Whiiiiiing!
A blizzard sharp as blades devoured the mountain range.
An ordinary person wouldn't last even a few minutes in a cold like that—it wasn't natural.
But the warriors of the tribe dwelling in these mountains paid it no mind.
To them, this much chill was nothing.
More important were the enemies right in front of them.
Clang! Clang!
In the ferocious snowstorm where you couldn't see an inch ahead,
the clamor of steel clashing and dying screams echoed endlessly from all directions.
"It's an attack!"
"Warriors! Kill every last one of those kingdom dogs!"
Splash!
As he cleaved through kingdom soldiers charging in their armor, agonized screams rang out, staining the snowscape red with fresh blood and chunks of flesh.
And atop a rocky hill a short distance from the heart of that inferno,
a woman stood with arms crossed, gazing boredly down at the battlefield.
Flame-like red hair that contrasted sharply with the pristine white snowscape.
Blazing red eyes the same color as her hair.
The barbaric leather and fur armor typical of her kind failed to conceal her voluptuous, sturdy frame,
and strapped to her back was a massive claymore as large as a man's torso.
The name by which the tribe's warriors called her—with awe and fear—was Frostfang Imir.
She was the chieftain hailed as the strongest in history, leading the Frost Giant Tribe, one of the most influential tribes in the northern mountains.
"Not yet?"
Though they held the overwhelming advantage, turning the fight against the kingdom's forces into a one-sided slaughter,
a sigh laced with irritation slipped from between her red lips.
The battle unfolding before her eyes stirred no emotion whatsoever.
It was merely tiresome, wasteful noise in the process toward her goal.
"Imir."
At that moment, an elderly shaman adorned with rattling bone ornaments approached and bowed his head.
"...What?"
"Do we really need to keep up this war of attrition? Without forming an alliance with the other tribes, facing the kingdom's army with just our tribe alone is..."
"Urk, keep yapping and I'll rip your jaw off?"
As if to allow no further words.
Imir cut off the shaman mid-sentence without tearing her eyes from the fierce battlefield.
Cold sweat trickled down the back of the shaman called Urk at the savage aura radiating from her entire body.
He knew she wasn't joking.
But he couldn't understand.
They hadn't even allied with the other tribes beyond the Frost Giants yet—
why engage in this foolish war of attrition?
"These guys we're fighting are just fodder anyway. What's there to worry about?"
Imir jerked her chin toward the battlefield.
Sure enough, as she said, the Frost Giant warriors were overwhelmingly massacring the kingdom soldiers there.
"Can't you see? We're winning. These weak southern bastards aren't a match for our warriors."
Her words were true.
Every time they'd clashed with the enemy so far, it was always the kingdom army suffering massive losses, not the tribe's warriors.
But what worried Urk wasn't the battle at hand.
It was that this fighting had dragged on for several engagements already.
In the process, the tribe's warriors were losing their precious lives one by one.
This was a place unfit for human habitation; they'd grown strong just to survive here.
And even if they were strong, the tribe's warriors weren't immortal.
Besides, wasn't this mountain range, their home, a frozen hell even for warriors?
How long were they supposed to keep up this endless attrition in a place this dangerous even at rest?
The Frost Giant warriors' numbers weren't infinite.
Why couldn't this foolish chieftain see that?
Unaware—or perhaps indifferent—to the shaman's distraught feelings as he watched,
Imir scoffed expressionlessly.
"An alliance? Like more sniveling cowards changes anything? What matters is strength."
"Ah, even so..."
"Don't interrupt me. Kill you? If I had that power, I wouldn't need any alliance. I could rip them all apart myself."
"...Well, I could do it now, but anyway."
Anyone who didn't know her would dismiss it as the ravings of a madwoman.
Clearly out of her mind.
But the shaman knew better. Her strength wasn't a lie.
The Frost Giant Tribe had surged past the others to its current position in short order not just because its warriors were strong, but because Imir's share of that strength was overwhelming.
Urk shut his mouth, refraining from further argument.
No matter what he said, it wouldn't even graze her.
"More importantly, why haven't those bastards shown up yet? It's been ages since I sent them."
Gnawing at her nails, Imir let out another sigh.
Tundra was a dimwit and weakling, but Borin, whom she'd sent along, was one of the more capable in the tribe.
She didn't for a second think they'd fall to the kingdom army.
She hadn't sent weaklings like that.
"This is pissing me off... With that, everything would be solved."
What she wanted was simple.
Strength. Overwhelming strength.
The legend handed down through the tribe for generations.
The Warrior's Ring, said to lie in some forest beyond the frozen mountains, where not even light penetrated.
That ring was the only key to awakening the heart of the ancient giant slumbering in the forest.
Whoever claimed that heart would gain the power to rule the world.
"...No rush, though."
It was right then.
"Chieftain! Tundra's back!"
At those words, life finally sparked across Imir's face, which had been filled with boredom.
She whipped her head toward the direction the tribesman pointed.
She couldn't see clearly, but far off in the distance, a warrior staggered through the blizzard toward them.
"Chieftain Imir! I've returned!"
The shout pierced the howling storm.
The voice belonged to none other than Tundra.
His entire body was caked in blood and dirt, a gruesome sight,
but his eyes gleamed with the manic joy of mission accomplished.
"Tundra!"
Thud!
Imir leaped from the hill as if she'd been waiting.
She bounded lightly off the several-meter-high rock and landed in the snow with a heavy thud.
The impact scattered snow in a storm around her, burying the shaman nearby,
but ignoring it all, she strode forward and roughly seized the collar of the approaching Tundra with both hands spread wide.
"Where's Borin? And the item? Did you get it?"
A question demanding only results, devoid of any concern.
'...Fucking bitch. Same as ever.'
Cursing her inwardly,
Tundra fumbled at the leather pouch on his belt even as her face grew increasingly unhinged with madness in her eyes, coughing as he did.
"B-Borin... got ambushed by those Dreadnote knights! He bought time... and I barely escaped with this!"
"Dead? He was useful."
A flicker of regret crossed her face for a brief moment upon hearing that a tribe warrior had died so pointlessly in enemy territory,
but only for a moment.
The instant a worn, crude steel ring appeared in Tundra's palm,
Imir's red eyes glittered with greed.
Snap!
"Finally!"
Like a child afraid someone might snatch it away,
she snatched the ring and wiped it clean on her thumb with a satisfied smile.
"Good work. Looks like preparations are complete."
Urk finally clawed his way out of the snow, brushing it off his body as he approached her.
His gaze lingered briefly on the battered Tundra,
then shifted to the ring in her beaming, cheering hand—and he let out an exclamation.
"Ooh, so that's the Warrior's Ring!"
Seeing her in high spirits, he inwardly sighed with relief.
She'd been in a foul mood all day, like a bomb ready to blow at any moment.
'Now that we have the ring, she'll head back to the tribe to regroup.'
They'd already taken heavy losses, but after regrouping and allying with the other tribes, they could recover.
"Imir, now we should..."
As he cautiously opened his mouth to suggest heading back while she was in a good mood,
"Yeah? Of course we're going."
Imir pointed south, toward the sprawling Dreadnote territory.
Urk, who had been expecting her to say they were returning, rubbed his eyes, wondering if he'd misheard.
Rub rub.
But no matter how much he rubbed them, the direction wasn't the one he knew.
That damned chieftain's finger was unmistakably pointing not toward the tribe, but the kingdom.
'...Huh?'
"...Aren't we heading back to the tribe?"
"The tribe? Why?"
As if he'd spouted utter nonsense, she shot back with incomprehension.
"Now that we have the key, don't we need to go unlock the lock? Legend says the heart's somewhere in their territory's forest."
'...Huh.'
Fuck.
Urk's face went pale with despair.
This mad chieftain was saying they were charging straight into the enemy heartland right now, with warriors exhausted from back-to-back battles.
"Chieftain Imir! Have you lost your mind? Plunging deep into enemy lines like this is suicide!"
Despite Urk's desperate pleas, Imir just shrugged.
"Then kill 'em. Steal their food if we're hungry, rip apart anything blocking the way. What's the problem?"
Ignoring his cries, she slipped the Warrior's Ring onto her finger.
The ring emitted a faint glow and shrank to fit perfectly.
"Oho, not bad."
She clenched and unclenched her fist, savoring the new surge of power.
A pleasant vitality coursed through her body.
"Listen up, everyone!"
At Imir's booming shout, the warriors—who had just finished one bout and were catching their breath—turned to her in unison.
She drew the massive claymore from her back and thrust it high into the sky.
"The hunt begins now! Burn every one of those southern villages to the ground and show them our power. Let's go, you pups!"
Waaaaaaaaah!
The warriors went wild with cheers at her power-laden roar, clashing their weapons together.
To them, who valued strength above all, Imir was no mere chieftain—she was a war god promising victory.
"Charge! The first one to bring me the head of the Dreadnote family head gets the title of greatest warrior!"
Imir slung the claymore over her shoulder and took the lead toward Dreadnote territory,
followed by the Frost Giant warriors roaring with ferocious momentum.
And left alone, Urk could only stare blankly after them.
He dimly foresaw the end of this reckless advance.
"..."
He gazed up at the sky with a look of despair.
The blizzard raged fiercer, as if heralding the tribe's grim future.
"Great Spirits of the Frost, please watch over us..."
His fervent prayer scattered powerlessly into the whirling snowstorm.