The Frostjaw Alpha's cold gaze pierced through the blizzard, noticing the four humans approaching it.
It let out a low, drawn-out howl, and the surrounding air instantly became even more freezing.
Suddenly, countless sharp ice spikes erupted from the ground, as if the very earth was responding to the Alpha's command.
However, Khazik was just as quick to react.
In the instant the Alpha launched its attack, Khazik raised his sword high, channeling a powerful surge of energy into the blade.
With a loud shout, he slammed the sword into the ground.
Boom!
A powerful shockwave burst forth, rippling across the ground.
The ice spikes shattered instantly upon impact, and the snowstorm itself was forcefully torn apart, lifting into the air as if the blizzard had been reversed.
This blow not only destroyed the Alpha's ice spike attack but also exposed the Frostjaw Alpha, previously hidden within the storm and its pack.
The massive silhouette of the Alpha was now fully visible to the four of them.
Its mouth was notably black, a sign of its old age, and its size was twice that of the other wolves in the pack.
Khazik gripped his sword tightly, locking his gaze on the Alpha.
Without hesitation, he had identified the true leader of the pack.
With a powerful push from his legs, Khazik charged forward.
Harley, Lucius, and Albert quickly reacted, following closely behind him.
The four of them shot through the snow-covered battlefield like arrows, rushing toward the Alpha.
In the brief span of five seconds, the blizzard would soon return, and the air would become even more chilling.
But for Khazik, five seconds was more than enough.
Whenever a Frostjaw Wolf tried to block his path, Khazik's sword cut through the air like lightning.
Each strike was precise and delivered with immense power, cleaving through the formidable beasts with ease.
The blade sliced through the cold air, leaving behind sharp arcs of frost.
The Frostjaw Wolves stood no chance against his sword, falling in halves beneath its deadly edge.
Boom!
Another Frostjaw Wolf was cut in two, its blood splattering onto the snow, merging with the ice.
Khazik's eyes grew sharper and more focused.
The energy in his sword gathered once more, this time so intense that even the frost in the air trembled slightly.
The Alpha, seeing Khazik rapidly closing in, did not retreat.
It let out a deafening roar, its massive jaws opening wide as a bright, crystalline snowball quickly formed in its mouth.
In an instant, the snowball shot toward Khazik at a speed too fast to react to.
The next moment, the snowball exploded right in front of Khazik.
Countless sharp ice spikes burst out from the snowball like arrows, spreading violently in all directions with a bone-chilling aura.
The entire battlefield was covered in ice spikes, and the four of them were immediately engulfed by the white mist of cold air.
The Alpha watched the mist, not moving away, preparing a second shot with its jaws open wide.
But in the next moment, four figures burst out of the cold mist, with Khazik leading the charge.
Khazik emerged unscathed, a thin layer of frost coating his body.
His sword was once again brimming with terrifying energy, and as he swung the blade, a sharp and swift arc of sword energy tore through the air, heading straight for the Alpha.
The sword energy carried an overwhelming sense of killing intent and pressure, causing the Alpha's pupils to contract in shock.
The swift attack left the Alpha with no time to dodge, and it was cut clean in two.
Just as the others prepared to celebrate, Khazik alone narrowed his eyes, suddenly shouting:
"Get back!"
The Alpha, which had been split in two, instantly transformed into a block of transparent ice, lying silently on the snow.
The ice block seemed lifeless—it was merely a decoy left behind by the Alpha.
The next moment, the ice block exploded violently, and the surrounding air grew even colder as enormous pillars of ice descended from the sky, bringing with them an icy chill.
The pillars trapped them within.
The ice columns glistened with a cold light, forming a cage of frost, locking them inside this freezing trap.
Around them, the blizzard raged on, mixed with the sharp howling of the wind.
In the distance, Dillon and the remaining scouts could see the Frostjaw Wolf pack rapidly closing in on Captain Khazik's position.
There was no need for anyone to remind them—they all knew that they had to throw everything they had into stopping the wolf pack.
Otherwise, the captain would face even greater danger.
Without hesitation, the surviving scouts charged forward.
Each scout was willing to risk their life, even lay it down, to intercept the Frostjaw Wolves.
The sound of weapons clashing against claws, mixed with the wolves' howls and the scouts' shouts of fury, filled the battlefield.
Each breath felt like inhaling razor-sharp ice into their lungs.
Everyone could feel their lungs burning.
Dillon's hands had lost too much blood, his face pale, his consciousness fading.
But he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay upright.
He picked up his spear from the snow, his hands covered in blood, the sight horrifying, but he paid it no mind.
He saw a Frostjaw Wolf charging toward Khazik's direction, its eyes filled with murderous intent.
Without hesitation, Dillon let out a roar, leaping forward with all his strength.
His spear slashed through the air, striking the wolf's side with deadly precision.
Blood splattered onto the snow, and the Frostjaw Wolf let out a pained howl before collapsing to the ground.
Dillon, enduring the pain, yanked his spear out, blood dripping from the tip, splashing tiny red droplets onto the snow.
His entire body trembled, his hands numb, but he held onto the spear tightly.
He staggered forward, pressing on.
Borne's left leg had been bitten by a Frostjaw Wolf, its sharp teeth piercing through his skin, blood gushing like a fountain, staining the snow red.
The pain made it nearly impossible for him to stand.
His face was pale, cold sweat trickling down his forehead.
In agony, Borne instinctively opened his mouth and let out a heart-wrenching scream.
He swung the warhammer in his right hand and smashed it down on the Frostjaw Wolf's head.
The first strike drove the hammer's point through the wolf's skull, blood splattering everywhere, but the wolf stubbornly held onto his leg.
Borne didn't stop, bringing the hammer down again and again, each blow accompanied by the sickening crunch of bone and flesh.
The Frostjaw Wolf's skull shattered under the repeated strikes, brain matter and blood spraying out, covering Borne's arms and body.
Under the relentless assault, the wolf finally released its grip on his leg and collapsed lifelessly onto the snow.
Borne trembled, his left leg still bleeding profusely, his entire body soaked in the wolf's blood and brains.
He panted heavily, forcing himself to bear the excruciating pain in his leg as he limped forward.
Victor's back had been slashed by a Frostjaw Wolf's claws, leaving three deep gashes.
Blood poured from the wounds, soaking his clothes, with the exposed bone visible beneath the torn flesh.
His face was splattered with wolf blood.
Enduring the searing pain, Victor clenched his fists tightly, nearly grinding his teeth to dust.
His breathing was labored, each breath like a knife stabbing into his back, intensifying the pain.
With a fierce bite of his lip, Victor summoned all his strength and yanked his sword from the Frostjaw Wolf's corpse, blood splattering once more from the blade.
His hands trembled slightly from the pain.
Breathing heavily, he pressed on.
The snow beneath Victor, Borne, and Dillon's feet was gradually stained red by their blood.
Every step they took was accompanied by sharp, agonizing pain.
The three gritted their teeth, pushing through the pain and cold, trudging forward with difficulty.
The blizzard raged on, the wind cutting to the bone.
The other scouts were still fighting off the Frostjaw Wolves, their figures slowly disappearing into the brutal scene of blood and snow.
Borne's warhammer was soaked in wolf blood, his left leg still bleeding, his steps growing heavier.
But he continued swinging the hammer, crushing every Frostjaw Wolf that lunged at him.
Dillon's hands had long lost their feeling, the pain of his wounds pushing him to the brink of collapse.
But he used every last bit of strength to thrust his spear, each strike hitting its mark.
Victor's body swayed as if he was about to collapse, but he continued moving forward, his blood-stained clothes and the red snow beneath him marking his path.
His sword cleaved through the air, striking down every wolf that leaped at him.
More and more blood marked their path, the mixture of blood and snow leaving a trail of crimson in their wake.