"Let me go, you stupid Tiger Grass Dragon!"
A clear voice, short gray-white hair, and a face that still bore the softness of childhood.
In such cold weather, he wore a crudely made red outfit.
He looked rather like a savage from the Viking Age.
People born in Niflheim possessed an innate resistance to the cold.
But even a native would turn red from the chill when wearing so little.
Tos was facing death. The Great Winter brought by the cold had made survival almost impossible.
To find enough to trade for food that would see him through this winter, he had been forced to cross the Icebreaking Wall and search Shield Mountain for rare ore.
Instead of breaking ore out of the hard ice, he had awakened a Tiger Grass Dragon's appetite.
"Tiger Grass Dragons should be digesting the last batch of adventurers' corpses this season. Why did this one suddenly wake up?"
Tos's thoughts raced, but he had no time to dwell on it.
The terrifying tendrils capable of strangling an Icefield Mammoth Calf had already wrapped around his body.
Death was like the uncle next door, knocking enthusiastically.
I'm going to die.
Through his unusual gray eyes, he seemed to see someone coming down Shield Mountain.
How was that possible?
Even the bravest person would not venture onto the other side of the mountain at this time.
Suffocation left him no room to think.
Death's warning bell rang.
That bloody maw lined with sharp teeth, along with its four-lobed, heart-shaped floral tongue, loomed before his eyes.
Tos's struggling arms fell limply to his sides.
"Need a hand?" the stranger asked in a language he could barely understand.
But Tos instinctively begged for help.
"Save me."
"Sounds like the ancient language of Niflheim recorded in Asgard."
The stranger