The moment the Wolf King died.
All around was silent.
Only the occasional howling wind blew across the sky.
Wolf corpses lay everywhere, and the smell of scorching permeated the air, like a crematorium that had been at work for a long time.
The Wolf King's head was thrown high in the air, causing the pack to scatter and flee.
The sun had already risen, and the snowy forest was vast, covered in a layer of golden sunlight. The temperature rose gradually, and the huge ice armor cracked, with blood seeping through the fissures.
Watching the fleeing wolves, Bi Fang looked up into the dawn and casually wiped his cheek, leaving a long streak of wolf blood across his face.
Wildness, arrogance.
He was like the most valiant warrior of a primitive tribe, using the blood of his prey to record glory and feats of valor.
Shrouded in mist, a mountain connecting to the sky loomed behind him, its summit bathed in a sunlight that shimmered golden, with clouds wandering near the top.
