The final remains of the Snowjack Infantry Company were a meager lot — 300 dire soldiers.

Lieutenant Shamus Sharpshot oversaw the company alongside General Horace Burns. Frost magic killed most of their company, and blood-blending had killed off the majority of those that remained. But this final army, they were the elite of the elite.

These wouldn't be ordinary dire soldiers.

They were survivors out for blood. Hungry for vengeance. Shamus had made sure of it. These men were more than just battle-hardened.

They wanted to taste the sweetness of dead frost mage.

"300 is a good number," General Burns said, pacing. He observed the army standing at attention. His black tricorn hat shaded his eyes from the noonday sun. His uniform looked neat in spite of it being splattered in blood. "We'll be going up against an overwhelming force. Ready to die if need be."

"Sir," Shamus said, saluting. "We are already dead."

Burns smirked, tipping his hat. "At ease," he said. "Indeed we are. Indeed we are."

The soldiers relaxed their salute and remained standing before General Burns.

"Soldiers," the blood mage general said. "You have been entrusted with a power beyond anything you have ever experienced in your lives. The power of dire blood granted to you by myself. You are nearly invincible, utterly unbreakable. But extremely outnumbered."

He paced, holding his hand behind his back. His bloodied white britches stretched with each step.

"Consider our reduction in numbers a mere setback," Burns said. "Yet one that will nonetheless fail to stop our march to victory. You may question how it is possible that 300 soldiers could overtake an entire nation of powerful enemies. Yet it is exactly in our numbers that we will overtake them. We will study these frost mages. Observe their cities, even learn their vile religion and philosophy. In doing so, we will learn their weaknesses. And then, in secret, we will plunge a dagger and twist." Burns slashed forward with his hand in an invisible stabbing motion.

"I will also tell you a secret," Burns said. "This gift I've granted you will grow. Dire blood in time will grow with the more lives you take. Each kill will result in greater and greater strength, agility, intelligence until you are a fully-fledged blood mage, able to control your own blood like the frost mages do water." Burn scoffed, shaking his head.

"Frost mages control water. An ordinary, plain thing. Yet we, through death, control the stuff of life itself—our own blood. Blood doesn't just freeze like water. It can do anything your body needs. A blood mage, a true blood mage can direct his own blood to work wonders, to make a new body, to heal himself, to grow new appendages, and much, much more."

Burns paused for a moment to let the men consider their newfound power. It truly was a gift. The ability to master one's own blood. Even a frost mage could never dream of such a thing.

"I tell you now because I will not have time to teach you everything. Thus far, I've infused my own blood into yours, making your bodies stronger with my power. But through this blood-blending, I've endired your bodies for you. Taken the first step toward blood magic."

The soldiers looked on in awe. They looked themselves over. They were stronger and bigger than before. Their uniforms were ripping in several places and would need to be repaired.

"But to do this requires sacrifice. Deaths. Victims." Burns clenched his teeth. "And the most potent victim you'll find are frost mages. I sense you will grow quickly, given how many victims you will find in the general vicinity. But you must kill in secret. We need time to grow and learn. To study our enemy. Until we are ready to strike them in the heart."

Several of the men cheered on at the suggestion. "Death to frost mages," one of them yelled to applause.

"Consider what I've said today," Burns said. "You will be disbursed throughout Frosthaven in squads of five. We will form a network of informants spanning the entire nation. 300 men will be plenty for what we need for the time being."

General Burns paused to allow the information to sink in.

"Your orders will be given shortly. Think about what I have said. For now, you are dismissed."

The company departed, the men breaking out and scattering around the camp. They chatted with one another about what the general had just revealed. Dead or not, it was hard to keep from being a little bit excited about the prospect of becoming a blood mage. And revenge, of course. Sweet, sweet revenge. That was front and center on their minds.

"Interesting plan, general," Shamus said, nodding. "Do you think it will work?"

"I'm not giving up," Horace Burns said, eyes flashing red. He clenched his hands into fists. "I'll never give up. Not when so much is at stake?"

"At stake, Sir?" Shamus said.

"Of course, Lieutenant," Burns said. "The power to become a god. Don't you feel it? To rival the Emperor himself? I'll not let it fall through my fingers like water. No, never."

So that was what this was all about, Shamus thought to himself. The blood mage general had alluded to it earlier. The power granted by killing a frost mage advanced one's blood mage abilities.

"Sir," Shamus said. "How many victims do you need?"

"It's not just about numbers," Burns said. "It's about quality. The stronger the sacrifice, the more potent."

"So that's why you plan to disburse the men?" Shamus said. "You intend to hunt down the most powerful frost mages in the Northern Reach."

"You have a quick mind," Burns said. "I see the endiration is quickly taking root in you. You should know, I have a very special in mind for you."

"Oh?" Shamus asked. "What would that be, Sir?"

"Revenge," Burns said. "A blood mage's first responsibility is repayment of debts."

"The mage who did this," Shamus. "You want him dead."

"Exactly," Burns said. "You will hunt him down. And butcher him. I imagine your abilities will grow significantly from doing so."

Shamus paused, considering his mission. It wouldn't be an easy one, tracking down an unknown frsot mage deep within their own territory. But assassinations were his strong suit. He wasn't called Shamus Sharpshot for nothing.

Shamus also wondered to himself how powerful the general was exactly?

Burns hadn't really done anything particularly out-of-the ordinary for a dire general other than grant his powers to other soldiers. And even then, he'd only done it when he really needed to.

He'd only created 300 dire soldiers. Surely he could do more than that? But then again, maybe that was his upper limit. Shamus himself could only endire a dozen at most before facing exhaustion. 300 was an army in and of itself.

Still, Shamus had to wonder whether General Burns was withholding his powers. What could the man truly do? All his years slaughtering frost mages around the world had to account for some sort of power. Did he hope to rival the Emperor himself?

It didn't matter now. Shamus was beholden to the general one way or another. Burns had taken notice of Shamus and promoted to him. His career, his fate was attached to the general's in a way that he'd never get away from.

Shamus did have a suggestion however. Something that might help. A simple idea.

"Sir," Shamus said, pacing alongside the general.

"Yes, Lieutenant," Burns said, impatience in his voice. "What else do you want to know now?"

"A willing victim is more likely to survive enduration," Shamus said.

Horace scoffed. "Have you learned nothing? You yourself took advantage of that principle today."

"Yes, I know," Shamus said, thoughtfully. "But I had another thought. What if that victim is a frost mage?"

Horace stopped walking. He grasped the tip of his tricorn and adjusted the fit. "Impossible. Frost mages are our sworn enemies since ancient times. They are resistant to blood-blending. Even within their own element, frost-blending is virtually unheard of. They are isolationists at heart."

"I know," Shamus said. "But what if it were possible?"

"Well then," Horace said. "If it were possible, then such a creature would have the dual abilities of blood and frost magic at once. I'm not sure what that would look like in practice, but it would be far beyond anything I can imagine. I wouldn't waste your time on this, however. It's simply not done."

But Shamus couldn't help but wonder. He walked several paces behind Horace, hands clasped behind his back in imitation of the general. Shamus furrowed his brows in deep thought.

What if there was a way, he wondered. It might just give them the perfect weapon.