"We stand on the highest place

Look at the rolling ice fields

Witnessing what it looks like now

Never forget

Glaciers under the moonlight

Where we live

Like a song that keeps resounding

Those who know us will also know the melody

We will fight until the end of our lives

We will eventually fall on the cold rocks

Sinking into an unconscious sleep, dreaming of conquering the enemy"

With his left hand, he pulled the hemp rope that was deep into the flesh of his shoulder, and Riga hummed an ancient song passed down from the tribe on and off. He leaned forward as far as he could, so that the sleigh carrying the carcass of the beast could go faster. Long white gas erupted from the hunter's mouth in a regular manner, shooting straight out two feet before it began to dissipate.

On his injured right shoulder, Riga no longer felt pain, but the tingling and itching that came from time to time made him feel uncomfortable. The spear, which had been dragged out of the stinking corpse with great difficulty, was placed at an angle on the sleigh where it was most convenient to remove, and the hunter was excited, but he had not forgotten to be wary of the dangers that were everywhere on the ice sheet.

After dragging the beast's corpse for most of the hourglass, Riga felt fatigued. He had to stop and gasp for breath, trying to regain his strength as quickly as possible to pull the snow bear back to the tribe.

The king of the mountains and forests, the snow bear's fur is warm, waterproof, and tough, making it one of the most prized armor materials on the ice field, but the beast's strength limits the number of materials. You must know that they are powerful beasts that can rival the fifth-level warriors of the Quaids, and their wild and brutal strength cannot even compete with the eighth-level warriors who have cultivated their fighting spirit. And in this barren corner at the edge of the ice field, the most powerful were only a few sixth-level Quaid tribal chiefs - just enough warriors to go berserk.

Of course, if it is those Terran warriors who are weak in constitution and come from the Golden Corridor, then their professional level must be at least one level higher than that of the Quaid to be able to hunt this beast. But with the help of mysterious and powerful mages and magicians, it becomes much easier to slaughter such a hairy beast.

"This fur should be worth five steel coins from the greedy Terran merchant!" the hunter pulled the spear from the bear carcass and held it in his hand, grinning at the tired, dirty, and bloody face of the behemoth he had hunted. The prey caught in the rite of passage is the most precious gift to the gods and a symbol of their own bravery, and most Quaid warriors keep it as their lifelong collection, but the first thought on Riga's mind is to sell it.

Riga doesn't know who his parents are, but they are foundlings picked up by Quaid's veteran warrior Thorne during a hunt. This honest and kind old warrior gave Riga everything he could get, raising him from a thin, slumping baby to the warrior he is now as strong as a brown bear. Now, the old soldier's strong hands are no longer able to hold the weapon as firmly as before, and even the energy no longer seems to be as good as before. He also grew accustomed to unloading his weapons and armor, and became fond of smoking choking tobacco in front of the fire with a dozen equally senile warriors, drinking spicy inferior ale, or bragging about his heroic past in front of a crowd of young children.

Although the inhabitants of the tribe were kind and simple, and willing to help Riga and the old warriors, as a Quaid who was about to become an adult, Riga's dignity made him refuse those kind helps. After being trained by the veteran for more than ten years, as a two-level soldier, he has been able to support the burden of life on his own and give the veteran a peaceful old age.

And the hunter had secretly drunk a potion concocted by a tribal wizard out of curiosity when he was young, so he was stronger and taller than his peers. This is also the reason why he dares to hunt such a behemoth as a snow bear alone in the trial, and this dead behemoth will make him the recognized strongest among the young people of the tribe.

In the cold air, the corpse of the snow bear had already frozen hard, and the blood that was still flowing out had long since condensed into dark red ice slag hanging on the long hard silver hair. Rega chewed on a dried black fungus he had plucked from a rotten piece of wood in the woods, and walked slowly to the back of the sleigh to see if the heavy corpse had slipped down. He slapped the snow bear's body with his left hand as he circled the sled, briefly glanced at it for a few moments, and then planned to circle back from the other side. But as his palm slapped against the beast's tail, he retracted his hand with a sudden sensation of pins and needles. Riga looked at the deerskin glove that had been pierced with a few small holes, and uneasily brushed away the fluff there.

A few inconspicuous dark black thorns peeked out of the fluff, like grass branches sticking out of the snow. But it wasn't them that Riga was worried about, but the clusters of arrows next to the wooden spikes that were deep into the bear's body. The wound caused by the cluster of arrows was no longer bleeding, but judging from the dark red blood stains that had penetrated the silver-white fluff next to it, the snow bear had not been injured for too long.

While Rhaega was upset by the cluster of arrows, the Ice Goddess swung her whip and drove a blizzard down on the land. The already gray sky grew darker, and the falling snowflakes narrowed Rigga's vision to less than thirty yards. Shaking his head to shake the snow off, Riga pulled out a bronze dagger from the outside of his thigh, aiming the sharp tip at the cluster of arrows to dig them out.

But the sudden attack interrupted his movements, and a slender black shadow suddenly shot out of his reach, grazing the hunter's smooth temples and whistling past, bringing up a strong wind that even made his face ach.

Hurriedly throwing down the short knife in his hand, Riga hurriedly lunged to the ground, completely shrinking his entire body behind the snow bear's corpse. He wriggled in the snow until he had completely ducked into the shadow of the sleigh before the hunter cautiously lifted his eyes and looked at the stick that almost killed him. It was a simple but carefully crafted wooden arrow, a finely polished triangular stone arrow that was now nailed to one of the snow bear's hind limbs, and its tail, with a few long dark brown feathers, was still trembling violently because it was blocked, leaving a vague afterimage in the hunter's eyes.

Cautiously poking his head out of the slit in the sled, the hunter scanned back and forth several times before he spotted the enemy who had attacked him. The shooter wears a cloak dyed white and black with a special pigment, which makes his lying on the ground not much different from the ice field made of snow and stones.

"Bastard!!" Riga scolded as the shooter approached, thinking that there was no chance of dodging the arrow again, as he struck the fluffy snow with both hands anxiously. The only long-handled weapon, the spear, was also dropped by the hunter on the other side of the sled.

As the enemy's figure faded from blur to clarity in the wind and snow, Rigga's face grew paler. The only thing he could do was clench the dagger in his hand and pray like his belief in Higra, the god of madness.

It was only when the shooter was no more than twenty yards away from Riga that the hunter could see his appearance through the gloomy air. In addition to the strangely colored cloak that he used to hide himself from the ice field, the hunter also found the shooter's dirty hair. The lower body was surrounded by a gray fur of no discernible color, the upper body was covered with a worn leather armor, and two black snow badger skins were tightly tied to his feet with animal tendons to protect them from the erosion of the damp and cold. The tense flesh is as hard as granite, making it easy to see at a glance the tremendous power hidden within.

The archer holds a wooden bow firmly in his right hand, and draws the bowstring in a raised arc with his left hand. His wary gaze swept around, as if looking for Riga's trace. In addition to a wooden bow and a bag of arrows, the archer also had a small one-handed axe with a wooden handle hanging from his waist, and the scarlet color on the axe's surface that had formed after an unknown amount of blood had been drunk made the hunter feel terrified.

"Orc?" Riga quickly remembered the shooter's identity based on his appearance. He was barely a neighbor of the Quaids, belonging to a repulsive and reviled race. Orcs are mainly found in the barren plains, they are powerful warriors and hunters, and of course more often they also play the role of bandits. In the vicinity of the Pamir Ice Field, the orc tribes mainly rely on looting to survive, and several Quaid tribes in the vicinity have not been less 'visited' by them.

As the orc archer got closer, Riga trembled nervously, and his hands shook the handle of the bronze dagger again and again. He adjusted the curvature of his body again and again, ready to rush out at any time.

"Quid, if you lay down your weapons and come out, I will enable you to reach the temple of the Fury. The ruthless orc archer didn't immediately find Riga, but he immediately opened his mouth to coerce the hunter. The orc spat out all kinds of threatening words from his mouth, and approached with light steps, and had already opened most of the wooden bow and was drawn with a "squeak" sound, ready to shoot the deadly arrow.

When he saw through the gap in the sleigh that the big black snow badger skin was no more than ten yards away, the hunter could no longer bear the pressure of being shot through his body at any moment. With great difficulty, he pulled the gray cloak that draped behind him, threw it into the air, and then swooped down from the other end of the sleigh.

The moment the gray cloak appeared, the orc archer loosened the tight bowstring, and he was in a nervous mood all the time, after all, the Quid people's bravery had been proved by the orc ancestors with countless blood.

The archer watched as the arrow pierced through the gray cloak, but the smile on his face quickly froze as he saw the arrow he had shot flying towards the ground in the distance with the cloak.

There were no Quaids under the cloak!The archer immediately reached back with his left hand to grab an arrow again, but a large cloud of cold snowflakes suddenly flew in from ten yards away to obscure his vision. The shooter immediately tilted his head and ducked into the cloak propped up in his left hand to prevent snowflakes from falling on his face and obstructing his vision. But when the snowflakes fell, and he tried to draw the arrows again, a short knife suddenly flew over his forearm, leaving a slender mark and interrupting the orc's action of taking the arrow.

The Quaid immediately pounced, and he ran to knock the orc down as best he could, only for the hunter knew that only one would be standing at last.