Frost's heart thumped wildly as he sprinted toward the fight, his lungs expanding and contracting as he struggled to take in enough air. He'd traveled all this far only to see Hailstone Keep under siege?

He'd spotted a small stream running up to the Keep, so he'd planned his course to travel near it. There was no point in pulling frost armor at this stage, or it would give him away. It wasn't clear whether he would be attacked outright or if he could close the gap first.

"Frost, don't do anything stupid," Frolick said. His brother was panting as he struggled to keep pace. They'd left Molly behind as she would've been a moving target to this many soldiers. "You can't defeat an army this big on your own."

"I have to try," Frost said without slowing down. "I'll at least get into the Keep and help defend it."

"You'll die," Frolick said. "These men are out for blood. Remember what happened last time we came across them." He stopped running and placed his hands on his knees, struggling to catch his breath.

Frost glanced over his shoulder to look at Frolick. "Stay back, brother. I'll be fine. Take care of Molly."

Then he was off.

It would be better that way, he decided. Frolick wasn't a fighter the way Frost was. As long as he had an ample supply of water nearby, Frost would be very hard to take down. While it was true that he was no match for an entire army, he could at least help.

Frostilicus glanced at the gentle stream running parallel to his path. There wasn't much water in it, but it would do for what he needed. It was strange that the ground he ran on was moist and grooved as if it once held an entire river. It was far too big for this meager stream.

But there was no time for a meandering mind. He focused on his goal.

Frost's hand swung back and forth with each step. His muscles strained, and adrenaline coursed through his body. By the Five, he would see to it that these Flintlock soldiers did not destroy Hailstone Keep. Not when he was so close.

Bam.

The wet bank exploded in a splash of mud as a shot ran by Frost's head, narrowly missing him. In the corner of his eye, he caught the perpetrator.

A flintlock soldier. The man wore a blue uniform with a black tricorn military hat with gold trim.

Bam, bam.

Two more muskets resounded in the distance, zipping by Frostilicus.

He dropped to the ground, mud splattering across his body as he dove for cover. The small contingent of men had broken away from the larger army, and were pursuing him.

Frost centered his mind, focusing on the water in the shallow stream. He pulled on the water, wrapping it around himself to form frost armor. Searching his memories for the different types of armor he'd created over the years, he picked one of thick steel. It had to stop bullets.

As the frost armor hardened into its shape, he felt adrenaline course through his veins. The double-strength and agility of a frost mage surged through his muscles.

Clank.

A bullet grazed his armor, zipping into the mud bank.

Frostilicus pulled on the water running along the stream, forming a sword in his hands. It was a majestic blade, two-handed and as sharp as a razor. It glistened in the sunlight, geometric frost shapes dancing along its spine.

Turning toward the men, Frost's cold blue eyes glared. He looked like a celestial being emerging from the white mist.

One of the soldiers dropped his weapon and made a break for it. The other two raised their rifles.

Frostilicus ran straight at them, both hands clutching his blade. He closed the gap in seconds, taking several shots to the ribs. It hurt but didn't penetrate the faux steel armor. He slashed, slicing the fingers off the first man, who immediately dropped his rifle and ran. The second ran at Frost with his bayonet. With luck, he might just manage to pierce it through a chink in the frost armor.

But Frost was too quick. He sidestepped, dodging the blow altogether. Then he grabbed the man and tossed him into the bank, knocking him unconscious.

As he did, he heard the yells of two dozen soldiers coming to join the fight. Frost winced. That was a bit more than he could handle. With enough shots, they'd pierce his armor. They could also opt to grapple him to the ground with that many people if they were willing to sacrifice a few to his blade.

So Frost turned and ran. He made a break for Hailstone Keep. There were no cavalry units nearby, which meant he'd be able to outpace the approaching soldiers. Hopefully, they wouldn't land too many shots at this range.

Frost breathed rapidly, taking in large gasps of air. His body was exerting itself at twice the capacity of a normal person, which meant that his lungs needed twice as much air. He ran as fast as he could, putting distance between himself and his pursuers. The Keep was only a hundred yards or so away. If he could just join up with the frost mages, he could find a way to be useful.

As he drew near, he thought it strange that he saw no sign of activity in the Keep. Maybe the residents had retreated further inside?

Then he noticed a single figure standing between him and the castle walls. It wasn't a frost mage. No, this was a figure he recognized. A figure burned into his mind from his near-death experience—a Flintlock Corporal with glowing red eyes.