Asgard — Gilgamesh's Chambers
Golden armor gleamed beneath the soft light. A golden goblet in hand, Gilgamesh stood upon the balcony like an emperor surveying his realm. Below the towering palace, the streets of Asgard bustled with light and life—an eternal scene of peace and splendor.
"Insignificant ants… weeds that sprout year after year. This unchanging tranquility is truly tedious."
He swirled the crimson wine with languid grace, the liquid reflecting the moonlight as his expression remained one of detached boredom.
Behind him, the Gemini Gold Saint stood respectfully, hands clasped behind his back. His gaze occasionally drifted toward the balcony, watching his master with quiet understanding.
A gentle evening breeze swept through, carrying the scent of the star-filled sky. Suddenly, a streak of rainbow light tore through the night—brilliant and fleeting—before vanishing into the distance.
Seeing this, Gilgamesh's lips curved into a faint, expectant smile.
"It seems this unchanging peace is finally about to be shattered… by my foolish brother."
He drained his goblet in a single swallow, then flicked his wrist. The golden glass shattered against the floor, dissolving into shimmering dust that scattered into the air.
"Notify Valhalla to prepare for battle. I hope Jotunheim brings me some amusement this time."
Saga bowed in acknowledgment, ready to depart—but Gilgamesh's languid voice halted him.
"Never mind. Father won't allow our nations to go to war so easily."
He exhaled softly, the fire in his tone fading back into indifference. For all his arrogance and disdain, centuries of divine affection had softened even his heart of stone.
Among all of Asgard, only two people had ever truly reached him—Frigga, his mother, and Odin, the All-Father himself.
The rest? Merely playthings in his gilded world.
Saga hesitated, then asked carefully, "With Prince Thor's strength, he may struggle against the Frost Troll army. Should we send someone… to assist?"
"He can clean up his own mess." Gilgamesh's crimson eyes glinted with impatience. "What use is the God of Thunder if he can't handle such a trivial matter?"
"Yes, my lord." Saga bowed, though a wry thought crossed his mind: If you refuse to move, there are plenty of others who will.
Indeed, he was not mistaken.
Moments later, the Pisces Gold Saint entered, kneeling before the golden prince. "Lord Gilgamesh, His Majesty Odin commands you to proceed to Jotunheim immediately to rescue Princes Thor and Loki. Heimdall reports they are surrounded by Frost Trolls and locked in fierce battle!"
Gilgamesh's brow furrowed, irritation flashing in his gaze. "Mere Frost Trolls? And I have to go myself?"
He clicked his tongue. Odin's decree had turned a dull evening into a tedious chore.
"Send Aiolia. Tell him to bring them back. I have no interest in meddling."
"As you command, my lord." Aphrodite bowed deeply, his long hair brushing against the golden floor before he rose and departed.
Jotunheim — The Land of Frost
The world was white and merciless. Blizzards roared across the ice plains, and from the endless snow emerged a tide of Frost Giants—towering monsters of ice-blue skin, each nearly three meters tall, brandishing weapons forged from frozen stone.
At the heart of the storm, Thor stood like a blazing sun amid the blizzard.
Gripping Mjolnir by the strap, he spun it in a furious arc, the hammer whirling faster and faster until it became a cyclone of divine thunder. Each swing sent giants hurtling through the air, their bodies shattered by lightning.
Not far away, Loki fought with cunning grace, his illusion magic weaving a dance of deception. His form flickered between shadows, taunting and striking from impossible angles, making a mockery of the encroaching trolls.
Nearby, the three warriors of Asgard fought valiantly alongside them.
Volstagg swung his mighty axe, cleaving through the chest of a Frost Troll with a single blow. "Is that all you've got?!" he bellowed with a booming laugh.
Fandral's rapier flashed like light itself; he rolled across the ice to dodge a swing, then severed his opponent's leg with a clean backhand slash. "How about we make this interesting—see who kills the most?"
"I accept your challenge!" Hogun grunted, smashing a troll's skull to ice with one swing of his spiked hammer.
Even Sif, with her sword and shield moving in flawless harmony, stood undaunted amid the chaos, her silver armor gleaming like a star against the frozen night.
Seeing this, Laufey, King of the Frost Trolls, frowned slightly and raised his hand.
At his signal, a troll immediately blew the war horn.
In an instant, the attacking trolls halted their assault and began to retreat.
Seeing this, Fandral smirked mockingly.
"I knew it," he thought, "these guys are all bark and no bite."
"Something's wrong."
Hogun's expression remained grim. Years of battlefield experience had sharpened his instincts — and right now, they screamed danger.
Sure enough, as the frost trolls withdrew, a colossal frost behemoth burst out from beneath the ice. Towering several dozen meters high, its gaping maw loomed like a mountain as it charged toward them.
"My god—run!" Sif's eyes widened in disbelief as she turned and bolted.
The others followed, their earlier arrogance completely shattered.
Frost behemoths had always been the trolls' ultimate weapons — massive, thick-skinned monsters that dominated the battlefield through sheer power and durability.
They were meant for large-scale warfare, not one-on-one combat.
And once unleashed, there was no stopping them...
Unless—
they had their own strategic weapon.
"So what's our strategic weapon?" Fandral shouted as he vaulted over an ice wall, dodging shards of frozen debris.
"Thor! Our strategic weapon is Thor!"
Hogun's voice rang out as he ran, bellowing the name at the top of his lungs.
Hearing the call, Thor — who was still wreaking havoc on the battlefield — turned his head sharply. With a grin, he spun Mjolnir, lightning surging around him, and shot into the sky.
Breaking free of the encirclement, he accelerated like a comet, hurtling straight toward the frost behemoth.
"BOOM—!"
A thunderous impact resounded across the frozen plain.
Thor landed on one knee, Mjolnir in hand. Behind him, the frost behemoth toppled lifelessly, a gaping hole blown through its skull.
"Crisis over, gentlemen. Need any more help?"
Thor turned toward his companions, a cocky grin on his face — expecting cheers, perhaps even applause.
But instead, everyone stared past him with grim, pale expressions.
"Thor…" Loki said quietly, "you might want to look behind you."
Thor blinked and turned around.
The vast icy plain was now swarming with frost trolls — thousands of them, each towering three meters tall, faces twisted with fury. Among them, dozens of frost behemoths bellowed, shaking the frozen earth with their roars.
Even the ever-fearless Thor felt his smile falter.
For all his courage, even he knew — one man against an endless army was madness.
The fear and despair written on the Asgardians' faces filled Laufey with unrestrained delight. As the king of the frost giants, he had suffered countless humiliations in wars against Asgard.
But now, the tables had turned. Odin's two sons were within his grasp — his greatest trophies yet.
This victory would echo across the realms. It would restore Jotunheim's pride and morale — and with such precious hostages, even Odin would think twice before making a move.
The more Laufey thought about it, the wider his icy grin grew.
He was just about to give the order to attack—
when a deafening thunderclap shook the heavens.
A radiant, seven-colored rainbow tore through the clouds, descending between the two armies like a divine spear of light.
Laufey's smile froze mid-expression.
The Bifröst.
Reinforcements from Asgard.
His chest tightened. Only one thought echoed in his mind—
Please… don't let it be that god-like, demonic, utterly monstrous man!