Luo Shang leaned against the ice wall, breathing hard and raggedly. Every breath felt like a knife twisting in his lungs.
His Frost Cold Sword was planted in the ice beside him, its icy-blue glow far dimmer than usual.
A gaping hole had been torn in the robe over his chest, exposing the wound beneath. The blood had already congealed into dark-red scabs.
Shen Yinshuang lay in his arms, her face pale as paper, her lips purple, her eyes shut tight, and her brows knitted together.
Her breathing was so faint and shallow that Luo Shang had to press his ear to her lips just to make sure she was still alive.
Her hands were ice-cold, too. Luo Shang used what little Soul Power he had left to keep her warm.
But his own Soul Power was nearly depleted as well.
They had been fleeing for their lives all this time, with no chance to replenish their Soul Power.
"Yinshuang, don't fall asleep." Luo Shang's voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible. After each word, he had to gasp for breath.
"Talk to me. Don't you love talking to me?"
Shen Yinshuang's lashes trembled, but she didn't wake.
Looking at his wife's pale face, Luo Shang felt as if something had lodged in his throat.
The Titled Douluo of Spirit Hall had hunted them for more than half a month. They had fled all the way from Frost Ridge City to the Far North, crossing blizzards, the Ice Plains, and the territories of countless Soul Beasts.
He had killed dozens of Soul Saints and several Soul Douluo, but his Soul Power was now exhausted. His injuries kept getting worse, and they were growing harder to heal.
If he had been alone, those two Titled Douluo from Spirit Hall would never have been his match.
But he wasn't alone.
He lowered his head, rested his forehead against the crown of Shen Yinshuang's head, and closed his eyes.
Footsteps came from outside the ice cave. Not just one person's—many people's.
Boots crunched against the ice, the faint sounds especially grating in the stillness of the Far North.
Anyone who had managed to pursue them this far was an elite of Spirit Hall, a powerful expert with at least the strength of a Soul Saint. Ordinary Soul Masters would have frozen to death along the way.
A black shadow slid soundlessly over the ice, moving with astonishing speed. It gathered into the lean shape of a man at the entrance to the cave.
Ghost Douluo.
Luo Shang's eyes snapped open. He stamped one foot against the ground, and in that instant, the icy-blue glow of the Frost Cold Sword flared, blasting the shadow backward.
Ghost Douluo's body slammed into the ice wall, leaving a huge dent. His expression changed in an instant.
"Well, well, Your Highness, King Frost Extreme." A voice edged with amusement came from outside the cave, flippant and scornful.
"The mighty King Frost Extreme has stopped running?"
A man in golden robes walked into the cave, holding a golden chrysanthemum in his hand. Its petals quivered gently in the wind.
Chrysanthemum Douluo, a Titled Douluo. His Martial Soul was the Singular Velvet Sky Chrysanthemum, and he was level ninety-five.
A faint smile played at the corners of his mouth. His golden eyes fixed on Luo Shang leaning against the ice wall, as if he were a beast trapped in a cage.
Leaning on the Frost Cold Sword, Luo Shang slowly rose to his feet.
His movements were sluggish. He looked down at Shen Yinshuang in his arms, gently propped her against the ice wall, and took off his outer robe to cover her. Then he turned to face the group of Spirit Hall Soul Masters at the cave entrance.
"Chrysanthemum Douluo." Luo Shang's voice was hoarse, but every word sounded as if he had forced it through clenched teeth.
"You and Ghost Douluo, along with this pack of Spirit Hall dogs behind you, have hunted me for over half a month and chased me into the depths of the Far North. Do you think you've won?"
Chrysanthemum Douluo held the golden chrysanthemum in his hand, its petals turning gently between his fingers.
His smile didn't change, but beneath it lurked a trace of unease so faint even he hadn't noticed it.
"Your Highness, King Frost Extreme, what are you talking about?" Chrysanthemum Douluo's voice was unhurried, as if he were chatting with an old friend.
"His Holiness the Pope merely invited you to visit Spirit Hall. You refused, so we had no choice but to make the 'invitation' a little more forceful."
"Visit?" Luo Shang laughed. His laughter echoed through the ice cave, filled with an indescribable sorrow and mockery.
"That vile woman Bibi Dong first sent people to slaughter Frost Ridge City, then sent you dogs to hunt me for half a month, and you're telling me this is a visit?"
The Spirit Hall Soul Masters at the cave entrance all changed expression.
Those three words—"vile woman"—coming from King Frost Extreme carried the weight of three knives, each one carving into Spirit Hall's face.
Chrysanthemum Douluo's smile froze for an instant, a hint of coldness flashing through his golden eyes.
Ghost Douluo's gray eyes narrowed slightly, and his expression grew even darker.
The Soul Masters behind them exchanged glances. Some gripped their weapons; others clenched their fists, but not one dared to speak.
"You! Insolent!" Chrysanthemum Douluo took a step forward. The golden petals between his fingers burst apart, turning into a shower of tiny golden sparks.
"What?" Luo Shang cut him off, holding the Frost Cold Sword across his body. Icy-blue light flowed along its blade, casting shifting shadows across his pale face.
"Was I wrong? That vile woman was once cast aside by a man. Unable to accept it, she decided to trample the whole world beneath her feet. First, she went after Qian Xunji, the former Pope of Spirit Hall. Then her own disciple—forget it. I can't be bothered to talk about that filth."
Luo Shang's voice was not loud, but every word rang clear, echoing through the ice cave.
Chrysanthemum Douluo's expression darkened completely.
He had followed Bibi Dong for decades and knew that the one thing His Holiness the Pope hated most was anyone bringing up what had happened back then.
"King Frost Extreme, you're asking for death." Chrysanthemum Douluo's voice was no longer flippant. In its place was a deathly stillness, cold and utterly devoid of emotion.
Luo Shang looked at him and curved his lips slightly. "Whether I live to see tomorrow is another question. But at least I got to curse her to my heart's content today."
Chrysanthemum Douluo drew a deep breath, suppressing his anger. Suddenly, he smiled. His smile held a vicious, almost sickening delight.
"Your Highness, King Frost Extreme, finished cursing?" He held the golden chrysanthemum, its petals trembling gently between his fingers.
"Since you're done, let me tell you something."
Luo Shang said nothing, his crimson eyes fixed on him.
"After you die, your son—Luo Yun, is that right?" Chrysanthemum Douluo's voice turned light and airy, as if he were coaxing a child.
"Spirit Hall will take good care of him. His Holiness the Pope said the boy is exceptionally gifted, with Twin Martial Souls. He's a promising talent. She intends to take him as her personal disciple and teach him everything she knows."
He paused, his smile deepening.
"Just imagine it—your son kneeling before His Holiness the Pope and respectfully calling her 'Teacher.' What do you think of that?"
Behind Chrysanthemum Douluo, the Spirit Hall Soul Masters burst into laughter.
The laughter wasn't loud, but it echoed through the ice cave, brimming with mockery.
Luo Shang's fingers clenched suddenly, and a thin layer of frost appeared along the blade of the Frost Cold Sword.
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