Chapter 3: The Frostborn Warrior
With a single, final turn of the key in his small Jia Nan Academy dormitory, Su Ron locked the door, sealing away his old, insignificant life. He sat on his bed, the weight of his decision pressing down on him. This was his one chance, his gamble. He closed his eyes and, with a silent command, activated the system.
A cold, unseen force tore at his consciousness. It was a violent, disorienting sensation, as if his very soul was being ripped from its vessel and cast into a void. It lasted for only a few seconds, an eternity of nothingness, before the sensation abruptly ceased. He opened his eyes.
A blast of freezing air slammed into him, a harsh contrast to the humid climate of the Jia Ma Empire. He was no longer in his small room, but standing on a desolate, snow-covered landscape of jagged black ice and sharp, craggy mountains. A thick, ethereal mist clung to the ground, and the sky was a dim, twilight gray. This was a world of pure frost.
Where am I? The thought was barely formed when a deep, rumbling voice broke the silence.
"Brother, move. We must go."
Su Ron turned, his breath catching in his throat. Standing before him was a colossal being, almost human in form but with skin the color of a winter sky, covered in intricate, white markings. Its hair was a cascade of pure white, and its eyes glowed a vibrant, furious red. The being was enormous, easily nine feet tall.
Instinctively, he looked for his own reflection, and a shard of ice on the ground served as his mirror. He saw a monster. His skin was a mottled blue, his hair a shocking shock of long white. He stood a full nine and a half feet tall, towering over his companion. He was a Frost Giant.
Then, the system's voice echoed in his mind, its tone as cold and clear as the air around him.
Ding! Mission: Survive the war between Jotunheim and Asgard.
The longer you survive, the more generous the rewards.
The message confirmed his chilling suspicion. He was in Jotunheim, the realm of the Frost Giants, and the war was between this desolate land and the golden realm of Asgard. He was on the side destined to lose. The knowledge from his past life told him this was happening during Odin's relentless campaign to conquer the Nine Realms, a conflict that would stretch for centuries. The Frost Giants were losing territory slowly but surely.
The memories of the Frost Giant whose body he now inhabited flowed into his mind. He was a warrior, born and bred in the brutal cold, his entire life a cycle of blood and frost. He was known for his strength, but like most of his race, his intelligence was primitive, driven by instinct and a thirst for battle. He was a barbarian in a world of advanced magic and technology.
"King Laufey ordered us to defend the mountain pass," the other giant rumbled.
He was right. A thousand other Frost Giants stood camouflaged against the dark peaks, their blue skin blending into the ice and shadows. They were a chaotic force, a mob of brawlers who relied on brute strength rather than strategy. Su Ron, however, had the memories of two lives and the cunning of a human.
His newfound form was an extension of the elements. He focused his will, and with a thought, a swirling vortex of frost and ice gathered in his hand, condensing into a razor-sharp spear. The energy felt raw, boundless, and instinctively malleable. He could make weapons out of thin air.
Suddenly, a wild, inspired thought seized him. He sat down, legs crossed, and began to circulate the frost energy, a technique from another world. He channeled the abundant, cold energy of Jotunheim into his dantian, following the precise path of his Ice Core Art. The raw energy, far purer than any Dou Qi, began to condense, forming a gaseous core in his body. In just a few hours—mere minutes in his home world—he had completed the first stage. This world wasn't a death trap; it was the ultimate training ground.
The ground shuddered. An ethereal horn sounded in the distance. Su Ron rose, his red eyes focused. Over fifteen hundred Asgardian soldiers, their golden armor gleaming against the pale sky, marched toward their position. They were followed by massive flying ships, their cannons aimed and ready.
A primal roar went up from the Frost Giants. They were ready to charge, a thousand unorganized bulls rushing to their slaughter. Su Ron reacted instantly, his chilling aura flaring out. The raw, cold power radiating from his body was a physical force, and the other giants—a race that respected only strength—fell silent and still.
"We will not charge like beasts," he commanded, his voice deep and resonant. "We will fight as warriors."
He divided the thousand giants into three groups, outlining a clear plan. Four hundred would stay with him. The other six hundred would split and hide on the flanks. At his command, they would flank the enemy.
The Asgardian army, confident in its superior numbers, approached the mountain pass. Suddenly, without warning, dozens of razor-sharp ice spears rained down from the sky. The first volley was a brutal surprise. Golden armor crumpled, and shouts of pain and confusion filled the air. The Asgardian command scrambled to put up shields, but by then, a full twenty-five percent of their forces had fallen.
Then, Su Ron let out a guttural roar, leading his four hundred giants in a brutal, wedge-shaped charge. The Asgardians, their formation broken, were no match for the ferocious, organized onslaught. Su Ron was at the heart of the chaos, his battle-axe an extension of his will. He fought like a monster, but he moved with a fluid, deadly grace. In a single, fluid motion, he hurled ten razor-sharp ice spears, then a moment later, he followed up with a brutal charge of his axe, taking down dozens of soldiers himself.
For five days, the battle raged, a brutal testament to the enhanced endurance of both races. But the Frost Giants fought with a strategy they had never known before, using the mountain's terrain and their surprise attacks to their advantage. On the fifth day, the remaining sixty Asgardian soldiers retreated, flying away in their damaged ships.
With a final, triumphant roar, the Frost Giants fell into a celebration of their victory. But they were not celebrating a battle, they were celebrating their general. Su Ron was covered in blood, his hands and arms bearing the scars of the fighting, but his chilling aura was as potent as ever. The other giants parted as he walked past, their respect for him absolute. He had given them a victory they had not thought possible.
"Retreat to the mountain for recovery," he commanded, his voice thick with cold authority. The Frost Giants, a race of proud, unyielding warriors, obeyed.