They walked along the bridge, where a huge statue of the Guardian watched them silently. The cold wind swirled into a whirlpool, whistling and shouting mercilessly.

The bridge goes by many names: the Land of Trials, the Bridge of Murder, and many more. But others simply call it the Bridge of the Main Fort, or the Wailing Vault. If it had a name in the days of the Three Sisters, it has been lost by now. Within the Frostguard Clan, it is often referred to as the Bridge of Sorrows. After all, thousands of Iceborn have died here.

The bridge is so ancient that it is said that the ancient gods made it. Of course, the time of those gods is long gone. Some pagan tribes still worship the ancient gods, but one day they will convert to the only true faith – either voluntarily or under the coercion of the sword. Whether they accept it or not, the ice will take them.

Part of the stone of the bridge had collapsed and had fallen into the darkness. Time never honors ancient beauty, as the Frost Priest taught. Just zoom in to a longer time scale, and everything is fleeting. Even the grandest peaks can be smoothed by wind currents and glaciers, given enough time. The only thing that lasts forever is faith.

A deep respect hung over Sigwa's heart, and he walked along the wide bridge with Stone Fist and Ice. One of the greatest battles has taken place here, thousands of years ago when the Iceborn faced off against the Watchers and decided the fate of the world.

Here they were victorious, but the price was also quite dearly, and the watchers were thrown into the darkness.

Sigvar walked without saying a word, immersed in the thoughts of long ago. The other two Iceborns didn't speak, but it was unknown whether it was because of the roaring winds or because they were also caught up in ancient legends.

They made their way to the other side of the Bridge of Sorrows, where Lisandro had led the Iceborn in the grand battle of the Ancients, when Hala Iceblower raised a hand to stop.

"Let's go down from here," she shouted, drowning out the wind, as she pointed to a crack in the stone bridge near the cliff face of the Rift Valley.

Sigvar and Orar nodded submissively. Oral is older and more experienced, his name is carved on the wall nine times compared to Hala only three times, but the old rules are hard to change. The blood of the three sisters is stronger in the women of the Freljord tribe.

"I'll take the lead," Hala shouted. "The stone fist is the anchor point. Half a barrel of arrows behind the temple. ”

They unfurled two coils of rope and tied each other to each other's belts - Hala to Orral, and Oral to Sigvar. They fastened the iron toe thorns at the tips of their boots, broke the ice axe, and tied it to their wrists with leather rings.

Hala shook the ice axe in a few small circles, stretching the muscles of her arms. Then she jumped off the bridge and landed on the cliff ice that jutted out ten feet below. Sigvar and Oral waited for her to hold on, and the ice axe dug into the ice, and then jumped down in turn like her.

"We are the will of the Goddess, the Goddess who walks on earth," Hala said. "Make her proud, Winter's Sons."

Then she climbed over the edge and stabbed her ice axe deep into the ice, climbing up the cliff. Kick the toe prick into the wall again, and then start descending.

Ola grinned at Sigvar, her eyes glinting with savage joy. "When you get back, it's another Iceborn. The Howling Abyss will change you...... If you can come back. He winked his eyes, then stepped out of sight and walked out of sight, leaving Sigwa alone.

No, not alone. He reminded himself. One-eyed was watching him. He could still feel the burning one-eyed on his forehead. Lisandro was with him and never forsaken.

He waited a little longer, then began to climb down the bottomless abyss.

They were fast, and Hala Icespirit set a pace that could not be slowed off, but they didn't take risks they shouldn't. They climbed down only one person at a time, first Hara, then Oral, then Sigvar, each moving a distance almost equal to the length of a rope. This way, they always have a stable anchor point to prevent falling, and the intervals between where everyone stays also allow them to descend at a steady pace without having to take time to rest.

The Bridge of Sorrow is not the only bridge that crosses the chasm. There were dozens of bridges between the two walls of the Great Breach, but only a few were visible at the same time, and the distance, fog, and darkness all wrapped tightly like a shroud. All but the top one were abandoned, and the tunnels and pathways leading to the bridges were blocked by avalanches or sealed by the Frost Guard themselves, limiting the number of entrances to the main fort.

The two nearest bridges were also hundreds of feet apart, and as they deepened, the bridges grew farther apart. Some bridges have been completely destroyed, leaving only the skeletons of the piers sticking out from the sides of the ice guns, marking where the bridge once existed.

The light is dim, but it's not the complete darkness that engulfs everything at the winter solstice; It's more like the afterglow of dusk. The ice itself also seemed to emit a dim, ethereal light, reflected in the thick fog, so the trio didn't need to carry torches or firewood.

The shrill wind still whipped between the valleys, like a ghost's hand tugging at them, trying to pry them off the ice.

They don't have any way of judging the time. The different time periods are all vaguely connected together, forming an indistinguishable mass. Climb, wait, climb, wait. As he climbed, Sigwa found his rhythm and immersed himself in the repetitive cycle of chiseling, kicking, and lifting the ice axe. While waiting for Hala and Al Al to descend, he silently recited the mantra prayer to keep himself awake.

Don't resist a cold hug, because there's the truth in it. When you become one with the ice, you will naturally understand the true meaning. “

They keep climbing down, down, and down again, at a steady pace. Hours may have passed, or a whole day. With no sky, Sigwa can't tell the time.

Be patient and don't complain. Ice never begs for mercy, nor does it give mercy. I should be like ice.

No inferior creature can keep up with them. They are Iceborn, children of the gods, and they are different from other mortals. Able to march for days and nights without sleep, and then stalemate with any enemy, Iceborn's indomitable endurance far exceeds the limits of any furnace householder's life.

Even so, Sigvar's forearms were sore, and he was sweating beneath his fur clothes. So when the ice fell off his feet, he was too slow to react. He chiseled out an ice axe, but ate too shallow, and only pulled a large chunk of ice off the ice wall.

Then he began to fall.

Do not fear pain, and do not run away from the blessings of pain. There can be no life without suffering.