The bodies of the Frost Giants lay strewn across the frozen ground, their massive forms lifeless beneath the pale winter sun. The soldiers busied themselves cleaning the battlefield, while the knights tended to the wounded. Thanks to their careful preparations, casualties were light—mostly minor frostbite and shallow cuts that could be treated with the salves and bandages they carried. Nearby, several physicians knelt over their patients, wrapping wounds and applying warming poultices to keep the cold from settling into their bones.
Yet one knight fared far worse than the others. Laid out on a makeshift cot, he was bloodied and pale, his armor shattered, ribs protruding beneath torn mail. A trickle of dark blood ran from the corner of his mouth as his chest rose and fell in shallow gasps. The head physician knelt beside him, face grim."His injuries are too severe," he murmured. "Conventional treatments won't save him."The knights gathered around, faces etched with worry. Only moments ago, they had fought alongside this man—now he teetered on the edge between life and death.
At that moment, Louis appeared among them. Calmly, he drew a small vial of deep green crystal from inside his cloak. The liquid within glowed faintly, casting a soft emerald light on the snow. The knights stared in awe. Such Life Potions were rarer than gems—capable of closing mortal wounds and restoring a dying soul.
Without a word, Louis knelt and poured the potion between the injured knight's lips. A hush fell over the field. Moments later, the dying man's shallow breaths steadied; color bled back into his cheeks. His broken ribs knitted themselves together, and the flattened rise of his chest returned to normal. Inch by miraculous inch, his heart regained its strength.
The physician exhaled in relief. "He's out of danger now," he declared, "though a full recovery will depend on time and fortune."
The knights exchanged glances, pride and gratitude shining in their eyes. Their loyalty to Louis swelled—never had they seen such generosity or courage from their lord.
Lambert leaned close to Louis and whispered, "You shouldn't have used such a precious potion on him."
Louis simply smiled. "He fought for me, and for the Red Tide Territory. How could that ever be a waste?" He looked over the assembled knights, voice firm. "I will never abandon those who are loyal to me."
In response, each knight straightened, bowed their head, and raised a hand to their chest in salute—no words needed. The silent oath rang stronger than any spoken promise.
Louis felt a pang of regret, remembering his sister's parting gift—only three Life Potions in all. He had already used one on Sif, the Frost Giant princess, and now this one on a faithful knight. Only one vial remained. Yet he did not regret his choices. He had saved Sif, whose mysterious bond might one day prove invaluable, and he had shown his troops the depth of his commitment.
He tucked the empty vial away. "I suppose I'll keep the last vial for myself," he murmured.
With the crisis averted, it was time for the rewards ceremony. As Lord of the Red Tide Territory, Louis took center stage before his men.
"In this campaign, we have slain four Frost Giants," he announced, voice echoing across the field, "and every one of you contributed to our victory. Merit must be rewarded—though I admit, my coffers are slim," he added with a wry shrug.
A ripple of laughter passed through the troops. Louis continued, "Still, you shall receive what you have earned."
Cheers rose as each soldier and knight was handed their share of fresh fish, game meat, grain, and a modest pouch of gold coins. Though the gifts were simple, no one complained; they understood that Louis had done far more for them than any other lord might. He had risked his own reserves to save lives and honor their bravery.
"Serving Lord Louis is our honor!" they cried.
"May the Dragon Ancestor bless the Red Tide Territory!" came the eager reply.
Later, the challenge of disposing of the Frost Giants' colossal bodies remained. While the Northern Reaches hungered for any source of meat, the soldiers balked at butchering humanoid flesh. Louis surveyed the giants' immense forms thoughtfully, then an idea struck him.
"Do not butcher them for food," he ordered. "Bring the bodies back. We will process them into fertilizer."
Frost Giants' flesh and blood, rich in primordial cold energy, could rejuvenate the barren soil of the Red Tide Territory. At his command, teams lashed heavy poles to the fallen giants and, with horses straining at the harnesses, began the slow trek home.
Thus, as the sun dipped low on the horizon, the survivors of the battle marched back—wounded but victorious, bound together by loyalty, hope, and the promise of a brighter spring.
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