The whole nation is trying to survive on the cable car; I'm choosing one of three options at ea

His voice came from the air, confident and composed, as if he were talking about something that was a sure thing. He used the word "solve," not "cope with," not "restrain," but "solve."

Many people's eyes lit up.

In such desperate chaos, even the slightest glimmer of hope is enough to rekindle expectation. Someone started shouting, "Go Prosciutto!" "No wonder he got an S-rank rating!"

"Kill them!"

The voices surged toward Proscius like a tide, and when he heard them, the smile on his lips widened even further.

Prosciutto moved.

He was incredibly fast, as swift as a white lightning bolt. His wings traced an arc through the night sky as he hurtled towards the Ice Witch's face. A blade of light materialized in his palm, golden and bright, like a longsword formed from pure light.

He swung his sword down, the blade slicing through the air with a sharp whistling sound, heading straight for the Ice Witch's jaw.

The image flashed through his mind... a blade of light slicing through the Ice Witch's throat, icy blue blood gushing from the wound, her body freezing in mid-air before plummeting. Everyone looked up at him, watching him, like a hero, slay the two witches.

The Ice Witch moved.

She drew a circle in the air with her finger, her movement as graceful as a young girl painting. An ice spike condensed at her fingertip, much smaller than any of the ones she had used against Bai Liuxi before... only the length of her forearm and the thickness of her finger.

But it was so fast that Protoss's eyes couldn't even catch it.

The ice spike flew from her fingertips, precisely piercing the gap between the blade and his palm the instant he swung his knife. He felt a bone-chilling cold explode from his wrist, followed by excruciating pain, numbness, and loss of sensation.

He looked down and saw that his right hand, which was holding the knife, had transformed into an ice pop below the wrist... an ice pop that was blue, translucent, and whose bones and blood vessels could be seen through the skin.

His fingers were no longer able to move, and the light blade dissipated in his palm.

The ice spike didn't stop; it continued flying forward, piercing his light blade, his arm, and then his shoulder, penetrating his scapula. It felt like someone had plunged a red-hot iron rod into his body, then instantly cooled it, freezing the surrounding muscles and nerves. He hadn't even seen how the ice spike had arrived; he only felt his arm first heat, then cold, then pain, and then numbness.

Prosciutto's body froze in mid-air for a moment. His wings were still flapping, but the movements were erratic, like a bird with half its feathers clipped, crooked and wobbly.

The light blade completely dissipated, leaving a penetrating wound on his palm. The edges of the wound were icy blue, and there was no blood... not that there was no blood, but that the blood had been frozen. He tried to move his fingers, but there was no response, because the nerves had been damaged by the cold.

He let out a scream, not the fake screams he'd made to elicit sympathy before, but a real, heartfelt scream, as if something inside him was being torn apart.

His body plummeted from the sky, his wings flapping frantically in an attempt to steady himself, but each flap aggravated the wound on his arm, and each aggravation caused him to let out an even more miserable scream.

He flew through the air like a stone, tracing a crooked parabola, before crashing into an open area in the center of the camp, raising a cloud of dust.

The Ice Witch glanced at him, then looked away as if nothing had happened. She drew another circle in the air with her finger, ice crystals condensing at her fingertip, before turning her gaze elsewhere. Prosciutto wasn't worth her attention.

The camp was quiet.

Those who had just been shouting "Go Prosciutto!" now stood with their mouths agape, like a flock of ducks with their necks being choked.

Their faces were filled with shock, disbelief, and a hint of unspoken schadenfreude. Someone whispered, "No way... this is an S-rank rating?"

"Another person chimed in, "Didn't he say he was going to take care of them? How come he couldn't even last one move?"

No one answered, because no one knew what to say.

They watched as Proscius lay on the ground, his right hand almost useless, the wound on his shoulder still oozing icy blue cold air, his face deathly pale, his lips purple, and his whole body trembling.

The man who had just confidently said, "I'll take care of them," was now like a fish thrown ashore, slumped on the ground, too weak to even get up.

In the crowd, someone shook their head.

Zhao Derong was leaning against a tree, blood still seeping from the bandage on his chest. His gaze shifted from Proxiu to the Ice Witch. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but he said nothing.

His eyes held disappointment, but even more so, an understanding of "I knew it." Lin Yuwei stood at the back of the crowd, the silver-spotted leopard cub in her arms. She glanced at Proxiu, then lowered her head to continue grooming the cub's fur, her gaze devoid of any emotion, as if Proxiu's behavior had nothing to do with her, and she wasn't surprised at all.

Su Mu leaned against the tree trunk, arms crossed, looking in Proxiu's direction with a calm gaze as if he were looking at a tree, a fallen leaf, or a stone.

Proscius propped himself up from the ground. His right hand was completely useless; his palm below the wrist had turned ice blue, devoid of warmth and sensation.

He hung his head, his shoulders trembling, whether from pain or anger, it was hard to tell. Those who had been calling his name just moments before no longer even glanced at him. His brilliance shattered before that icicle, cleaner than glass.

"Extraordinary... This is an extraordinary-level monster!" someone in the military shouted, their voice filled with despair.