Even in May, there was not a hint of spring on the Sky Ice Plain.
The snow was falling heavily, the north wind howling, quickly turning the world into a vast expanse of white.
A squad of wolf cavalry, numbering over a hundred, galloped through the snow towards the south.
The vicious wolf claws trampled on the ground, shattering the ice and snow, revealing the cold hard soil.
It wasn't until dusk that this wolf cavalry squad stopped to set up camp.
When the snowstorm ceased, on the desolate ice plain, a few bonfires began to rise.
An elderly troll, draped in a large wizard robe sat in front of the bonfire, hunched over and visibly exhausted.
Upon receiving a bowl of steaming meat soup from his attendant, the elderly troll drank it down before feeling relieved, sighing:
"I'm old, struggling with such a short journey."
A middle-aged troll next to him replied calmly, "Don't worry, Squein. As long as you are breathing, I can carry you to the top of the Holy Mountain."
