While Emperor’s Hold basked in the gentle spring rain, clouds black as ink smothered the skies of the northern frontier.
Across that vast and desolate land, the northern country lay frozen beneath ten thousand miles of drifting snow.
Howling winds swept snow endlessly down from the heavens. The world was so dark that day could not be distinguished from night, nor east from west. Beneath the raging blizzard, visibility had dwindled to almost nothing.
All that could be heard beneath the leaden sky was the wind shrieking like a host of wailing ghosts, and the muffled sounds of slaughter buried beneath the snow.
The Blackscale Guard had hastily erected a crude encampment here. Simple formations, carved by the formation masters accompanying the army, covered the wooden walls. Yet those patterns had already been destroyed, and one towering black silhouette after another vaulted over the palisade and stormed into the camp.
Amid the wind and snow, the entire encampment looked terribly frail.
Battle cries rang out alongside the clang of colliding steel and the sharp twang of bows and crossbows.
Countless human and barbarian corpses vanished beneath the falling snow.
The glow of flames flickered throughout the camp. As time crawled past, the once-fierce sounds of battle gradually died away.
On a hill beyond the encampment, several figures as tall and broad as iron towers stood half-concealed in the blizzard. Their icy gazes looked down upon the human camp below.
No one knew how much time had passed.
CRACK! A massive, callused foot sank into the snow, crushing something buried beneath it with a brittle snap.
The iron-tower-like figures standing on the hill slowly turned their heads. The bloody gleam in their eyes looked especially sinister through the swirling snow.
The newcomer was a barbarian. His towering ten-foot frame was drenched in blood, and many of the bone spikes jutting from his body had been snapped away.
Upon seeing the imposing figures, the barbarian pressed his right hand to his chest and dropped to one knee in the traditional barbarian salute. His deep voice spoke in a harsh, awkward tongue unknown in the Great Flame Empire.
“Wuyuan was not inside the encampment… I have failed you, Great Khan.”
None of the towering figures replied.
Their dark-blue eyes merely stared at him in silence.
Amid the mournful wind, a voice slowly came from behind them. The Great Khan gazed down at the encampment, now utterly still. “That was expected. Dustworn, wiping out an entire battalion under Wuyuan was already no small accomplishment. Rise.”
At those words, the barbarian named Dustworn remained on his knees.
The Great Khan slowly turned around and fixed his gaze upon him. “You seem to have something else to say.”
Dustworn drew a deep breath. The knuckles of his clenched fists creaked as he spoke in a low, rapid voice. “Were it not for this heaven-sent snow, my forces might not have been able to storm this encampment even though it held barely 5,000 men. At the Battle of Black Dragon Mountain, we lost 40,000 of our people and only narrowly managed to withdraw. Now Marquis Wucheng of the Great Flame Empire has returned to Northseal. He could march into the northern border at any moment. Great Khan, I beg you to reconsider.”
The wind howled like a host of ghosts through the snowy night.
To their Sacred Race, Marquis Wucheng was a nightmare hanging over their heads. The fearsome reputation he had built over the past several decades had been raised upon the corpses of countless members of their race. He could not be opposed.
The Great Flame Empire had already gathered what it claimed was an elite army of one million in the northern frontier. Their best option was to take advantage of the blizzard and retreat deep into the northern wilderness, where they could lie low and recover. If they continued fighting, their entire race risked annihilation.
After a long silence, the Great Khan gave no direct answer to Dustworn’s warning. “Keep the flesh taken in battle for your own tribe. Hand the spirit blades and military equipment over to the High Shaman. When you deliver them, you may collect 1,000 sets of sacred arms from him. Rise.”
His voice held the firm authority of a man who did not need to raise it to be obeyed.
Dustworn said nothing more. He breathed out a cloud of white mist, slowly rose, and saluted. “Thank you.”
The wind continued to howl.
The Great Khan stared down at the encampment below, showing no intention of speaking again.
Dustworn glanced at the khan’s back, then suddenly said, “We captured several survivors when we took the camp. Would you care to see them?”
The Great Khan’s indifferent voice drifted back to him. “Is anyone among them worth questioning?”
“One of them is Wuyuan’s trusted subordinate.”
“Wuyuan?” The Great Khan lowered his gaze to the bone spike that had been severed from his arm. A thick killing intent flashed through his eyes. “You may go. I will take a look.”
Dustworn saluted without another word and departed. His towering figure vanished into the snowy night in the blink of an eye.
Time passed, minute by minute.
After roughly the time it took to drink a cup of tea, one of the iron-tower-like figures behind the Great Khan suddenly spoke in a deep, booming voice. “The army’s morale is wavering throughout the Sacred Race. Are we truly not retreating?”
The Great Khan slowly sat cross-legged beside the cliff at the edge of the hill. He exhaled a turbid breath that turned to white mist and scattered in the wind. “Zhar, do you believe we should retreat?”
The towering barbarian named Zhar fell silent.
Something resembling a smile crossed the Great Khan’s callused face. He glanced at the other towering barbarians around him. “Speak freely. We have known one another since childhood. Whatever is on your minds, say it.”
Zhar remained silent for a moment, then glanced in the direction Dustworn had departed. “This war with the Great Flame Empire has already lasted four years. Many of the tribes are exhausted. What we have gained is enough for us to return to the ancestral lands and recuperate for more than a decade. The human craftsmen we captured along the way will also allow us to prepare more thoroughly before the next war.”
“Prepare more thoroughly?” The Great Khan shook his head, his voice thick with helplessness. “What would count as enough preparation? More tribesmen? More sacred arms? More totem war banners? But have you ever considered this? No matter how much we prepare, can we ever possess more than the Great Flame Empire, which rules the Central Plains?”
No one answered.
The Great Khan slowly raised a hand and caught a snowflake drifting down from the sky. He felt no cold. His palm was covered in a hard, gauntlet-like layer of callus.
Once barbarians reached adulthood, this hardened layer grew across their bodies. It was a weapon made for killing, but also the means by which their people had evolved over countless years to endure the bitter cold and preserve their body heat. Because of it, the snowflake resting in the Great Khan’s palm showed no sign of melting.
He murmured softly, “Here in the northern frontier, only one or two of every ten children born to our Sacred Race survive. Most die from the cold. Others die from hunger. For more than half the year, we cannot even see the sun!”
With his other hand, the Great Khan casually pointed south. “Zhar, have any of you ever traveled south of Northseal?”
Zhar answered in his deep, booming voice, “Never.”
A trace of memory and longing appeared in the Great Khan’s dark-blue eyes. “I once slipped away and went there in secret. South of Northseal, the climate is warm. Water and food are everywhere. Beasts roam the forests and can be hunted. Fertile fields can be cultivated. Our people could do anything they wished.”
The Great Khan clenched his gauntleted hand, crushing the snowflake within it. He rose to his feet and swept his gaze across his four trusted retainers. Then he spoke, each word heavy and deliberate. “I will lead our people through the supposedly insurmountable walls of Northseal. Only then can our race survive. Only then can we grow and prosper. Only then will our own people no longer have to slaughter one another over a mouthful of food in this godforsaken wasteland where even birds refuse to shit!”