The wind was light, but the snow was still falling, and Woragan realized that the snowflakes that had fallen were the size of leaves, and the snow collided and squeezed in front of him, falling slowly, and soon piled up to a foot thick. The vacant land cleared by Woragon was also inadvertently filled again. He leaned against the trunk of the tree, lest he be buried by the heavy snow that fell on the branches, turning it into a glittering arch that not only provided a canopy for Voragon but also shielded him from the cold wind on the other side. He was glad that he had the ability to predict when heavy snow would fall, and he guessed that if he ignored the wind and snow and continued eastward, he would probably be buried by the snow in less than a few miles.

The innkeeper had said that there were incomplete corpses in the snowy mountains, such as arms, thighs, and perhaps human heads. In such a cold place, corpses do not decompose, and if encountered, the faces of the deceased would still be intact, with pale faces, hair swaying in the wind, open eyes, and bare yellow teeth. The cold kept the dying man's expression alive, and Woragon thought to himself, hoping my luck wouldn't be so bad.

As time passed, the snow thickened and became a high snow-white wall in front of you, narrowing your view. If I waited like this, I would really be buried in the snow and I would have to go. He twisted his body vigorously, and when he was not careful, the heavy fur coat hung on the branches, and the thick snow that covered the branches pressed against Voragon in an instant, and although the snowflakes were as light as a feather, once they accumulated to a thickness of several feet, their weight was not to be underestimated. Vorragon lost the ability to resist, thanks to the overcoat he wore on his body, which made his movements bulky and sluggish.

The temperature under the snow is much warmer than when exposed to the outside, and the temperature of the body is retained in the snow layer, melting the snow and soaking his cheeks, neck and elbows with snow water like a leech as big as flesh jelly peeling off his skin and enjoying the blood inside him. So he forced himself to curl up and stay honestly in the snow until he was back in shape.

What can you do, stupid, crawl out of it, the cold wind will blow your wet neck into ice, turn your pretty face into a shriveled rotten apple, your fingers will fall off one by one, and you won't even think about pulling out the weapon behind your back. Be wise, conserve your strength, and wait until the snow stops before going out, but it's not too bad inside. Voragon struggled to open his eyes, and the breath he exhaled smelled of foul flesh. So he took a mouthful of snow and stirred it in his mouth, until it melted and became warm. Then he took out a plum orchid fruit from his pocket and chewed it like an ice cube, a sweet and greasy ice cube.

I don't know how long he spent in the snowdrift, but Vorragon always felt like he had fallen asleep inadvertently, and when he woke up, the outside world was surprisingly quiet, and there was no sound of wind or snowflakes falling. He opened a small hole in the snow and then enlarged it like a rat digging a hole. Mouse...... I'm no different from a mouse.

He shook off the snow on his body, his eyes swept over the statue and the mausoleum in front of him, and a snow-white giant wolf stood on the dome of the palace and watched Voragon watch. He subconsciously stepped back, and because the surface of the snow was soft, he fell into the snowdrift again, and gave himself a pair of feet to the sky.

Weapons, weapons!!! His mind was full of ghost stories of innkeepers, and he didn't believe that the damned boss's words would come true, or that the wolf could take his life. The next scene raced through his mind. He suddenly thought of the most important point, that is, the wolf spirit of the earth elves that Master Pesil had told him, if you compare, the giant wolf in front of him is indeed somewhat similar to what Master Pesil described, at least this wolf did not bare its teeth, nor did it pose to attack, but sat motionless above the palace, like a white statue. It's beautiful, really beautiful.

Voragon forced himself to withdraw his weapon and tentatively approached it, a short distance away, but his feet were stuck in a pit of snow making it difficult to walk. When he got close enough, he could see the appearance of the giant wolf: its fluffy white fur blended with the snowy mountains, its eyes were blue, its nose was slightly pink, its mouth was pointed like a snow fox, and it was all snow-white.

It won't attack me, no, Woragan thought. However, the position of the weapon is just right, and if the situation is not good, he can launch a counterattack as soon as possible. Maybe it's easier than getting rid of an undead.

The giant wolf leapt into the air, drawing an arc, and when it landed, the sound was completely absorbed by the snow. It slowly approached Voragon and sniffed.

"My friend, I know you won't hurt me. Voragon raised a hand to touch it, but he was about to draw his weapon. "'Beast of the Protector'?" 'Wolf Spirit'? Respect your presence, and you'll show me the way through the snowy mountains, right?" Damn, this guy was born tall and strong, comparable to a group of battle-hardened war horses. Woragon lost faith in the human-wolf confrontation, and the two were only a few meters apart, and a kind of intimidation forced him to make other moves. He admits and is convinced that this is the wolf spirit that Maester Pesil mentioned, yes, so...... The wolf spirit is a friend of mankind, an old enemy of the dead, and it has no reason to hurt me.

The wolf stopped, his wet nose sniffed between Voragon and his hairline, and Vorragon could hear the wolf's deep breathing, like a faint sea breeze blowing in his ears, and he could also smell the breath emanating from the wolf's body, as if the breeze under the cool dawn carried the fragrance of trees and flowers. The wolf spun sideways through the soft snow and circled Voragon again, staring up at the difficult journey he was about to trek on, its eyes full of vigilance, as if it had long known the darkness of the East beneath the shadows.

Immediately afterward, a loud cry resounded through the sky, and the entire snow-capped mountain trembled, and the echo reverberated and spread, passing through the deep and thick ancient trees, brushing over the snow surface where the snow and mist settled, climbing over the high slopes, and turning into the depths of the snow-capped mountains, which lasted for a long time. After a long time, the northern forest of Delong Snow Mountain responded, and after hearing the echo, the giant wolf in front of him turned around and jumped, jumped into the snowy forest, and disappeared without a trace. At this point, the wind began to grow stronger again, but Vorragon felt as if everything was going to be smooth, something he had never felt before, and it was the first time he had been close to the legendary wolf spirit.

After that, Vorragon encountered no obstacles, and when night came, he reached the last high slope without any problems. After that, it will be a long downhill climb, not steep, but very physically demanding. He counted the plum orchids in his pocket, seventeen, enough to help him cross the snowy mountains. By this time the wind had ceased and the surroundings were silent, the sky in the north was sparse and bright with twinkling stars, while the view on the south side was completely obscured by the peaks that reached into the sky, and the ghostly old trees stood in the white snow, low in contemplation.

Woragon didn't like this environment, but had to stop to rest, so he searched for dead branches around and used the fire spell of the dwarves of the Hato Hills to ignite the flames and dispel the ghostly night. The warmth that he had not seen for a long time, Voragon took off his leather gloves, his palms were covered with sweat, and he was baking and warming, while listening to the faint restlessness beyond the flames, and thinking about how to sleep in his heart. After thinking about it for a long time but not thinking of any clever plan, he simply crouched in the snow and acted as a dead man. But you can't leave the flames out, otherwise it's hard to say how you died.

Throughout the night, Vorragon had not been able to get a good rest, and in order to make sure that the fire was burning properly, he had to refill the firewood every once in a while. Second, the urgency of urination delayed him a lot of time, and the heavy leather pants could not be taken off easily, so he needed to untie the three knots and pull down the pants hard to be normal and convenient. The cold was stinging his nerves all the time, and even if there was a flame to provide him with warmth, he didn't dare to be careless. This is what happened to the vast majority of people who froze to death, and those who had not experienced the choice of snow as a sleeping blanket thought it was a joke, but they did not know that it was a warning from the dead to the living.

The second day was much easier than the first day. The downhill road has the advantage of being downhill, and when the slope below is not blocked by rocks and trees, he plunges headlong into the slope and lets himself roll down, and it only takes a few minutes to get out of half a mile, and this terrain can be seen everywhere. By the evening of the same day, he had walked more than ten miles, and then looked back at the footprints behind him, winding, sometimes a footprint, sometimes a devastation. This efficiency reminds him of snow hares and ferrets, as well as mountain eagles flying in the air. Unfortunately, the snow rabbits starve to death here, let alone the ferrets and mountain eagles, because there are no four seasons and nowhere to find a source of food. Woragon took out a plum orchid fruit from his pocket, which was as hard as a stone, and chewed it in his mouth like a slippery lump of ice.

Pity himself for taking this path, Woragon sighed as he walked slowly. When it was completely dark, he stopped to make a fire for himself, wondering why he didn't dig a snow pit for himself so that his body could warm up. So it took him nearly an hour to find a spot with thick snow and moderate hardness. When the snow pit could accommodate itself, it happened to blow a cold wind from the ravine to the south. Woragon curled up inside, rejoicing alone at the clever idea, though the flames in front of him were a little smaller.

On the third day, the course changed, and the change was so fast that even Woragan, who was in the middle of it, did not notice it, and he only remembered that he had never seen the sun again after he had climbed a gentle descent unobstructed by trees. Overhead, there was a lifeless gray haze, as if it could be touched, and the heights of the Delong Snow Mountain were also shrouded in a layer of gray, like fog and clouds. The farther away from the snow-capped mountains, the darker the surroundings become, and the more polluted the air becomes.

Then he walked again through a forest of dead trees, skirted the steep slopes, walked through a mile of ravine, and as the snow thinned out and the black rocks on the surface were exposed, he saw in the distance, a vast black earth, with low and dense forests stretching from the foot of the Delong Snow Mountains until they were submerged into the distant darkness.

Finally safely crossed the snowy mountain, Woragon stared at the black wilderness beyond the snow-capped mountain, and there was a hint of happiness in his heart, but it was fleeting, and the greater uneasiness came from the utter darkness, as if this was the world of eternal night. There is no slow transition between the Black Forest and the Delong Snow Mountain, and the white snow dotted at the foot of the mountain reaches into the forest without warning, and the black and white outline the line and winds in a line, stretching from north to south without a boundary.

Anyway, I no longer need a bulky fur coat to drape over my body, and I don't need to worry about freezing to death in some lonely corner, Woragon reassured himself that since I had passed through the snowy mountains and met the wolf spirit, I had almost succeeded more than half of it. This land belongs to the Grave Keepers, and their leaders, Avenhai and Maester Peshir, are powerful guardians with the same purpose, to guard the dead and protect the human world. Why should I be afraid of this Black Forest that belongs to the grave keepers?

A bolt of lightning flashed across the distant horizon, illuminating the black ocean in front of him, and for a moment, Voragon could see the shadow lurking in the darkness, a tumbling black storm, the largest he had ever seen. Another bolt of lightning, mixed with red and purple cracks, spread through the air like a huge net and quickly disappeared. It's like there's some powerful force dancing in the storm.

When everything fell into darkness again, the threat stabbed Voragon in the chest like a dagger, and he only felt naked in the darkness, and countless eyes were staring at him out of sight, as if the never-ending darkness was rushing forward, trying to devour everything that passed in his path.

Woragon subconsciously tugged at his chest, he always felt that a dagger really pierced his heart, the soft fur squeezed into his fingers, slashed across his palm, and he paused in place for a long, long time. Suddenly, a long howl came from the snow-capped mountains behind him, followed by wolf howls from the south and north at the same time, and the echoes were intertwined into a wave of ups and downs. And the storm that escaped into the darkness in the distance still rolled and writhed unscrupulously. Both arise, one is bright and the other is dark, not fighting each other, but containing each other.