violently against the pristine white. Two races that had lived for generations in this bitter land — the massive, cold-hearted frost giants and the hardy, unyielding barbarians — harbored hatred carved deep into bone. Their previous generation’s legendary leaders had died together in a decisive battle; after both perished, the wars paused and both sides recuperated for decades.

However, a few years ago, the rebuilding frost giants could no longer hold back and began repeatedly encroaching on the barbarians’ lands and hunting grounds. At first the clashes were small and both sides exercised restraint. But over time, sporadic skirmishes escalated until they erupted into all-out war across the tundra.

At this very moment, both sides had poured virtually all their strength into the frozen soil, determined to decide a final victor and end the feud. Snowstorms and howling winds whipped the battlefield into chaos. Many barbarian warriors were born with rage and frenzy-type talents. Once they smelled blood, they became like unleashed beasts, reckless in their death-defying assaults. With this feral combat style and a numerical edge, the barbarians and the frost giants — who enjoyed obvious superiority in size and strength — fought on, locked in a stalemate.

The barbarian chieftain, draped in a rough war cloak sewn from some great beast’s pelt and wielding a massive rune-etched battle-axe, was the soul and pillar of the barbarian formation. Waves of blood-red fury pulsed about him as he fought unceasingly with the frost giant leader Wolruk, who was far larger. Not only did the chieftain not yield, his berserk fury at times forced his opponent to retreat. Each roar that accompanied a swing of his axe bolstered his warriors’ morale.

Then, just as the majority of barbarian warriors fell completely into madness and pushed their latent powers to the limit — their bloodlust beginning to overwhelm the frost giants’ icy onslaught — an abrupt anomaly occurred.

Wolruk, who had been locked in combat with the barbarian chieftain and appeared evenly matched or even at a disadvantage, suddenly revealed a streak of cruelty in his ice-blue eyes. He raised his huge head and howled toward the sky with an ear-splitting roar.

In an instant, the swirling blizzard above seemed to freeze mid-motion, the shrieking wind cut off. Even blood droplets and ice crystals in the air stalled for a heartbeat. Then, centered on the frost giant leader’s hulking body, countless visible shards of biting wind and snow coalesced and spun violently, forming a domain completely under his control. The reaction-speed barbarian chieftain was entirely enveloped.

The wind and snow were like blades, mercilessly slicing everything inside the domain. The chieftain’s hide — tough enough to resist sword blows — was torn open by the domain’s storms, deep rips tearing down to bone; the blood that welled forth froze almost as soon as it emerged.

“Legendary.... Domain?!” the barbarian chieftain managed to cry out, barely steadying himself amid storms that could tear steel. His expression changed drastically. Aside from the ferocious snow assault, the air felt as if it had turned into lead, crushing his body and making every step a struggle. Even raising his rune-axe became extraordinarily difficult, as though he were fighting the whole world’s weight.

Under normal circumstances, a Legendary domain’s suppression of mundane beings was almost irrefutable. “Legendary! He’s Legendary!” “All barbarian warriors! Retreat! Fall back now! Preserve the tribe’s flame!” the chieftain barked hoarsely, ordering a full withdrawal. But his voice sank like a stone into the sea; it was trapped inside the domain and could not penetrate outward.

Outside, most warriors had already lost themselves to frenzy and could not recognize the sudden turn of events. They continued attacking on instinct — exactly the scene the frost giant leader had wanted. Wolruk had ascended to the Legendary tier years ago, but to annihilate the barbarians’ main force without letting them escape, he had chosen to hide and bait them, provoking small skirmishes to lure the barbarians into concentrating their main power for a final decisive battle. Only now, at the moment both sides had exhausted their strength, when the barbarians were at their fiercest, did he reveal his long-hidden Legendary might, intending to strike a final, irreversible blow.

Wolruk let out a deep, thunderous laugh. He looked down at the barbarian chieftain struggling within his domain and declared, “The hatred between our two peoples that has endured for generations will end today, here, by my own hand.”

“Lowly barbarians, throw away your pathetic weapons. Fall prostrate beneath my feet. Swear to be my loyal slaves and please me. That will be the only way to preserve your lives and those of your kin.”

Turning former equals into groveling slaves rather than simply killing them brought frost giants far more satisfaction and a sweeter taste of conquest. In their culture, taming powerful creatures into bondage was a symbol of might and status. Their favorite and most revered slaves were dragons — and among dragons, only the White Dragons could be subdued. Any frost giant who could enslave a White Dragon as a servant or mount would earn the awe and envy of the entire clan; it was the greatest of honors.

“Bend the knee? Ha...!” Even as his body groaned under the Legendary domain’s crushing oppression, as if ready to be crushed at any moment, the barbarian chieftain summoned his last strength, inhaled deeply, and spat a mouthful of blood toward the frost giant. “Descendants of the ice plain, I’d rather die standing than live on my knees!” “Despicable scum, we’ll wait for you in hell’s flames!”

The chieftain roared in fury, his limbs saturated with blood-red color, his life-fire burning. Despite the domain’s crushing pressure, he planted leaden steps forward and launched a final charge at the frost giant leader.

“Seeking your own death!” Wolruk’s final trace of mockery vanished, replaced by intense killing intent. He had lost patience. The Legendary giant raised a massive, ice-armored foot and stomped down heavily on the barbarian chieftain, who by then moved painfully slow under the domain’s suppression.

There was no fierce clash, no ornate skill display. Faced with an absolute difference in power, the barbarians’ mightiest warrior and leader was mercilessly crushed, reduced to a mangled mess of gore and shattered bone, driven deep into the hard, cold frozen soil, leaving a shocking, enormous pit.

“Chieftain!!!” Many barbarian warriors watched this horrific scene, their last pillar of hope and resolve shattered. Yet except for a very few whose minds broke with fear and who collapsed into surrender, over ninety percent of the barbarians’ fighters — upon seeing their leader’s brutal death — had their eyes instantly mirror his blood-red glare. They unleashed beast-like, despairing howls and, throwing caution to the wind, attacked surrounding frost giants with even more ferocity.

Seeing this, Wolruk waved his hand coldly and expanded his Legendary domain. He personally joined the slaughter, carrying out a merciless one-sided massacre. Before long, the constant clashing, roaring, and screams that had filled the plain ceased entirely. The war had ended. Wolruk and his warriors used Legendary power as their spear, crushing the barbarians who had lost their leader. The battlefield became a burial ground for the barbarians. Blood stained the vast frozen soil, then quickly froze under the north’s brutal cold to form a huge dark-red icefield — beautiful and lethal.

But Legendary life was not omnipotent and could not protect every corner. During the barbarians’ desperate reprisals, even the victorious frost giants paid a price. Dozens of elite frost giant warriors died, dragged to mutual destruction by the barbarians’ frenzied fury, forever falling on this icefield.

“Leader Wolruk, what shall we do with those barbarian remnants who surrendered?” asked a frost giant lieutenant, marked with many wounds, wiping blood from his face and speaking quietly.

Wolruk’s gaze slowly swept over the captured barbarians shaking with fear; there were few of them and the light of warriors had long left their eyes. “Kill them all,” he said calmly. There were too few, and they were worthless cowards who had lost the will to fight. He had no interest in enslaving such weaklings — that would only taint his honor.

At his order, the surrounding frost giants hesitated not at all. They raised weapons still smeared with fresh blood and struck down the prisoners. The cruel screams rang out briefly and were quickly swallowed by wind and snow.

Wolruk then turned his attention to the lieutenant who stood respectfully beside him. He was displeased with being called “leader.” In a low voice he said, “From now on, everyone must call me King! The Great Eternal Frost Sovereign!”

These words brooked no opposition. The lieutenant bowed deeply and replied in the most reverent tone, “Yes! We obey your will, O noble and great Eternal Frost Sovereign!”

Wolruk stamped his foot on the broken battle banner of the barbarian tribe. His stern gaze lifted slowly across the boundless tundra, toward the distant south. In that direction the snow waned and a hint of life unlike the tundra’s bleakness could be felt. That was the convergence lands, and the direction of the Ser Wilderness.

“It’s time. I will make those tiny creatures who have long forgotten fear remember the terror of being ruled by giants. Remember our might,” Wolruk’s voice echoed on the wind. He proclaimed solemnly, “The ice plains are becoming barren; resources are scarce and cannot sustain a truly powerful giant kingdom. The fertile, life-filled southern realms should be the new hunting ground and home for us frost giants.”

Wolruk’s assumption of the Eternal Frost Sovereign title was not a whim. The Permafrost Tundra’s harsh environment and isolation meant news moved slowly. Especially after they went to war with the barbarians, the small trade caravans that occasionally risked venturing there to trade had vanished, retreating to the relatively milder convergence lands and never penetrating the interior again. Frost giants had always looked down on those short, little caravans as weak ants, and so they paid them little mind. Their attention had long been focused inward on the iceplain and the barbarians, ignoring changes beyond.

Long ago Wolruk had heard a rumor: far to the south, the once-solid and powerful Lothrian Federation had erupted into a brutal civil war, its kingdoms split into factions and locked in continual strife. That had pulled the Legendary-strength defenders to the warfronts, leaving the wilderness unattended. Against such a backdrop, Wolruk saw a rare opportunity. He could invade southward while southern nations were consumed by chaos, seize their abundant resources and populations, and perhaps even establish a mighty frost giant kingdom on those fertile lands.

The iceplain was his birthplace, but once the barbarian thorn was removed, there were no enemies worthy of his attention remaining there. His ambition and gaze could no longer be satisfied with that barren terrain.

“My King, do you mean... we prepare to march into the wilderness?” the lieutenant asked, excited but cautious. He reminded Wolruk quietly, “However, the reports of the Lothrian Federation’s civil war date back decades. Tens of years may be nothing to our long lives, but to creatures so short-lived compared to us, it’s a long time. Their civil war could be over; order may have returned.”

The Legendary frost giant nodded slowly, not dismissing the warning. “Your concern is valid. That is why I have not considered a blind large-scale southern advance.” After a pause he said in a deep tone, “Hear my command: in the name of the Eternal Frost Sovereign, begin immediately. Let all iceplain clans and tribes submit! Obey me and prosper, defy me and perish!”

“Once we unify the entire Permafrost Tundra and consolidate our forces, then we will march south in full. We will strike at the convergence lands as our forward base, carefully observe and probe the wilderness’ strengths and weaknesses, and seek the best moment.”

The lieutenant bowed lower and flattered, “O great Eternal Frost Sovereign, your wisdom is unparalleled! Under your power and guidance, the Permafrost Tundra will achieve unprecedented unity. All tribes shall kneel before your throne. When our army heads south into the wilderness, nothing will stand in our way!”

Wolruk showed satisfaction and emitted a deep chuckle. In the following days he made his words reality. Wolruk personally led high-morale frost giant warriors, riding the terrifying momentum of their victory over the barbarians, and swept across the Permafrost Tundra. The name of the Eternal Frost Sovereign, accompanied by frost and death’s shadow, spread like a cutting gale, sweeping every ice peak, snowfield, and ravine with unprecedented speed.

Northern clans and tribes that once lived independently or hesitated mostly chose submission. A few stubborn resistors were wiped from the tundra’s map by this Legendary frost giant. Legendary power, when faced with opponents no stronger than lord-level, became an irresistible smash. The unification progressed like a hurricane.

Such turmoil in the iceplain naturally could not be concealed. The news quickly reached Dragonfang Fortress, to the tundra’s southern edge that guarded the throat to the wilderness. This stronghold, jointly garrisoned by Blue Dragon Heriam and Red Dragon Kahir, was also Aola Kingdom’s front-line observation post for northern movements.

So, detailed intelligence about this newly rising northern threat was transmitted with the highest priority back to Aola, delivered to the High Mountain Dragon Court that watched over the Citadel of Crimson Flame from its peak. Unsurprisingly, the name “Eternal Frost Sovereign” reached the ears of the realm’s supreme ruler.

“A frost giant who proclaims himself king and aims to unify the iceplain?” Garoth’s expression turned thoughtful. The ancient hatred between giants and dragons, inherited and imprinted since the distant Second Era, ran deep in their blood and cultural memory. Such an aggressive, expansionist neighbor in the iceplain was a sword hanging over Aola’s head. Leaving it unchecked would be courting disaster. With the Divine Kingdom of Theo also watching hungrily, if they allowed the frost giants to consolidate and then invade south, Aola could face a two-front threat.

Dragonfang Fortress had been monitoring the giants closely and Garoth had essentially ascertained their situation. As for Wolruk crowning himself king — Garoth found the act a bit laughable. From the beginning, titles like Lord of the Convergence Lands, Iron King, Wilderness King, Star of the Crimson Sector, Wings of the Skyrend, Emperor Ignas, and the like were never things Garoth had proclaimed about himself; they had been bestowed by others and grown through rumor around his deeds.

After thinking, the Red Iron Dragon made a decision. He would crush this so-called Eternal Frost Sovereign on the eve of his unification, shatter his kingly dreams, and annex the Permafrost Tundra into Aola’s domain, thereby bringing the northern region fully under control and eliminating the threat from the north.