Jotunheim was bitterly cold—cold enough to freeze splashed water into ice. Beneath everyone's feet lay a thick ice cap and knee-deep snow, while Deathstroke's armor and weapons, Daisy's red cloak, and the golden fried chicken in his hand were among the few bright colors in this dimension.
The fried chicken had still been steaming when he took it out, but it had frozen solid in the time they spent talking. A layer of ice coated its crispy skin, reflecting Godslayer's radiance and making it gleam with golden light.
"What do you mean?"
Laufey's gaze fell upon the fried chicken as well. After all, food was still recognizable no matter what. Though he had long dwelled among rotten fish and could no longer smell his own kind's stench, he could smell the savory saltiness of the food in Deathstroke's hand.
Frost Giants were fierce and cruel by nature, and that was inextricably tied to their living environment. The foremost reason was that food was exceptionally scarce here; only a handful of plants and animals capable of surviving extreme cold could live in this place.
Their food sources mainly consisted of enormous beasts resembling Mammoths, along with the bark and roots of certain conifers. Yet while hunting and gathering, they could encounter the region's distinctive black blizzards—an ultimate cold capable of freezing even Frost Giants to death.
Since the entire race's technology remained roughly at the Stone Age, countless Hordes large and small could only build fortified settlements around natural monoliths or glaciers to avoid the blizzards. These natural formations could effectively shield them from Storms.
These settlements were scattered throughout every corner of the endless ice plains. No settlement would ever be located in the middle of the boundless snowfields. That would be suicidal.
Thus, before every war, the Frost Giants