Frostfang, Devil of the Mountains, Butcher, Blood-Maddened Berserker, and more.
Imir, born as one of the warriors of the Frost Giant Tribe, had an endless list of epithets.
None of them held any normal meaning.
Her tribe called her with awe, while her enemies spat the names with fear and hatred.
She had lived through endless battles, enduring all sorts of curses and insults.
Most provocations couldn't even scratch her heart.
No, they shouldn't have been able to.
As chieftain. And as a warrior, she couldn't afford to waver.
"Insolent little shit..."
But now was different.
She snarled at him with a ferocious aura, as if ready to pounce at any moment.
Yet she felt it herself.
This guy was weird.
That one phrase from the man before her clung to her ears like a curse, refusing to let go.
Her heart pounded wildly, and alarms blared in her mind.
Run. This man is dangerous.
But as if mocking that rational warning,
her instincts issued the opposite command.
Tear him apart. Like always.
Rip out that arrogant mouth. Gouge out those haughty eyes.
The warrior's blood coursing through her veins.
The soul that had claimed the chieftain's position raged madly.
Caught between reason and instinct, she bit her lips hard.
"No answer? Scared now?"
At his words, uncontrollable rage finally swallowed her reason.
"...You fucking bastard!"
Kuuuung!
Hard to believe it came from her slender frame.
She kicked off the ground and shot forward like a cannonball.
The red battle aura enveloping her tore through the blizzard, surging toward Evan like a storm.
"Whew. A monster's still a monster."
He clicked his tongue briefly at her approach, closing the distance at terrifying speed.
As expected of a boss-level foe.
That reckless charge alone would obliterate most knights.
The silver lining was that she wasn't fully matured yet.
And...
"...that I possess the Black King's power."
"Oppa, what are you doing! Dodge!"
He heard Celine shout from behind, but instead of turning, Evan raised one arm and waved it to reassure her.
I'm fine. Don't worry.
"Die, you fucker!"
Kagaaaaang!
"Kuheok!"
"What kind of shockwave is this...!"
The moment the massive claymore swinging upward clashed with the sword drawn from its sheath,
a roar like the world tearing apart exploded.
The shockwave spread in all directions, upheaving the snowfield entirely, while nearby knights and warriors screamed and tumbled away.
"...He blocked it? With one hand?"
For the first time, shock appeared on Imir's face amid their power struggle.
Her full-force strike, blocked by that slender sword.
With one hand, no less.
Impossible. Unthinkable.
No warrior from her tribe, nor from any other, had ever blocked her sword strike unscathed.
Not even Count Dreadnote, the leader of these frail southerners.
"No way. No fucking way! What trick is this, you bastard..."
"That all you got?"
His low voice pierced her ear.
"Don't fuck with me!"
Imir squeezed every last ounce of strength, pressing down with the claymore.
Anyone else would have shattered, sword and all, in under a minute.
But Evan, parrying the blow, stood like a mountain, unmoved.
Rather, as if mocking her contorted face, he twisted his blade slightly, deflecting her power.
Srrrring.
As the balance of force crumbled, Imir's body lurched forward.
He wasn't foolish enough to miss that split-second opening.
Black King Swordsmanship, First Form: Remnant Moon.
The sharpened blade arced like a crescent moon toward her side.
A strike too swift for human eyes to follow.
Even knowing it was coming, one couldn't dodge.
But Imir wasn't ordinary.
As her balance faltered, she had anticipated his sword's path.
Kwang!
Instinctively, she deflected it with the broad side of her claymore.
Her arms went numb from the impact, but she barely avoided a fatal wound.
One second.
A single second later, and Evan's sword would have bisected her. Cold sweat trickled down her back at the thought.
After rolling across the ground from the shock, she endured the throbbing pain in her arms and glared at Evan with blood-red eyes.
Unbelievable as it was, she had to admit it.
This punk was stronger than her.
"Kukuku... Kyahaha!"
One might expect frustration or fear to cloud her mind.
Instead, she laughed maniacally.
Perhaps the brush with death's door reignited the forgotten thrill of battle.
"...Fine. You're stronger than me."
"Dumb as a rock, but quick on the uptake."
Looking at Evan, who shook off his sword without a hint of labored breath.
Madness gleamed in her red eyes.
It didn't matter anymore. His mockery. Finding her strength.
Her sole goal now was to kill this monster.
"Let's clash with full power. One of us dies here."
"Not planning on dying yet."
"...Can't shut up, can you, brat!"
Kwang!
Twisting her lips into a grin, Imir charged again, her strikes merciless.
Discarding defense entirely, a frenzied dance for destruction alone began.
Kwang! Kaang! Kakaang!
The massive claymore assaulted from all directions like a storm, heedless of up, down, left, right.
A berserker's onslaught, fearing no wounds.
Each swing through empty air unleashed massive gusts,
shattering terrain and shredding the blizzard.
But at the storm's heart, Evan danced leisurely.
Minimal movements deflected or redirected every assault.
Black King Swordsmanship, Second Form: Flowing Swim.
Like a fish gliding through raging waves. No motion wasted.
If Imir's attacks were wild and destructive, Evan's were soft and flexible, turning her power against her.
'So that's how you clash without wasting energy.'
Reading the Black King's memories, he marveled endlessly at the overwhelming might and skill.
He had absorbed most, but the heights achieved were so vast, full integration was ongoing.
This swordplay was being refined in real-time against this monster.
"...Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck! Why won't it hit!"
After endless swings that yielded nothing, Imir's frustrated cry erupted at his effortless dodges.
No matter how she slashed, only emptiness from cutting air remained.
A sense of futility, like hacking at a mirage, must have overwhelmed her.
Stamina dwindling.
Her warriors falling one by one.
It must have driven her mad.
"Charging like an angry boar. Why stop? Tired?"
"Haa... haa...!"
Her final, desperate swings finally halted.
Gulping ragged breaths, glaring at Evan, but her momentum was a fraction of before.
"Kuhuk... haa!"
Lungs burning, the arm wielding the massive claymore felt like lead.
Muscles screamed to collapse.
'Damn it all! Why!'
Before her stood Evan, unscathed, not a scratch.
Perfect stance, emotionless eyes fixed on her.
At that overwhelming gap, despair shook her red eyes.
"If... you have any pride... fight fair... you bastard!"
A scream near a wail.
No longer the fire of victory.
"Hm."
Rather, the last pride of a warrior craving an honorable clash and death.
For the first time, Evan—who had been using her to test his swordplay—looked at her properly.
His gaze scanned her battered form.
He'd landed few direct hits, but she was at her limit.
One more strike would end her.
"I don't know shit about pride."
"...Ha."
Anger and faint resignation crossed her face.
Amused by her reaction,
he smiled, adjusted his stance, and raised his sword straight.
"But I'll show mercy."
Her expression, on the verge of tears, froze.
A faint, self-mocking yet relieved smile tugged at her lips.
"...Thought you were a devil. Guess you have some heart."
With trembling arms, she gripped the claymore anew, mustering her last strength.
Brief silence.
The din around had ceased.
The Frost Giant warriors were subdued or felled by the Dreadnote knights.
They wouldn't have fallen so easily at full strength, but constant southward marches had drained them.
As battle madness lifted like a lie, solemn quiet descended to witness their finale.
"Kraaaah!"
Imir roared, charging with her final, all-in strike.
Black King Swordsmanship, Third Form: Flash.
Evan's body flashed past her like a streak of light.
Sek.
"...Kuhuk."
Imir's body halted rigidly.
Slowly, she lowered her head to look at herself.
A vivid red line slashed diagonally across her chest.
An unbelievably masterful strike.
"Magnifi... cent..."
Muttering her final words laced with her last strength, her body toppled forward slowly.
Red hair scattered limply across the snow.
"Fuu."
Shaking blood from his sword, he looked up at the sky.
Blizzard veiled any blue, but this wasn't bad.
The battle was over.
"O-Oppa... what in the world!"
Then Celine staggered over, face a mix of complex emotions.
Lips twitching as if to speak, but no words came.
"Took a tumble? Your clothes are a mess."
"Ah. Didn't watch the ground..."
"Be careful."
As if she'd tripped on the way.
Snow caked her clothes, accentuating her fragility.
Brushing snow from her trembling form,
he left the conflicted Celine behind and approached Imir, slowly buried by the blizzard.
Red hair stark against pristine white.
"..."
He checked her carotid for a pulse.
Faint, but beating.
She was alive.
'Good.'
He'd worried his final strike control failed fatally, but it was unfounded.
Her tenacious vitality proved useful now.
"Celine. Heal her."
He said to Celine behind him.
"What?"
She doubted her ears.
"...You're insane, Oppa? She's the enemy. She killed our soldiers and wounded Father!"
"I know."
"You know... and you want me to save her?"
Absurdity burst from her.
Unthinkable by her common sense.
He understood. He would've thought the same.
"What do we gain by killing her?"
"What?"
"A corpse. But alive? Endless uses."
"B-But..."
"I took her down. Do as I say."
His firm tone brooked no argument; she bit her lip.
She wanted to retort, call it nonsense.
But the overwhelming scene she'd just witnessed sealed her lips.
Above all, Evan's eyes compelled obedience.
As she pressed him, his sinking gaze made her heart plummet.
"...Fine."
Reluctantly nodding, she trembled as she cast healing magic over Imir's wound.
Blue light enveloped it; gushing blood stopped, torn flesh knitting slowly.
[My liege. You intend to spare her?]
Boring's puzzled voice came from the shadows.
"Too valuable to waste."
Muttering low so Celine wouldn't hear,
he coldly gazed at Imir's healing wounds bathed in blue light.
They wouldn't understand. Didn't matter.
He wasn't acting for their approval.
The original protagonist, Iris. Heroines including Celine.
Centers of the game's tale, beloved by the world.
Entangling with them—willing or not—skyrockets the odds of Evan Dreadnote's miserable canon end.
Avoiding them quietly is best.
But would this world leave him be?
"..."
Honestly, doubtful.
Possessed as the villain Evan Dreadnote,
the world's laws—the original flow—might force clashes with them.
Then, prepare contingencies to survive.
A powerful ace unbound by laws or noble rules.
In that sense, she was ideal insurance.
Killing and necromancing was simplest, but...
He shook his head lightly, dismissing it.
Reviving someone like Imir sloppily degrades quality.
Even Black King's knowledge couldn't perfectly reconstruct such a soul.
Lifelong potential and explosive combat sense would fade.
One option left.
Break her will alive, bend her to submission.
If not, kill and revive as last resort.
"Oppa... done."
Celine's weary voice interrupted.
Pale from mana drain, she wobbled.
"Good work. Take Heron and head back to the manor."
"...And you?"
"Got business with her."
He patted her shoulder lightly.
"And Galen."
"Yes."
Galen approached, battered face bowed.
"Take all prisoners. Oh, kill any who speak without my permission?"
"...Understood."
Only after confirming them vanishing into the blizzard did he turn to Imir.
"Kuhuk!"
Regaining consciousness, it seemed.
Coughing harshly, eyes fluttering open.
Shocked to be alive,
she spotted him and scowled.
"...Why didn't you kill me?"
"Stay down."
She tried rising but collapsed, strengthless.
He squatted before her, meeting her eyes.
"Nothing fancy. Want to make a deal."
"What...?"
Slowly, to her baffled face, he opened his mouth.
"Become mine."