The blizzard of Shatterice Tundra tore open the sky before dawn. Xu Qing lay prone in a snow trench atop a watchtower ice mound, watching the Ironblood Bears and Grizzly Mercantile Guild's combined forces advance like a wall of black iron. Five hundred suits of scale armor embedded with Blackfire Stone shards glinted coldly in the storm, interspersed with twenty of the Guild's *Ironback Siege Towers*—three-story frameworks of southern hardwood, their Blackfire Stone furnaces atop spewing superheated steam to melt the ice in their path.
"White Fang! Each tower holds fifty warriors!" Snowclaw's Blackfire crossbow trembled, its bolt wrapped with a newly crafted "bear-dung incendiary"—Blackfire shards soaked in bear grease and bound in deerhide. "And their iron-plated wheels can crush through three feet of ice!"
Xu Qing's pupils shrank to pinpricks behind his goggles. His fingers traced the Blackfire "frostspikes" buried beneath the snow—frozen shards mixed with bear dung, tips coated with salamander bile. He touched the reindeer-skin bellows at his waist, filled by elders and children blowing Blackfire dust all night—a lethal combustion cloud in the storm.
"Tell Ironclaw: split the warriors into 'grease teams' and 'bellows squads,'" his voice was the dark current beneath glaciers, claws etching spiral ignition zones in the snow. "Grease teams ambush the siege towers at Frostrend Canyon—douse their bases with bear oil. Bellows squads await my signal to blast dust at the furnaces. Blackfire ignites when heated, and hardwood burns faster with bear dung."
As Snowclaw turned, Xu Qing grabbed his fur armor and pressed a lump of frozen bear tallow into his palm. "See the furnace operators on the towers? Their armor gaps are at the waist. Shatter this tallow there—Blackfire dust will seep into their joints." His white ear-tips blurred into the storm. "Avoid the towers' front—the ice beneath their wheels hides our frostthorn traps."
At noon in Frostrend Canyon, the Ironback Towers' wheels ground across ice. Their bases screeched—Xu Qing's crews had buried dung-coated frostthorns beneath the ice; the cold shrank the hardwood frames, letting ice thorns pierce the wood. Grease teams hurled bear-oil casks. Thick oil seeped into the towers' foundations, ignited instantly by the Blackfire furnaces. Flames raced up the wooden frames.
"The base burns!" Ironblood warriors screamed. The furnace heat accelerated the blaze. Xu Qing signaled the bellows squads. Blackfire dust formed swirling clouds in the blizzard, erupting into azure flames near the furnaces. Dragon-like fire engulfed entire towers.
"Ironclaw! Take warriors through the ice crevices!" Xu Qing roared over collapsing towers. "Their scale armor fears dung-fire! Target the furnace operators' wristguards—" He dove into a snow pit mid-sentence, goggles slipping to reveal faintly glowing blue eyes.
Crevice teams hurled "frostweb ropes"—Blackfire-dusted spider silk frozen into steel cables—entangling fleeing Ironblood warriors. Xu Qing crouched behind an ice spire, watching the Guild's Ironblade stand atop an untouched siege tower, his gilded abacus glinting coldly. Xu Qing pulled out his father's metal shard. Its three-clawed engraving matched Ironblade's abacus pattern—a symbol of the ancient Bear Kings, now a merchant's tool.
"Lord Ironblade, does your abacus calculate today's inferno?" Xu Qing sprang from the ice, hugging a Blackfire stone. "I-I brought fire suppressants! Frozen dung in the snowbanks smothers Blackfire flames—" Before he finished, dung-incendiaries rolled beneath the tower. Azure flames erupted, collapsing the furnace.
At dusk in the tribal infirmary, Xu Qing knelt before the captured Ironblade, tracing char marks on the abacus. "Know why your towers burned so fast?" He lifted a Blackfire shard glazed with bear oil. "Tundra rats freeze grease into fire-pellets to melt iron-shelled termites."
Ironblade's bear-like pupils constricted. "You used forbidden—"
"Forbidden?" Xu Qing feigned a whimper, producing a hardwood fragment from the tower's base. "Your timber comes from southern jungles. Our bear grease comes from reindeer drinking at the Fire River." He shoved a tallow-smeared fake map at the merchant. "Follow the underground river. In three days, the storm shifts—your towers will be buried."
As he spoke, his claws left five scratches on the abacus—the scout team's assassination signal. Ironblade didn't notice the Blackfire powder mixed in the tallow, ensuring his remaining towers would self-destruct.
In Elder Frosthorn's tent, the hide map glowed red by the firepit. The old chief stared at Xu Qing's "combustion trap" diagram, bone staff slamming the Frostrend mark. "How did you know bear grease burns hardwood?"
Xu Qing knelt on furs, fingers absently rubbing the metal shard. "Last year, I saw merchants grease wooden wheels... tested shards secretly…" Soot clung to his white ear-tips. "Chief, next time they'll bring iron fortresses. We must—"
"I know." Frosthorn pulled a charred wood carving from a chest—a bear warrior burning an enemy camp. "Thirty years ago, your father used bear grease to torch the Guild's ships, reclaiming stolen Blackfire." His voice darkened. "Then their ironbolt crossbows pierced his heartplate."
Xu Qing shuddered. Now he understood the scorch marks on his father's shard—emblems of victory and vengeance. He touched a dung-incendiary, noticing his nails glowing faintly, now sharp enough to slice cured leather.
"Chief," he knelt, the shard burning his palm, "Their towers rely on hardwood. Our grease will reduce them to ash." His eyes hardened. "Next time, we'll coat Frostrend in grease—make pyres of their towers."
Frosthorn studied the fire in his eyes, recalling the young warrior's father. He sighed, pressing the charred carving into Xu Qing's hand. "Prepare. But remember—" The bone staff touched Xu Qing's brow. "If you burn like the merchants, I'll bury you beneath the pyres."
Deep in the mineshaft, Xu Qing studied captured documents by firelight—blueprints marked "Grizzly Guild Northern Lumberyards." He aligned his father's shard with the parchment's edge, revealing an ancient Bearfire emblem—once a warrior's crest, now branded on siege engines.
"White Fang?" Old Wang's voice echoed. "The Chief sent new goggles…"
Xu Qing hid the shard, reverting to his timid guise. "Auntie, hush! I'm… gathering Blackfire shards…" He took the goggles, noticing the frostwolf engraving inside—his father's old insignia.
On the tundra, carrier pigeons bore news of the Ironblood defeat to the Guild. None noticed the Blackfire shards in their leg rings. When lumber crews followed the shards' glow into Frostrend, they'd meet a bear-pelted avenger—and traps woven of grease and Blackfire.
Xu Qing curled in the mineshaft, watching his shadow merge with his father's in the firelight—a blue flame merging with Blackfire veins. His hardening claws gleamed. The soul that fell from a helicopter was becoming the North's fiercest spear, forged in collapsing towers and fire's roar.