"Huff... huff..." At the foot of the frozen Misty Mountains, an old man with disheveled hair and an unkempt beard trudged through the snow, leaning on a long object wrapped in animal hide and cloth.
"Ow!" The old man stepped into empty air and fell into a snow pit, smashing himself black and blue in the process.
"Ow..." The old man touched his waist and abdomen. When he withdrew his hand, it was covered in blood.
"Damn it! The wound split open again! You bastard Orcs! I curse you to have sons without assholes!" The old man bent over, clutching his wound and groaning, seeming ready to spit fire from his eyes.
"Bastards! Beasts!" The old man muttered curses without pause at those northern Orcs. He casually twisted several thick branches from a nearby snowbank. Branches as thick as an arm were scarcely tougher than tofu beneath his large hand enveloped in Battle Qi Flame. He tossed the broken branches together, pulled out a few withered twigs, and swiftly lit them with the fire-element Battle Qi Flame in his hand before stuffing them into the gaps beneath the pile.
"Crackle, crackle!" The campfire reddened the old man's face and warmed his gradually stiffening body. He took an iron cup from his Space Ring, scooped in some snow, and boiled it. Then he spread out a piece of linen, soaked it in the boiling water, fished it out, and began wiping the wound across his chest and abdomen.
"Hiss! Those wolf pups were truly ruthless! What a vile curse!" The old man gave a bitter laugh. Seeing the strange black runes around his wound, he could not help extending a hand and gathering fire-element Battle Qi in an attempt to drive out the curse.
"How disgusting..." The old man slowly sighed