Gradually approaching, the once hasty and chaotic footsteps became increasingly sluggish.
A shy blush appeared on the tender, pale face.
Just holding with both hands, she handed a handmade delicate chain to Frogon.
Reaching out to take the necklace, Frogon gazed at the charming girl before him.
He opened his mouth, as if wanting to say something.
Yet at this moment, the world seemed to have pressed the pause button.
Snowflakes being blown down and swaying threads of flame were frozen mid-air; the harsh cold wind that swirled overhead year-round no longer howled, and the laughter among the surrounding crowd abruptly vanished.
The girl, the old man, and his mother looking at him among the crowd, seemed frozen in place.
Subconsciously, as if already anticipating what was about to happen, Frogon wanted to struggle and shout but was equally unable to move.
In the next second, time suddenly accelerated.
The already solid muscles gradually expanded, the youthful features on the face were replaced by maturity and hardship, and rough stubble grew on the chin;
The girl in front of him also shed her childishness as time passed, the old man’s hair became whiter, and his mother’s eyes were filled with wrinkles.
Then came that detestable, nauseating dark purple light exuding a decayed aura.
A particular smoke-like, extremely subtle plant spores suddenly filled the air that should have been full of ice and cold.
Carrying intense malice hidden in the depths of nature, the spores gently settled on the tribespeople.
Taking root and sprouting, drawing from their life force.
The skin, which had not shown signs of deterioration even under the erosion of wind and frost, gradually turned bluish-gray due to life draining away, with dirty spots appearing on the surface.
Mycelium squirmed, growing and spreading from beneath the pores and hair strands, intertwining and growing together...
Having experienced it countless times, Frogon still closed his eyes, unwilling to see anymore.
The memories, more painful than the sharpest fangs, incessantly washed over his mind.
Even though many years have passed.
After returning to the tribe, the ruins buried under snow and ice before his eyes.
Digging through the cold snowy soil with his own hands, burying the bodies of tribespeople beneath ice monuments;
Skinning the long-frozen Winter Wolf, piercing the Wolf Mouth with bone pins made from Mammoth Ivory, embedding them into the chest;
Tearing apart those entangled thorns, righting the fallen totem, picking up the fragments from the ground, supplementing them with cold wind and Ice Crystals to make axe blades that flicker with ghostly light...
Sitting alone in front of the altar where only faint flames flicker.
In Frogon’s hand was the simple necklace, seemingly still retaining warmth, filled with the girl’s affections.
Even when facing the shadow cast by a dragon, his expression remained unchanged, cold as frost.
Suddenly, he felt a burning drop slide down.
And it was at this moment.
He finally realized the true meaning of his name.
"The flame beneath the ice."
The remaining moisture in the branches broke free from the constraints of wood fibers as the flames burned, making a clear sound.
Frogon suddenly opened his eyes, the chilling cold surrounding him gradually dissipating with the nightmare.
The Wolf Mouth crossed in front of his chest, the silver-white fur of the cloak gently swayed with the evening breeze; the thin chain around his neck, adorned with the Bone Tooth Pendant, refracted flames in the firelight; the small Obsidian axe at his waist lightly fell to the ground.
He sat by the campfire, his rugged face still as if covered by frost, showing no ripples.
As if he was just taking a short nap and nothing had happened.
But the gradually rising temperature in the camp, and the flickering fluorescent Ice Crystals in the air around him, revealed the fluctuation in his heart moments ago.
The massive oak he leaned against, seemingly intact, faint ice glow slipping through the gaps in the rough bark.
In reality, from the massive root system deep in the soil, all the way up to the small branches at the canopy, beneath the bark, everything had turned into an ice sculpture.
Xia Nan, sitting opposite the campfire, shivered as he sneezed sharply.
It’s hard to imagine that in the hottest season of the year, wearing double-layered armor, he could still catch a cold from the freezing.
He stretched his hands closer, warming them by the fire.
He slightly raised his head, casting a glance at the barbarian Frogon sitting quietly across from him.
Of course, he knew the sudden change in the camp’s environment was related to the other.
Ever since discovering that mushroom in the goblin nest during the day, the other person had been somewhat off.
But since Frogon didn’t intend to explain, he didn’t ask.
Now that it has come to this point, Xia Nan couldn’t remain silent any longer.
Slightly hesitating, with some caution, he slowly began to speak:
"Is there... something going on?"
The barbarian didn’t lift his head, his ice-blue eyes reflecting the orange-red flames.