In the sky several hundred kilometers away from the Lankote Snowfield, a team of flying mounts was speeding through the air.
At the forefront was a fiery red dragon eagle the size of a horse, followed closely by a V-formation of griffins.
"How long until we arrive?" asked a man dressed in a white priest robe, riding on the dragon eagle.
He had an ordinary appearance and would likely be mistaken for a regular person if he were walking on the street rather than riding a Level 5 challenge dragon eagle.
The only slightly noticeable feature about him might be the black fist striking upwards embroidered on the chest of his priest robe.
"We've already passed the Valley of Dead Water; we should arrive in about forty-five minutes," a middle-aged man riding a griffin nearby, holding a crystal stone staff, answered after a brief thought.
"Hmm." Aesir nodded slightly upon hearing this, his expression unchanged.
