In the forest between the final fortress and Hundred Generals City, the temperature plummeted suddenly.
A certain power had frozen a swath of the mountainous forest, and even deep within the forest, there lay a shattered iceberg, spanning across and splitting the woodland in two.
And at that moment, beside the iceberg.
There was a short, muscular man swinging his fists heavily against the iceberg.
Each punch exploded like a cannonball, blasting large holes in the solid iceberg, sending shards flying everywhere.
Eventually, the man felt around the broken ice and grasped a slender arm.
On its delicate pale skin was a layer of fine sea-blue scales, imbued with impressive divinity, endowing the arm with an air of sanctity and beauty.
"Ha, found it," the man sneered, gripping the wrist and forcefully pulling the arm out from the iceberg.
But it was an arm severed at the elbow, with a smooth cut as though made by an extremely sharp blade.
