Blood and Ice

  Stone’s Perspective

  In the heart of the goblin village, Stone slaughtered them mercilessly—young and old alike. He stormed into numerous houses, finding their inhabitants in a state of panic and poisoning. The young ones tried to flee, but he gave them no chance, cutting them down with cold precision. This was reality—an unforgiving one. There was no peace to be made with an enemy that would never stop killing.

  The sounds of collapsing houses echoed through the village, mingling with the cries of children. But amid the chaos, a different kind of goblin emerged. This one was massive, its skin nearly white, and as it approached with the cries of children behind it, Stone smiled. This goblin was strong and proud—undoubtedly the second most powerful after the goblin leader.

  It carried no weapon, but anyone who mistook it for defenseless would be gravely wrong. Its hands were its true weapons. The beast charged with wild fury, its back touching the toxic flames, yet it neither weakened nor fell. Instead, its eyes shone with a frenzied gleam. It roared madly and lunged at Stone.

  Without hesitation, Stone manipulated the earth, sending razor-sharp stone shards flying toward the orc. It was a clever tactic, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough against a Flame Orc. Their bodies were unnaturally tough, and their resilience was monstrous. Blood spurted from the orc, yet it didn’t slow down.

  Prince Fabian stood beside Stone. Seeing him, Stone smirked and asked,

  "Fabian, do you have a finishing move?"

  Then, without waiting for an answer, he added in a serious tone,

  "Don't bother answering—just use it, no matter how impossible it seems. We have to kill him at all costs."

  Hearing Stone’s firm voice, Fabian knew the situation was dire. He raised his sword, channeling his mana into it, forming a blindingly sharp blade of pure light. Light magic had many uses, and this was one of them. Normally, releasing this much power would be unfeasible, but his sword’s unique ability made it possible.

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  As the orc lunged, Fabian swung the glowing blade, severing its arm in one precise strike. The orc howled in pain—a cry so raw, it almost sounded sorrowful—but it didn’t retreat. Instead, it lunged at the prince, panting heavily, its jaws wide open, aiming to tear Fabian apart. The attack was too sudden—there was no time to dodge.

  "Nice work. Leave the rest to me," Stone said.

  He leaped into the air, gripping his warhammer—a weapon that was both hammer and axe in one.

  The secret behind Stone’s ability to manipulate earth without exhausting his mana quickly lay in his method—he didn’t create matter from nothing; he simply controlled what was already there. His warhammer helped him channel that ability, allowing him to reshape stone and earth at will, giving him a distinct advantage over less skilled magic users.

  Tensing his muscles, he swung his hammer down with all his might. The heavy weapon crashed into the orc’s chest, shattering its bones and crushing its internal organs.

  Fabian stood a short distance away, ready to deliver another blow if needed.

  The orc lay bleeding, its breaths growing weaker. But suddenly, Stone looked at his hands—and froze. They were covered in ice.

  Shock flooded his mind.

  "When…? How…?"

  He had never expected to be frozen at the very moment the orc lost consciousness. A chilling sensation spread through his limbs. He turned to Fabian and said,

  "Help me get rid of this ice."

  Fabian immediately began melting the frost, warmth returning to Stone’s fingers. Not wasting any time, Stone gripped his hammer once more. He reshaped its head into jagged edges and swung it down, smashing the orc’s skull completely. The strike was brutal, but it was necessary.

  "You did well, Stone," Fabian said. "Let’s go meet up with Ilarion and Thaid."

  ---

  Thaid’s Perspective

  Thaid climbed rapidly, his movements fluid and effortless, as if he had been an expert climber for years. He navigated through the ice and jagged rocks with precision, and finally… he returned.

  A smirk crossed his lips as he locked eyes with the female orc. Raising his voice, he taunted,

  "Did you really think you could get rid of me just by freezing the ground? That’s unfortunate. You’ll have to try harder than that!"

  The battlefield was shrouded in fog, setting the stage for an intense duel between Thaid and the orc woman. Meanwhile, Ilarion scanned the area for his missing sword, Flame of Dawn, which had been knocked away during the battle with the male orc.

  The terrain was treacherous—five narrow pits dotted the landscape, their depths obscured by an eerie mist. Some of them radiated an intense cold. The heavy fog made it nearly impossible to see what lay below. A deep unease settled in Ilarion’s chest. If Flame of Dawn had fallen into one of those pits, retrieving it would be nearly impossible.

  Yes, he had managed to eliminate the male orc, but the female still posed a deadly threat.

  But just as that sinking feeling threatened to take hold, hope sparked once more.

  There it was—gleaming in the fading light.

  Flame of Dawn!

  But then—

  It slipped.

  Ilarion’s eyes widened in horror as the swor

  d tumbled toward one of the pits.

  "No… no… NOOOOOOOO!" he screamed.