But Anders quickly lowered his head, hiding the cold calculation in his eyes. “Let’s move,” Evander said, withdrawing his hand as if brushing away a speck of dust. Anders took a deep breath, suppressing the turmoil roiling inside him, and replied respectfully, “Yes, Mr. Quinton.”
He turned and continued directing his remaining men forward, though his hunger for power had never burned more fiercely.
After suffering nearly 20 casualties and leaving everyone injured, the group finally made it through the long stretch of Thunderscar Gorge. At the end of the canyon lay a relatively open platform formed from some kind of lightning-resistant crystal.
Scattered across the platform were several charred skeletons, likely the remains of previous climbers. Nearby lay lightning-tempered ore still glowing with electrical energy, along with fragments of badly damaged lightning-attribute artifacts that still retained faint traces of their former power
Elowen walked over and picked up a few pieces of lightning stone with mild interest. She kicked at the artifact fragments and wrinkled her nose.
“These have been eroded too badly by thunder miasma. They’re basically useless. Her gaze swept over the Moseys’ injured men without a trace of sympathy, holding only a cold, superior indifference.
Evander walked to the edge of the platform and looked up at the mountain path, barely visible through the clouds and mist above.
“This place is a minor leyline node. Lightning energy is dense enough to aid recovery. You have two hours to tend your wounds. We will move out after that.”
Anders looked at his exhausted, battered men, then at the lightning ores and broken artifacts that the Quinton siblings had dismissed as trash but which still held some value for the Moseys. He forced a smile and spoke to Evander.
“Thank you for your consideration, Mr. Quinton.”
With that, he turned and calmly instructed his men to collect the spoils and treat the wounded. Only he knew what dark currents churned beneath that calm surface.
On the Frost family’s chosen route, the terrain was perilously steep A deep ice ravine wound upward, flanked on both sides by sheer walls of dark ice that had never melted for millennia.
The cold was biting, and even cultivators protected by spiritual energy felt their internal flow grow sluggish. Freezing gale winds howled through the ravine, carrying razor-sharp ice crystals.
The Frost family’s group was small, with just eight people. Aveline led them, Blanche and Albus walked behind her, along with five other carefully selected elites from what remained of the Frost family. Blanche’s injuries had mostly healed thanks to the medicine her brother had brought.
“The icy ravine’s extreme cold environment enhances our family’s Frost-Mantle technique, but we can’t underestimate the ice spirits and soul-freezing winds here either.”
As the eldest and most experienced, Aveline offered warnings as they walked.
“Watch out especially for ice surfaces or pillars that look calm. They might harbor spirits inside. Albus, your sword aura is strong, but you need to control your spiritual energy consumption. Don’t just rely on brute force.”
“Got it,” he responded with a nod. He was still dressed simply, in pale, swordsman’s attire. The ice-crystal longsword hovered at his side, his aura restrained, yet when his gaze swept across the ravine, it was sharp as a drawn blade.
Blanche remained mostly silent. She circulated her cultivation technique to resist the cold while observing their surroundings and held the white pendant Dustin had given her. Warmth flowed from the pendant into her palm, helping stabilize her mind and offset some of the chill.
The group advanced cautiously. They hadn’t gone far when a section of the ice wall split open. Several semi-transparent humanoid spirits, condensed entirely from glacial miasma, burst forth, wielding ice blades and radiating a cold that froze the soul.
