Jotunheim was covered in ice and snow year-round, with extremely low temperatures. Its people still lived under an exceedingly primitive tribal system.
In such low temperatures, they did not even have the materials to start fires. Any food brought here had trading value, let alone forging techniques.
The Casket of Ancient Winters had once been controlled by Laufey. He only knew that it was a treasure passed down through his ancestors. All he had to do was open it; no operation was required. It would release an endless torrent of terrifying frost, freezing everything before it and helping him fight the detestable Aesir.
But until Odin took that treasure along with his son, he had never considered the question Deathstroke had raised.
In Jotunheim, where there was no forging technology and everyone could only take crude stone clubs into battle, who had crafted the exquisitely made Casket of Ancient Winters? And who had decreed that only Frost Giants could use it?
With the labor force and tools available to Laufey and his people, never mind that the dark-blue eternal frost was a unique special material across the Nine Realms—even if they were told to use local materials and carve a coffin from an iceberg, they could not have done it.
Just thinking about what secrets lay behind this made Laufey tremble all over. It was not only excitement, but fear as well.
"Sorcerer Supreme, are you saying that we once had a god? A real god, not some people like the Aesir who merely call themselves gods?"
Laufey moved away from the crowd, signaling his subordinates to halt their advance on Asgard. Carrying Deathstroke, he avoided the eyes and ears of those around them.
"Not that you once had one. You have always had one." Su Ming pulled a bottle