Matthias’s pupils narrowed. His right hand slid to the hilt of his sword, true energy surging through his body as even his breath grew shallow and controlled.
Kyle and the soldiers fell into formation, blades flashing with a cold gleam beneath the moonlight.
The bitter wind from the secret passage carried sharp snowflakes that stung their faces, but no one dared flinch.
Batu stood tall, clear-eyed, showing no trace of drunkenness. The warriors behind him wore solemn expressions, ice crystal spears angled at the ground. It was obvious—they had been waiting.
“Nikolai, how dare you betray the tribe!” one warrior roared in the tribal tongue.
Nikolai’s face blanched, and he instinctively stepped back.
He knew well the strength of these snowman elites—each one a master-level warrior. If it came to a fight, the outcome would be disastrous.
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