Faced with the unstoppable claws of winter, he stood, chains dragging behind him. Baidu search literature network, more good free reading. Freina clenched the spear in her hand.

Seeing the incoming troops, the Gentile distanced herself from the fallen shaman, who lay motionless in the snow and pale. He raised his hands to show that he had no weapons, but that didn't matter to Freina. It's not like she hasn't killed an unarmed enemy.

Without any gestures or signals, Freina's warriors spread out to the sides, forming a large encirclement that cut off any escape routes. Smart enough, he didn't try to escape. After all, where can you escape?

He stood there and looked around, like the weakest of the herd, isolated by the wolves. His gaze traveled back and forth with the Freljord man beside him. Although he was ready to fight, he did not show any timidity, at least that was something that Flena could respect.

The Gentile took off his coat, his two strong arms naked in the elements, but he didn't look cold.

Interesting, Freena thought to herself.

He was tall, but slightly hunchbacked, and the huge shackles on his arms were clearly a heavy burden on him.

"Go and see the nuns." She commanded, but her eyes remained fixed on the stranger.

The stranger faced her as a raider slid off his saddle and walked over to the shamanka.

"I'm Freina," she announced in a loud voice. "The Scar Mother of Winterclaw. Shieldbreaker. Messenger of Suffering. I am the Roar of Guyvask. Who are you and what are you doing here"

The man tilted his head and replied in a language she didn't understand. Freina scolded.

"You don't understand what I'm saying, can you?"

The man responded with another questioning look.

"Silas." He replied, patting himself on the chest again.

"Silas" Freina repeated. Baidu search literature network, more good free reading. "Is your name Silas?"

The man said the word again, patted himself on the chest again, and smiled flirtatiously at her.

Mother Scar muttered to herself. She glanced at the shamanka, who was lying lifeless and pale in the snow. One of Freina's warriors was half-kneeling beside her, looking down to check her breathing.

"Is she dead?" she shouted.

"She's frozen, but alive," a voice replied, "and she's alive at the moment." ”

The other Freljord's warriors whispered. Frozen, everyone knew that the Frost Nun was one with the cold, it was said that it was a gift from the old gods, but now she was frozen, and it was this outsider, Silas, standing in front of them with bare arms

Freina frowned and began to think about options. She didn't believe much of anything but steel, fire, and blood, but she knew that her warriors, especially Brockwal, were likely to take what was in front of her as some kind of omen.

"What a waste of time." She muttered.

She decided, tightened her grip on her spear, and steered her mount forward. The man named Silas raised a hand and yelled something in a weak southern language, but she ignored it. She's going to kill the idiot and keep going.

"Let me come." Brockwal yelled, and he rode beside Scar.

Freina raised an eyebrow.

"He has harmed the noble nun like this." Brockwal answered her silent question while pointing a stout finger at the shamancard on the ground. "It would be my glory to punish him under the watchful eye of the gods."

The stranger looked back and forth at Freena and Brockval. He knew that his fate would be decided like this

Freina shrugged, "He's yours." ”

Brockwal jumped off his mount, his tall frame on display. Silas wasn't small, but he was short compared to Brockval. The Iceborn warrior pulled a winter sigh from the scabbard behind his back and walked towards the Gentile with grim steps.

The last time Solva felt really cold was when she was very young, not even the age of Six Winters.

At that time, she ran after a snow hare to a frozen lake, laughing happily as she ran. She didn't realize that the ice beneath her feet was actually thin, until she heard a terrible cracking sound and the ice sheet collapsed. Before she could scream, she fell into the cold, dark waters. The biting coldness that caught her off guard made her feel like she couldn't hold a breath in her body, and her limbs immediately stiffened, and she couldn't move in the spasms of severe pain.

In those long minutes, she experienced death and was finally fished out from under the ice sheet, and the tribal shaman returned the breath of life to her. It was on that night that she first showed her God-given power.

"Sometimes, when a person has been to the other side of life and death, it will change when he comes back." The shaman explained, "Out of wisdom beyond the comprehension of mortals, the gods have blessed you. ”

In the days that followed, she found that she was no longer afraid of the cold, and was even able to walk bare-skinned in the blizzard, unaffected by anything.

And now, she was back to the panicked little girl, slowly sinking in the ice hole, watching the light above her head grow farther and farther away, only this time she was staring straight at the sky, unable to blink her eyes.

Numb and unable to breathe, Solva just lay on the ground, unable to hear or feel. The cold melted into her. The cold became her.

Is that why she was brought here, to give her life to the Gentile so that he could fulfill other God-given missions

However, an unspeakable fear slowed her sinking into oblivion.

Even if the will of God ordered her to die on behalf of the Gentiles, Solva knew that Freina would not let him live, so she began to climb desperately to the water.

Brockwal? The Iron Fist unleashed a deadly blow, lunging forward as Winter Sigh roared through the air, leaving a trail of ice mist.

The blow was enough to split an ice troll in half, but the alien was able to maintain incredible speed with his harness. He dodged the deadly blow backwards, and the two chains slashed down in an arc. The chain grazed Brockwal's face, missing the target, but it angered the Iceborn warrior completely.

He didn't flinch, and perhaps this was exactly what the Gentiles had calculated. He's as tough as a mountain, and he's not slow at all for his size. He threw a backhand punch to the side of her opponent's head, and Freina couldn't help but squeeze her eyes as she saw the little man being shot straight out.

The Ice Vein warrior followed, and the stranger struggled to his feet, finally gaining his footing. In fact, just being able to stand up was amazing to Freina. But he only delayed the doomed outcome a little.

With a resolute face and a grim expression, Brockwal leaned in, ready to end his life.

Silas' gaze was fixed on the barbarian's weapon.

The hilt of the sword was smeared with a pale ice crystal, which was glowing, and a layer of cold hoarfrost formed on the blade.

The ice crystal emitted a magic like Silas had never seen before. It's primitive, it's fierce, and it's only partially unleashed. Silas could feel its magic through his skin, and the tremor of that power almost intoxicated him.

The woman's power brought him back from the dead, driving away the cold in his body and the dead gray of his fingertips, which were very ancient in comparison. If only he could touch it

With a roar, Silas stepped forward to meet the Freljord.

The chains of the Gentiles flashed and struck Brockvar in two arcs. Two chains hit the left and right sides of the Iceborn's head. The heavy hoops twisted back and forth, and Silas twisted hard to remove the Iceborn Warrior's helmet.

Brockwal shook his head, his long hair spilling loosely, and he spat on the snow and kept going.