Mountainous Region.
Thick snow and drooping icicles draped the place in silver, a blinding expanse of white.
A group of barbarians formed a long dragon as they trudged through the snow, one foot sinking deep and the next barely finding purchase, all of them panting heavily.
They were lost. Ever since the Heavenly Fire descended, all the barbarians had scattered into the mountains like headless flies, running wild across the slopes. Their supplies, war beasts, and spoils of war were all gone.
All that remained was a deep, bone-chilling fear.
The dangers of this world had surpassed their imagination. Those Alien Races were terrifyingly powerful, and before they had even seen one, they had already encountered the dreadful Heavenly Fire.
"Uncle Bamor, can we still make it back?" A thirteen- or fourteen-year-old boy trailing behind them asked anxiously in a low voice, gasping for breath.
"Little Filo, don't be afraid. We'll definitely make it back. The great and merciful God of Winter will guide us forward. He won't let us walk to our deaths." An already somewhat aged barbarian beside him offered reassurance.
Little Filo's eyes lit up, and his spirits rose. "Yes, the great Lord is omnipotent. He'll save us."
Yet after walking for several hours, the group still had not found the Space Channel they had come through. Instead, the farther they went, the more unfamiliar everything became. The sun gradually slanted westward, while hunger and cold tormented the band of barbarians.
They had no choice but to find a cave to use as a temporary shelter.
"Everyone, go out and find food. Otherwise, we'll all starve and freeze to death," a priest said with a grim expression.
As believers of the God of Winter, they were naturally resistant to the cold, but even that resistance had its