I, the prince in distress, send money

Chapter 337 Crossing the White Hell
Skiing through a blizzard is both thrilling and dangerous.

Despite the advanced technology available today, Hua Er Da Ji still wouldn't dare try it in real life because it's really suicidal. He tried it several times in the custom mode of "Skiing Adventure," and each time it ended in death.

Now, however, Hua Er Da Ji discovered a great opportunity—an opportunity for him to have fun and take risks with a lot of people without worrying about actually dying. Therefore, he had even less reason to miss it.

……

Hua Erdaji stood at the assembly point outside Tavitsky's camp. The night sky above him looked like the ground where someone had smashed an ink bottle—dark, heavy, and oppressive.

The area around the gathering point was not entirely dark; the snow itself had a faint, sickly grayish-white hue, barely outlining the silhouettes of the crowd and the distorted shadows of trees in the distance.

He and more than two thousand other "players" huddled together, like a vast expanse of black reefs shivering in the cold wind, battling the invisible, howling wind and snow.

That seemingly small blizzard was now silently revealing its fangs.

The wind wasn't a continuous roar, but rather short, sharp whistles, one after another, coming from all directions without any pattern, lashing at every inch of exposed skin.

The snowflakes, swept up by the wind, no longer fall gently, but turn into countless fine, hard particles that fly at astonishing speeds.

The snowflakes hit his slippery, ridiculous goggles, making a soft, crackling sound, like someone constantly throwing sand at you. Even though he was wearing a thick, high-necked coat and two thick scarves, snowflakes would occasionally slip into the gaps in his neck, bringing an immediate, bone-chilling cold that made him jerk his neck.

It's so cold.

This cold wasn't the crisp chill of a winter morning, but rather carried a dull, heavy force that penetrated to the bone, like a slap in the face.

Covered in a blizzard, every breath that Slippery Daji took felt like countless tiny ice needles pricking his nasal cavity. The air he inhaled seemed to carry ice shards, scraping all the way into his lungs, making breathing a form of torture.

The forceful exhalation instantly turns into thick white mist, which is then torn apart and swept away by the wind the moment it leaves the mouth and nose.

Hua Erdaji stomped his stiff feet. His thick snow boots made a dull sound as they stepped on the frozen, hard ground, but his toes still didn't feel much warmth.

He unconsciously rubbed his hands together; even through thick gloves, his fingertips felt numb and stiff, as if they had been frozen.

The wind brushed against my cheeks, but it no longer felt like the wind; it felt more like cold, invisible blades scraping against my face, causing a sharp pain.

Amidst the suffocating cold and the lash of wind and snow, the procession began to move slowly forward.

Not far ahead, several military tents illuminated by high-powered searchlights resembled isolated islands in a blizzard, radiating a faint yet incredibly inviting warmth... That was a supply point.

When it was Hua Er Da Ji's turn, he almost stumbled and fell to the table where supplies were being distributed.

The light inside the tent made him squint, but the white breath exhaled by the staff and the faint sweet fragrance in the air made him feel as if he had entered another world.

"Take this thermos. It's filled with honey water mixed with strong liquor. Don't drink too much at once. A small sip will warm you up. Drinking too much will make you dizzy."

A muffled voice came from a staff member who was wrapped up tightly, with only his eyes showing, and he stuffed a heavy, cold-looking metal bottle into his arms.

Hua Erdaji instinctively hugged it tightly, and even through the thick gloves, he could feel the comforting warmth emanating from the bottle.

He could almost picture the golden, viscous honey melting in the boiling water—a life-saving elixir as he traversed this white hell.

Every player involved prepared for this battle, but there were always careless or underestimating Blizzard players who might forget to bring something. So, the chapter leaders joined forces and added an extra supply point here.

The supplies are free; they'll be given to you as soon as you arrive.

Hua Erdaji held the thermos, and then a small, cold metal disc was slapped into his other hand... It was a compass, its glass casing covered with a thin layer of frost, but that didn't stop the red pointer inside from stubbornly staring south.

Then came a small packet of high-calorie compressed food, as hard as a rock. There was nothing that could be done about it; the weather was too cold, and all we could do was hope that the players had good teeth.

A roll of emergency thermal blanket, its thin silver material gleaming, a small bottle labeled with incomprehensible symbols, supposedly for emergency frostbite prevention, and finally, a spare pair of thicker ski gloves.

The staff worked swiftly, like robotic arms on an assembly line, completing the handover as quickly as possible in the extreme cold.

Everyone silently accepted these objects—things they would never dare to venture into a blizzard with in the real world, but which at this moment symbolized hope and the security of the "game."

Carrying the heavy supplies, Hua Er Da Ji retreated back into the howling snowstorm... Yes, he was that careless guy; he hadn't prepared nearly enough supplies.

The thermos was plugged into the lining of my coat, and the warmth seeped in through the thermal underwear, becoming the core stronghold against the boundless cold.

He looked down at the cold compass in his arms, then looked up at the snow curtain outside the tent, which was barely torn apart by the searchlight but was still chaotic and churning. His heart was beating faster and faster in his burning chest.

die?

Here, it's simply an option to start over after a countdown.

The real, knife-like cold and the swirling snowstorm before him, the vast, silent yet subtly excited crowd, the warmth in his arms and the icy survival tools... all of this combined to create a stimulating sensation that surged through his spine like an electric current.

The blizzard howled in my ears, and the dagger-like snowflakes lashed my face.

Hua Erdaji took a deep breath of the cold, stinging air, but a silent smile appeared on his lips beneath the thick mask.

The moment of departure is drawing near.

……

The blizzard came very suddenly; even the locals, apart from the players, were unable to anticipate its arrival.

Those who are not locals, especially the Retalians who live in the warm south, are even less likely to be able to do so.

On the leeward side of a huge snowdrift sculpted by the fierce winds, three nearly frozen figures huddled in a snowdrift they had barely dug out.

This snowdrift could barely accommodate three people sitting close together. The roof was barely supported by frozen canvas and tree branches, which insulated some of the direct wind and snow, but the cold still penetrated everywhere, like a cold venomous snake burrowing into the bone marrow.

They were Retalia's scouts, a team of ten, sent out to investigate border disturbances, but they unexpectedly ran into this deadly blizzard. Three of them were separated from the main force in the blizzard and were forced to take shelter here.

"Damn...damn this weather..."

A younger soldier, his lips bruised and purple from the cold, his teeth chattering involuntarily, was frantically rubbing his almost numb hands together in the dim light of an alcohol lamp, trying to generate a pitiful amount of warmth.

The Retalia Empire equipped every soldier with a uniform, the thickness and quantity of which depended on the kindness of the lord above them and what they could plunder.

The three scouts were not poor; they had made their fortune through robbery in Minicia and had plenty of thick winter clothes.

However, for southerners, no matter how thick their clothes are, they still cannot keep out the cold in the midst of a blizzard.

"Save your energy...and save your saliva. Don't keep blowing air into your hands; it'll be worse if they freeze."

The veteran in the middle had a hat covered in thick frost, and the scarf wrapped around his face revealed only a pair of tired but vigilant eyes.

After kindly reminding the new recruits, he carefully took out a small tin pot from his pocket, unscrewed the lid, and a very faint, almost frozen smell of cheap alcohol wafted out.

He stingily poured only a small sip for the other two.

"Hold it in your mouth, don't swallow too quickly, let it melt in your mouth... warm your throat and chest."

The three men passed the tin pot around the alcohol lamp, as if performing some kind of sacred ritual. The spicy liquid slid down their throats, bringing a fleeting, false warmth, which was then swallowed up by a deeper chill.

Alcohol does not warm people up; it only speeds up the drinker's blood circulation, giving the impression that the body is heating up, but the body will still feel cold when it is actually cold.

Amidst the howling and wailing outside, the three huddled together, sharing each other's meager body heat. Even though it was past midnight, they were too cold to sleep, nor dared to, for fear of never waking up.

The young soldier stuffed the frozen crumbs of bread into his mouth, struggling to soften them with his saliva; the sound of chewing was particularly clear in the cramped space.

Outside, the howling of the blizzard was the only main melody, monotonous and frantic, as if countless vengeful ghosts were crying and tearing at the heavens and earth.

Snowflakes pattered against the canvas covering the canvas, making a soft, rustling sound, like endless flowing sand. This sound became the only background noise in their world, almost numbing them.

at this time……

The young soldier abruptly stopped, his mouth full of bread forgetting to chew. He tilted his head, his ear almost pressed against the cold canvas wall, his eyes filled with uncertainty and a hint of surprise.

"Raphael...you...did you hear me?"

His voice was very low and trembling.

Veteran Raphael frowned deeply. He had already extinguished the faint flame and stopped all movement, like a frozen statue, intently capturing the gaps in the wind and snow.

"Don't make a sound!"

He hissed, holding his breath.

At first, the sound seemed like an illusion, torn apart by the raging wind, so faint as to be almost negligible. But gradually, a strange sound, not belonging to the natural wind and snow, stubbornly seeped in.

That was a friction sound.

A dense, continuous, and somewhat rhythmic friction sound.

It wasn't the whistling of the wind blowing through the rocks, nor the deep roar of an avalanche, but... the sound of wood scraping against the hard snow surface!

Squeak... squeak... squeak... It wasn't just one or two sounds, but countless sounds coming together to form a low and continuous hum, as if some huge and heavy creature was dragging countless limbs across the snow.

The sound grew clearer and clearer, penetrating the barrier of the wind, transforming from a muffled noise into an undeniable, tangible presence.

It surged in from afar like a tide, with an overwhelming and unstoppable momentum.

"Sun God..."

The third soldier, who had been silent all along, now uttered terrified murmurs, his body trembling uncontrollably, causing the snow on the roof of the small snowdrift to fall in a rustling sound.

In the dim light, the old soldier Raphael's face turned as pale as the walls of a snowdrift.

Having been to the snowfield before, he recognized the sound. He had only heard it once before... a large-scale skiing force marching rapidly across the snowfield, sounding terrifyingly dense... the number of people was absolutely staggering! Far exceeding any small harassing groups they had previously detected.

"It's not wind...it's not snow..."

Raphael's voice was as dry as sandpaper.

"It's... skis! Thousands upon thousands of skis!"

Fear gripped the three of them instantly. The young soldier's teeth chattered loudly, as if they were about to shatter at any moment.

The silent soldier curled up even tighter, clutching his head with both hands as if to block out the terrifying sound.

Veteran Raphael's heart pounded wildly in his cold chest, each beat accompanied by a suffocating feeling of impending death.

He tried to control his trembling body, but found that his limbs and bones were out of his control. The violent trembling caused his companion beside him to shake violently as well.

The dense, death-like sound of wood scraping against the snow was not drowned out by the howling blizzard; instead, it grew louder and closer. Like invisible icicles, it pierced through the fragile snowdrifts they relied on for shelter, and it pierced their last shred of hope.

Outside, it's no longer just bad weather.

Deep within that chaotic, churning snow curtain, a massive, almost despairingly large ski force, like a silent white ghost, silently yet irresistibly glides towards Reteria.

The three of them, trapped in this small snowdrift, could only listen to this prelude to death, shivering in extreme cold and fear, waiting for their unknown fate to befall them.

"Sun God..."

In the end, even the veteran groaned in despair. At that moment, he would rather have tens of thousands of hungry wolves running around outside than an army that could march through a blizzard.

First of all, they could not possibly be Retalians, because the veterans knew very well that their comrades could not possibly find so many people who knew how to ski, and even if they did, they would never have the courage to march through the blizzard.

Only a mad commander would issue such an order, sending equally mad soldiers to carry it out.

……

Any army, especially one with more than a thousand soldiers and some combat capability, will have its camp regulations meticulously and comprehensively implemented, leaving no loopholes.

For example, soldiers must be stationed on guard duty and sentry duty even during blizzards, using both visible and covert sentry posts, and patrols within the camp must not be interrupted.

However, rules are rigid, but people are flexible.

The blizzard was now like a runaway beast, violently crashing against the simple wooden fences and low barracks of the military camp.

At dawn, the few lanterns in the camp swayed violently in the gale, casting a dim, fragmented glow that was almost swallowed up by the thick snow, barely illuminating a few feet of snow beneath them.

The camp regulations of the Retalia military camp were clearly written down and well-organized.

Regardless of the weather, both visible and hidden sentries must be in place, and patrol teams must conduct regular and fixed-point patrols of the camp boundaries and key locations, ensuring that no gaps in vigilance are allowed. The regulations are cold and impersonal, but those who enforce them are flesh and blood.

At this moment, at a designated outpost on the edge of the camp, in a hollow formed by a huge, withered tree root that could barely shelter from the wind, the sentry Leo, who should have been nailed there like a nail, vigilantly monitoring the movements deep in the snowstorm, was huddled in a ball.

He was wearing a standard winter uniform made of the finest velvet, a garment only the wealthy could afford. It was issued to him by the military, but its warmth was greatly diminished by the extreme cold and continuous snowstorm.

Even more devastating was the emptiness in my stomach. The meager dinner rations—bread mixed with a lot of rye, frozen solid, and broth so thin you could barely see any oil—had already been completely depleted by the biting wind and the long hours of standing guard.

Hunger, like a greedy and insatiable prostitute, not only drained his strength but also frantically devoured the remaining heat in his body.

"Sun God...please hurry and drive away this awful weather..."

Leo prayed softly, his voice muffled and trembling beneath the thick scarf. Each breath felt like swallowing ice crystals, his lungs aching from the cold.

He curled up and strained his feet, trying to regain some feeling in his numb toes, but the thick snow and frozen ground made the effort futile and clumsy.

Leo's fingers were curled up inside the bulky gloves, feeling like frozen sticks, almost unable to bend.

He tried to open his eyes wide to look outside, but his vision was locked onto by the wildly swirling snowflakes.

A thin layer of ice had formed on the cloth wrapped around his face, making his vision even more blurred.

The sound of the wind was the only melody, monotonous, violent, and deafening, filling the entire world as if it wanted to crush and devour all other sounds.

In this environment, it's impossible to distinguish distant movements, let alone even sounds that are right next to you.

"Why haven't the shift changers arrived yet...?"

Leo counted down the time in despair in his mind.

The cold felt like countless icy needles piercing his bones from all directions, making every second feel incredibly long.

His body heat was rapidly dissipating, and his consciousness seemed to be starting to blur. Every time he was about to fall asleep, he would pinch his thigh hard, bite his tongue, and slap his face to wake himself up with pain. He dared not fall asleep, not because of the words "stay at your post" in the regulations, but because if he fell asleep, he would never wake up. Leo would never forget the image of the previous sentry lying stiffly on the sentry post when he was on duty.

He didn't want to be the next one.

After slapping himself again, Leo struggled to look up and survey his surroundings. He could see and hear nothing but a churning white expanse. The wind continued to howl.

A thought, like a venomous snake, burrowed into his frozen brain.

Let's hide a little further in, just for a while, to avoid this terrible wind and wait until I've recovered a bit... Anyway, I can't see or hear anything...

With such terrible weather, the enemy wouldn't be able to come out and operate, right?
Who would march through a blizzard like a madman?

The instinct for survival and the desire for warmth quickly overwhelmed the constraints of discipline.

Like a frozen wild dog, Leo shrank deeper into the hollow of the withered tree roots, almost burying himself completely in the shadow of this safe haven.

He leaned against the cold tree roots, trying to curl his body up tighter, attempting to retain the last bit of his pitiful body heat in this way.

Then he gave up his futile gaze and mechanically, only occasionally lifting his heavy eyelids to glance at the outside world, completely obscured by the wind and snow... a chaotic, unchanging scene.

Just as he was becoming increasingly disoriented from the cold, almost dozing off in the deadly chill...

A strange sound seemed to pierce through the barrier of wind and snow.

The sound... was very faint, very distant, like some kind of continuous, low friction? Squeak... hum... Leo's eyelids twitched, and he subconsciously tilted his ear to listen.

But the rumors were too strong!

Alas……

A more violent gust of wind whipped up snowflakes, slamming them against the tree roots and him, creating a dense crackling sound that instantly drowned out the faint noise.

Leo shivered from the cold, his vague sense of alertness immediately replaced by an even stronger chill and exhaustion. He shook his drowsy head vigorously.

"It's the wind...it must be the wind..."

He muttered to himself, as if trying to convince himself.

Is it the mournful sound of the wind blowing through the distant pine forest? Or the rustling sound of the moving snow? In a blizzard, all sorts of strange sounds can be heard.

He was so cold and so hungry that his mind was as sluggish as if it had rusted. The faint, strange noise he had just heard only left a barely perceptible scratch on his frozen nerves before being completely overwhelmed by his longing for warmth.

He shrank further into the sheltered corner, burying his head deep into his raised collar, abandoning any pointless vigilance. Compared to the ethereal, likely illusionary sound, only this pitiful sliver of shelter and his remaining body heat could keep him alive for this shift.

Leo had no idea that the moment he gave up listening and retreated into the corner...

The dense, screeching sound, carried by the blizzard and like the whisper of death... the buzzing of thousands of skis cutting across the snowfield, was becoming clearer and closer, like rolling thunder, piercing through the barrier of the wind and snow, and crushing towards the unprepared outpost.

He survived the lash of the wind and snow, but the bitter cold and the emptiness in his stomach led him to commit a grave mistake that could destroy the entire camp.

A deadly threat was at the doorstep, but the warning whistle was silenced by the sentry's frozen ears and numb consciousness.

……

The howling of the blizzard finally subsided, no longer a raging beast dominating everything, but a weary whimper.

The thick snow curtain thinned, and visibility extended from just a few feet to tens of meters away. The straight conifers also successfully broke free from the chaotic whiteness, like withered skeletal arms emerging from a snow grave.

About two kilometers east of the outer military camp of Tavitsky, in a sparse coniferous forest, a large group of dark figures lay lurking, which was the temporary rest point for the player's troops.

The massive force of over two thousand people, having endured a hellish forced march through a blizzard, now lay scattered and huddled in forest clearings and on sheltered snow slopes, like rags that had been kneaded and carelessly discarded by a giant hand.

"Huh...huh..."

Heavy breathing filled the air, and white mist condensed and refused to dissipate in the cold air.

Many people slumped in the snow, leaning against tree trunks or their companions, their bodies still trembling slightly uncontrollably. Their thick clothes, scarves, and goggles were covered in frost, and their eyebrows and beards were stained white with frost.

Several figures moved through the weary crowd. Although their movements were stiff from the cold, they were clearly purposeful.

Leading the group were three people wearing even thicker clothing... Xiao Daozha's buttocks, Lin Ruoyu, and Lao Li.

They were wrapped in heavy white military overcoats, wearing bearskin hats, and covered in various odds and ends.

"Take inventory...hurry up!"

Lin Ruoyu's voice was hoarse, yet it cut through the oppressive air like a knife, carrying an unquestionable command. He pushed his wool scarf up to his forehead, revealing his eyes, which were red from the cold, as he surveyed the disheveled team.

"Squad leaders, report the number of casualties and equipment losses, with a focus on armor, siege spears, and Tiger Descending the Mountain rocket launchers... Also, make sure you count all the surviving heads!"

Orders were issued layer by layer, and the exhausted players struggled to get started. The selected squad leaders struggled to their feet, trudging through the snow, patting their frozen teammates, shouting names, and counting heads on their fingers.

The recorder... The player in this position shakily pulled out a pencil and form wrapped in tarpaulin, barely soaked by snow water, and painstakingly scribbled with his almost frozen fingers in the dim light of the forest.

The process was slow and clumsy.

White breaths blurred his vision, his frozen fingers wouldn't obey him, and the charcoal pencil struggled to leave a clear mark on the damp parchment. Complaints, coughs, and the chattering of teeth mingled together.

"Seventh Squad... 32 expected... actually present... Damn, wait, where's A-Mao? He was just behind me sliding... Damn, did he freeze and fall behind?... actually present... 21, damn it!"

One of the captains roared in exasperation.

"Siege spears, Team Three, where are your spears?!"

Another player's roar was like muffled thunder. He walked up to a group of players who were slumped over, staring at their empty hands with hostility.

"I don't know... It seems the person who was watching that thing didn't follow."

The player being questioned stammered an explanation, his face covered in frostbite.

"You... oh dear..."

The captain sighed, and the saliva that left his mouth instantly froze into ice crystals in the air.

"Make a note of this: one siege spear has been lost!"

He yelled at the recorder next to him, who frantically scribbled on the parchment.

On the other side, Xiao Daozha was squatting next to a pile of long, rectangular objects covered with thick oilcloth. He lifted a corner to reveal a large, thick bamboo cylinder painted red inside.

He wiped the frost off the tube with his gloves and carefully checked the integrity of the warhead fuse and tail fins inside.

"One...two...three...sigh, we brought out ten, and now there are only six left! Who was in charge of watching them? Four of them fell off on the way?!"

The player in charge kept his head down, not daring to utter a sound.

In a blizzard, it's a miracle if you can survive; the heavy rocket launcher is very easy to slip out of your hand in deep snow and strong winds.

The results of the inventory were handed to Lin Ruoyu. By the light of the torch held up by the soldier next to him, he squinted at the crooked numbers and records on the parchment, his expression calm.

The heavy losses were to be expected.

"How many people?"

"Two thousand one hundred and thirty-seven people departed,"

The recorder's voice trembled from the cold.

"The number of people we can contact and name now is... 1,309."

With nearly 800 people lost, most of them obviously fell behind, got lost, or even froze to death in the blizzard.

However, the three battle commanders present did not show much grief or heaviness on their faces.

Old Li from the Han-Tang Warriors even chuckled, took the mixed liquor and honey water poured from the thermos by his deputy, and gulped down a large mouthful.

After swallowing the spicy, scalding liquid, he exhaled a long, white breath in comfort, and even the frostbite on his face seemed to have regained some color.

"Ha, a little over 1,300...that's enough!"

He used to dislike going to the front lines, but this time the activity was so exciting and fun that Lao Li didn't want to miss it.

He wiped his mouth, glanced around at the disheveled players struggling to warm their hands and feet, and sneered loudly.

"Look at you guys... You're all like slugs, wilting at the slightest bit of wind and snow? I knew it, those idiots who were groaning and slipping on the road wouldn't have made it this far. They deserved to die, so they wouldn't be a drag on the attack later!"

His words elicited a chorus of low agreement and a few equally weary chuckles.

Many players stomped their feet, rubbed their hands, and moved their almost numb toes while cursing the "noobs" who had fallen behind and the "idiots who were courting death and refusing to listen to orders."

Death here loses its weighty reality and becomes the commonplace "disconnection" and "ruining teammates" in the game.

Lin Ruoyu folded the parchment and stuffed it into his pocket, ignoring Lao Li's sarcasm, but his eyes remained equally indifferent.

"The equipment losses were also significant. We were able to assemble only 300 relatively complete sets of armor parts that we had brought out. Many helmets and breastplates were abandoned on the road or got stuck in the snow."

Three siege spears were lost, four rockets were lost, and the losses of muskets and swords are still being tallied, but are expected to be substantial.

Skiers have a limited load capacity. Apart from their personal belongings, they simply cannot carry a heavy suit of armor. Therefore, players carry different armor pieces separately, with ten people carrying two to three pieces of armor.

In such split-carrying operations, lamellar armor has the advantage, so all the armor carried by players is lamellar armor.

"Losing some armor is no big deal. A surprise attack requires speed; defense is secondary. We're a bit injured because we're missing a few siege spears, but they're enough to break down that broken wooden door..."

"Rockets... Damn, what a pity. I was planning to go all out on their command post."

Old Li smacked his lips, took another swig of wine, and then handed the wine pot to Lin Ruoyu.

"The key is that those who can move and still have weapons are all here! Boss Lin, what do you say?"

Lin Ruoyu took the wine pot and took a sip. The scalding liquid made his cold body tremble slightly.

His gaze turned toward the military camp. Although separated by trees and lingering snow fog, the camp's location was already etched into the players' maps.

"Twenty-minute break."

Lin Ruoyu's voice was resolute.

"Everyone, get your hands and feet moving, have a drink to warm up, but don't drink too much. Give the armor to the spearhead team that's going to attack; they'll be at the forefront and they need protective gear."

Everyone had to check all the weapons. The flintlock musket barrels were checked with the rod to make sure the gunpowder was dry, any ice on the blades was wiped clean, and the armor straps were checked again…”

The order was relayed.

The players sprang into action once more. They pulled out their thermos flasks and sipped the now lukewarm, but not too cold, honey liquor, feeling the faint yet steady warmth spread from their throats to their stomachs, and then laboriously to their limbs.

More important actions began: they stomped their feet forcefully and repeatedly, trying to pump blood into their frozen toes, rubbed their hands frantically, patted each other's shoulders and backs, and jumped slightly in place to loosen their stiff knees and hips.

A series of muffled footsteps, pattering sounds, and suppressed groans echoed through the woods.

Some of the veteran players who were assigned armor moved relatively calmly. They skillfully inspected the barrels and flint of their flintlock pistols, wiped the ice water off their longswords and battleaxes with cloth strips, and adjusted the straps on their bracers and greaves.

Although his face showed signs of fatigue and frostbite, his eyes burned with the excitement of an impending battle.

Other players who didn't receive armor or were in poor condition looked even more disheveled.

Someone shakily tried to turn the frozen flintlock trigger back into place, nearly breaking the spring in the process.

Someone tried to put the frozen dagger back into its sheath, but because their fingers were too clumsy, the sheath and glove froze together.

Some people even stomped their feet so hard that they fell headfirst into the snowdrift next to them, which drew a burst of merciless laughter from their companions.

"Hahaha... Look at you, acting all silly, are you drunk?"

"Save your energy, bro. Don't trip yourself up when you're chopping someone up!"

"Hey, what's that on your gloves? Frozen snot? That's fucking disgusting..."

Laughter and vulgar banter echoed among the players.

This mutual sarcasm, after the chilling threat of death and the exhaustion of the long journey, ironically became a distorted way of venting and strengthening team cohesion.

The "foolishness" of those who fell behind and the "misery" of their companions at this moment became evidence of their own "superiority" and "survival".

Xiao Dao stabbed his buttocks, Lin Ruoyu and Lao Li gathered together again, discussing the final details of the attack in hushed tones.

Lin Ruoyu took out a simple wooden map with lines drawn in charcoal, pointed to a few points, and explained his overall plan.

The phrase "stab your buttocks with a knife" repeatedly emphasizes the assault position of his elite troops and the timing of the rocket launcher's firing.

Old Li pounded his chest, indicating that the Han-Tang warriors in heavy armor, led by him, would catch up as quickly as possible after the elite squad tore open the first gap, and would not lag behind.

The twenty-minute rest period passed quickly in the extreme cold.

The players' movements gradually changed from stiff to powerful, their numb bodies were awakened by the strong liquor and the activity, and the fatigue in their eyes was replaced by a light that mixed tension, excitement and a desire to kill.

They began to silently rearrange their equipment, placing flintlock pistols and pistols in convenient positions, gripping their battle axes and spears tightly, and checking the handles of their shields.

In the forest, the heavy breathing was gradually replaced by a suppressed, chilling sound filled with the friction of metal and the tightening of leather.

Like wolves awakening from hibernation, players lick their fangs in the silent forest after a blizzard, awaiting the command to pounce on their prey.

The dim lights in the military camp, filtering through the sparse trees, cast shimmering spots of light on the snow, becoming their only target.

The moment of departure has arrived once again. This time, the players' target is no longer the snow and ice, but flesh and blood.

(End of this chapter)