He created the same battle axe in his second hand too. The twin axes gleamed with dark energy, their edges impossibly sharp.
"What is your name, mortal?" Borgir asked, settling into a combat stance.
"A dead man doesn't need to know that," Elric replied coldly. "It would just waste my breath."
"Oh?" Borgir tilted his head with genuine amusement. "Is your name longer than the sentence you just said? Because to me, that response also seems to be just a waste of your breath."
Elric suddenly became speechless.
What is this? he thought with bewilderment. Shouldn't the villain now shout angrily and charge at me without thinking? Isn't that how this is supposed to go?
It seemed the apple didn't fall far from the tree. So Loki got his characteristic from here.
Without another word, a Yang-Yin rod materialized in Elric's hand.
It almost became a signal to start the real fight.
Because the next moment, Borgir vanished from his position completely.
He materialized behind Elric in the blink of an eye. Without hesitation, both of his ice axes attacked simultaneously. One targeted Elric's neck from the left, the other aimed for his torso from the right, a perfect pincer strike designed to bisect him completely.
There was no trace of physical movement, no blur of motion, no displaced air. And the lingering energy signature made Elric certain that Borgir was using teleportation magic rather than pure speed.
Even if the magic itself was instantaneous, the spell could never be faster than the caster's own reaction time. In front of Elric's enhanced perception, it was no different than watching a slow-motion movie.
He leisurely took a single step forward, completely nullifying Borgir's attack. The axes swung through empty air where Elric had been standing a fraction of a second earlier.
.....
Ice shattered as a black rod ripped through Borgir's chest from behind—
Only for his body to explode into frozen fragments mid-impact, the ice construct shattering into countless crystalline pieces.
Borgir reformed instantly behind Elric, his body reconstituting from scattered ice particles, his arm already extended and glowing with concentrated cold.
"Ice Block: Partisan!"
A massive spear of compressed ice materialized and screamed forward with devastating velocity, the air around it freezing solid from the intense cold.
So he can elementalize his body into ice, Elric thought, Like a Logia Devil Fruit user, or perhaps more accurately, an elemental transformation unique to him.
Elric twisted his body, activating Sukunahikona. His form vanished, becoming microscopic in an instant. The massive ice lance tore harmlessly past where he'd been standing, continuing its trajectory and completely obliterating a large hill behind him. The geological formation simply ceased to exist, reduced to frozen rubble and ice crystals.
Elric reappeared above Borgir in the next instant, returning to normal size with his foot already descending with crushing force.
The kick landed square on Borgir's shoulder.
BOOM.
The ground beneath them caved in immediately, the impact creating a massive crater. Ice and gravel collapsed inward, the earth unable to withstand the kinetic force. Borgir's body was driven downward, skidding across the frozen ground and carving deep trenches in his wake. Frost steamed off his shoulders where the impact had landed, the heat from the blow actually managing to melt his ice-based body slightly.
"Tch... that's rough," he muttered, pushing himself up from the crater.
Under normal circumstances—if this fight had happened right when Borgir first escaped from the dimensional prison—he might have been a somewhat equal match for Elric. At that time, Borgir's power had been suppressed by the seal's lingering effects, weakened from millennia of confinement.
And even though Elric's raw energy reserves were far superior, Borgir's higher quality magic and vast magical knowledge accumulated over thousands of years should have balanced the scales somewhat. Experience and technique could overcome raw power, after all.
But now? Now everything was different.
Borgir's power had increased significantly as he continued to recover from his imprisonment, his strength returning with each passing minute. His body was adapting to freedom, his magic circuits reactivating fully.
But alas, Elric's power increase had been too much, too dramatic. The chakra fruit's refinement had pushed his already superior energy to heights that Borgir simply couldn't match.
The higher quality magic that might have given Borgir an advantage no longer existed as a differentiating factor. Elric's energy was now equally refined, equally potent in quality. Now only their energy quantity mattered in the equation.
And unfortunately for Borgir, he really couldn't compare with Elric in that department. Not even close.
Black rods rained down from above like a deadly meteor shower, dozens of them materializing and falling with lethal intent.
Borgir snapped his fingers with practiced ease.
Massive ice walls burst upward from the frozen ground, thick barriers of compressed ice forming a protective dome. The black rods pierced through the walls—their penetrating power was impressive—but then they froze solid mid-air as Borgir's magic seized them, rendering them harmless.
In the same breath, without missing a beat, the ground beneath Elric erupted into jagged ice spikes, hundreds of them shooting upward at different angles, aiming to skewer him from every direction simultaneously. It was a classic pincer attack—defense above, offense below.
Elric's eye narrowed slightly, the pattern spinning.
Everything shrank.
The entire battlefield collapsed inward as if reality itself was being compressed. The ice spikes, the walls, the falling debris—all of it was reduced to microscopic size in an instant, becoming functionally nothing.
He appeared directly in front of Borgir in the next moment, having crossed the distance instantaneously. His fist was already driving forward, enhanced with chakra and moving at speeds that broke the sound barrier.
The punch connected solidly with Borgir's chest.
CRACK.
Borgir's upper body shattered like glass struck by a hammer, frozen fragments scattering across the devastated battlefield. Pieces of his torso flew in every direction, glittering in the dim light.
Before he could continue, he felt the temperature suddenly drop.
The cold was so intense it burned, so complete it seemed to stop molecular motion itself.
Borgir reassembled from the ice beneath Elric's feet, his body reforming from the frozen ground itself. Both of his massive hands gripped the earth, and his eyes blazed with determination.
"You're not the only one with tricks!" Borgir roared.
Frost surged upward with explosive force, encasing Elric in layers upon layers of ice. Each layer was meters thick, compressed and reinforced with magic, sealing his joints and limbs. The ice didn't just cover him—it froze the space itself around him, creating a prison that existed partially outside normal reality.
The entire forest became a white grave in an instant, everything within a hundred meters flash-frozen into a winter wasteland. Trees became ice sculptures. The ground became a glacier. Even the air itself seemed to solidify.
For a moment—perfect, crystalline silence.
Then the ice began to compress violently, the magical prison attempting to crush Elric into paste.
BOOM.
Elric burst free with explosive force, steam rolling off his body as his chakra burned away the freezing magic. Black rods erupted outward in every direction from his position like the quills of a massive porcupine, dozens of them shooting out at supersonic speeds.
Several rods punched straight through Borgir's reformed body, pinning him to a frozen wall behind him. The weapons pierced his shoulders, his torso, his limbs, holding him in place like a butterfly mounted in a collection.
Blood—cold, blue-tinted blood—began to leak from the wounds. It froze before it could fall more than a few centimeters, creating icicles of crystallized life fluid.
He ran out of magic to heal him self.
Elric stepped closer slowly, deliberately, his shadow looming over the pinned frost giant. His expression was cold, showing no particular emotion.
"For someone who talked so big earlier, you were surprisingly weak, you know," Elric said, his tone almost conversational.
"Haa... where did a freak like you even come from?" Borgir gasped out, genuine bewilderment mixing with his pain.
He paused, then tilted his head as if considering something. "Anyway, instead of dying by my hand right now, why don't you become my servant instead? You have knowledge and power that could be useful."
Borgir was silent for a moment, processing this unexpected offer.
Then, to Elric's complete surprise, he said: "Okay. Why not?"
"Yeah, your pride won't— wait, what did you just say?" Elric blinked, certain he'd misheard.
"I said okay," Borgir repeated calmly, despite the black rods still pinning him to the wall. "You've beaten me fair and square in single combat. According to the old ways, according to frost giant tradition, I am willing to serve under you. A warrior serves the stronger warrior. That's how it's always been."
Hearing the unexpected answer, Elric paused for two full seconds, his mind racing.
He had just said it to spite Borgir, to mock him before finishing him off. The frost giant actually agreeing was completely unexpected, throwing him off.
But Elric's mind quickly shifted gears, analyzing the feasibility of actually accepting this offer.
Even if Borgir looked weak compared to Elric himself, he was still a very formidable force to have under his command. His power was clearly on par with Thor wielding Stormbreaker—perhaps even stronger in some aspects. So raw strength was definitely not a problem.
And Borgir also possessed many types of valuable knowledge that could be extremely useful.
But there were also some downsides to consider.
Most obviously: making an enemy of Asgard by taking their ancient foe as a servant.
But weighing the pros and cons, the upside was too much compared to the downside.
Odin's body was already too weak, worn down by ages of rule.
There was no way the All-Father would personally come to Midgard to fight over one frost giant, especially when he had bigger concerns.
And even if Odin did somehow make the journey here, Elric was confident he wouldn't lose that fight. He might not win decisively, but he definitely wouldn't be defeated.
In the Overlord world, the Yggdrasil servers would close in about a week. If everything went well with that plan, he would get another massive power-up from that world's magic system.
And as for Asgard's army? He honestly didn't take them very seriously.
"Okay," Elric said finally, making his decision. "I hope you'll be useful to me."
"I will try my—" Borgir's words were interrupted by a very annoying voice calling out from across the battlefield.
"Mighty warrior of Midgard!" Thor's voice rang out, weak but determined. "Can you help us a little?"
Elric turned his head to see Thor struggling to stand, one arm still bent at an unnatural angle, his face still covered in blood. The God of Thunder was barely conscious but somehow still trying to play the hero.
Beside him, Loki was in even worse condition, barely breathing, his eyes glazed with approaching death.
Eira was still pinned to the tree by that ancient spear, her life slowly draining away with each passing second.
Elric looked at them, then at Borgir, then back at them.
He sighed, almost forgot the mess his new servent just made.