Snowflakes began to drift down from the sky.
On the Great Grassland, the already icy cold temperature dropped yet again.
Unbeknownst to both sides engaged in a fierce battle, a thin mist began to permeate the air, quickly reducing visibility on the battlefield.
However, caught in the heat of battle, neither side noticed anything amiss, as the life-and-death struggle turned every person into a piece of iron heated by an internal fire, with shouts echoing to the heavens.
Losa swept a Tatar cavalryman off his mount with one swift spear strike, only to suddenly feel a thin layer of sweat seeping down his back, as though a terrifying fierce beast was lurking within the mist, ready to strike the moment he showed any vulnerability.
This presence...
It's very familiar.
Somewhat resembling the dragon species in the Medieval World, yet essentially different.
A wild wind suddenly howled through.
