With Frost's ninth kill lying split in two at his feet the battle reached a boiling point. The focus had been redirected from Frost and his group to the outlying adventurers wreaking havoc in the back lines.
Once the so-called weakest goons were taken care of by Frost and the rest, no one else moved to attack them, granting them a reprieve. The higher-ranking goons panickily ordered everyone to attack the 14 adventurers out of fear of death.
'Hmmm is that all?' Frost raised his head in confusion, fully expecting to once again repel an axe aiming for his neck. What he could see however was groups of goons surrounding their reinforcements completely ignoring him.
Frost frowned; he was a little annoyed at being ignored by people he already considered as DP.
Just as he was about to move onto the offensive, he felt a large hand on his shoulder.
