"Ha… ha… ha…" Zeka panted, his face pale as he struggled to move through the icy wind.
Each step was a battle—snow was piled over 50 centimeters high, draining what little strength he had left.
Luckily, the 'buffs' he'd collected kept his stamina regenerating; otherwise, he would have frozen to death already.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
The wind grew harsher, the gusts more violent, making Zeka shiver uncontrollably.
Even though Vinelord had stitched up his wounds, the blood loss was still severe, and in this brutal weather, his injuries began to turn a worrying shade of purple.
"Damn it! I can't die here!" Zeka ground out, his eyes burning with hatred. "Maisy, just keep laughing… Soon… I'll come back and make you cry in despair."
He muttered bitterly, but he had no idea where he was—too much wind, snow whipping in every direction, obscuring all sense of direction.
Vinelord spoke up, "Find somewhere to hide. The snowstorm's coming."
