Not long after Bestna left, deep within the Ice Hall, Onarom, Neriao, and several orcs were making one last desperate struggle before death.
But such resistance was utterly insignificant before a group of frost giants who could each fight a hundred men.
It felt like pitiful kindergarten children trying to leap over a wall under the watch of a PE teacher, only to be subjected to a merciless beating.
Under the extremely earnest supervision of Second White and his brothers and sisters, the seven orcs were forcibly dragged by the frost giants into a valley.
As far as the eye could see, bones lay piled like mountains—Ogres, Goblins, and the original masters of the Evermoors—trolls!
The entire small site was almost submerged in blood. Even the goose-feather snow drifting down endlessly from above could not conceal the stench of slaughter here.
"The Chieftain said he would grant you a painless rest! So you should feel honored!"
Like grabbing groundhogs, two frost giants dragged one of the struggling, roaring orcs to a stone platform long marinated through with blood and pinned down his hands and feet.
With his view inverted, he could only watch in despair as a frost giant fetched a torture hammer from the corner, its surface encrusted with blood-red ice crystals. The hammerhead alone was already larger than the orc's torso!
"Don't blame us frost giants. We serve the Lord of Wrath of the Bottomless Abyss. If we do not offer invaders like you as monthly sacrifices, then we ourselves will become the sacrifices. If you must blame someone, blame your own misfortune!"
The frost giant raised the blood-red warhammer high, staring coldly at the sacrifice on the stone platform before shouting:
"Lord of Wrath! May all be well! Kostchtchie!
"Please accept the gift your servants offer to