"I wonder if he's looking at me because I'm so handsome... It must be that." Eskandor mused, puffing his chest up proudly as he cast a sidelong glance at the observer. A faint smile of self-satisfaction curled his lips. "But I have to say... what a strange subordinate His Majesty has arranged."
As he plunged into this sequence of narcissistic thoughts, Eskandor spun on his heels with a theatrical flair. He ran his long, proud fingers through his snow-white hair, letting it slide smoothly, as if displaying a cascade of silver light. At the same time, his long tail slithered from side to side, restless, almost as if it were part of the performance. His large, curved horns glistened under the ambient light, purposefully highlighted as he lifted his chin with an air of lofty nobility.
Ainz, on the other hand, watched the scene with an unreadable expression, his eyes glowing in the empty sockets of his skull. "Who the hell is this show-off?" he thought with a hint of restrained disdain. "This must be the Eskandor His Majesty mentioned during the journey... But what is he doing? What was that pose? It seems His Majesty really has a... peculiar subordinate. Very peculiar."
Annoyed, Ainz turned his head to the side, deliberately avoiding looking at any more of that vanity display. He felt that just one more second of looking would be enough to erode his patience.
Meanwhile, Uriel remained oblivious to the eccentric thoughts of his subordinates. His gaze swept across the horizon with a natural calm, pausing briefly on the ice giants. Despite being creatures adapted to extreme cold, many trembled, their frozen skin contracting under the biting wind that blew through the area. The cold was so dense that even the giants' steady shivers betrayed a sense of discomfort.
"Ainz, take your swords. Begin felling the trees around." Uriel ordered with his deep, gravelly voice, sounding more like the restrained growl of an ancient creature than a simple instruction.
After observing the terrain for a few seconds, he found an area with fewer trees, spacious enough to accommodate his colossal body. Without regard for the lush grass that would be crushed, Uriel lay down heavily on the ground, making the earth vibrate slightly beneath his weight. He coiled his body with slow, deliberate movements, almost lazy, like a giant serpent seeking comfort. It wasn't because of the cold—his body didn't feel temperature the same way others did—but simply because it was more comfortable for him.
Ainz promptly obeyed the order. He and the other skeletons, wielding rusty swords that clinked with the wind, scattered through the area. They began to strike the dry, twisted trunks of dead trees with force, their blows echoing like dry hammer strikes through the forest.
Eskandor, initially just watching with his arms crossed and a look of disdain, sighed deeply. With a wide gesture of his hand, he ordered the other ice giants to join in the work. Though reluctant, he himself advanced, silently snorting. His muscles contracted under his cold skin as he lifted the freshly cut trunks. Even though it was a mundane task, he made sure to move with almost choreographed grace, as if even his physical effort was a performance to impress anyone nearby.
Soon the ice giants began to build their makeshift homes with surprising speed. Their bodies, though enormous and resilient, still trembled slightly under the unrelenting cold of the Realm of the Dead. It wasn't a cold that moved with the wind—in fact, there was no breeze at all. The cold didn't come; it simply was, omnipresent, as if impregnated in the very air, earth, and stone. It was an absolute cold, one that didn't obey time, for there was no day or night there, only a gray and freezing eternity.
The structures they raised were crude and clumsy—logs stacked upon logs, raw wood piled without any aesthetic care. They were ugly, poorly balanced, some creaking slightly under the weight of the branches themselves. But the giants had no other choice. Resigned, they huddled inside the fragile huts, attempting to share the meager warmth of their colossal bodies.
"If this continues... they'll freeze to death. Freeze, and live eternally in this state," Ainz thought, observing the creatures. His empty gaze seemed to weigh even more in the still air around them.
Without hesitation, he walked up to one of the dry, twisted trees that grew crookedly in that lifeless world. With a dry snap, he tore off some dead branches, cracking under his fingers with ease. Ainz then ordered the other skeletons to do the same, and soon each makeshift home had a pile of wood placed in front of its entrance.
With precise movements, Ainz held a darkened stone in one hand and began striking it with his sword in the other, producing sparks that flew in unpredictable directions. When some of those sparks touched the dry branches, small tongues of fire immediately sprang up, growing slowly. An orange glow finally broke through the monotonous chill of the realm, dancing in the shadows like a promise of relief.
The other skeletons mimicked the gesture, creating more fire sources in front of the huts. The change was subtle but noticeable: the faces of the ice giants, which had previously been set in expressions of suffering and resignation, softened. Their bodies still trembled, but now there was warmth, however minimal, to endure a little longer.
The cold, however, had not disappeared. It remained there, motionless, silent, suffocating. The fire only nibbled at the edges of its presence, like a whisper of life amidst death.
Ainz considered asking Uriel to try something, anything, or a more effective solution. But as he glanced to the side, he saw the dragon curled in his wings and tail, sleeping deeply, oblivious to the suffering around. Ainz simply sighed, or at least mimicked the gesture. He wouldn't do anything for now. "When the master wakes up, I'll talk to him," he thought. Until then, all that was left was to keep the flames alive.