King Frost Extreme Severely Injured

Luo Shang leaned against the ice wall, his breathing ragged and heavy; every inhalation felt like a blade twisting inside his lungs.

His Frost Cold Sword was thrust into the ice beside him, the ice-blue radiance of the blade far dimmer than usual.

A large tear in his chest revealed the wound beneath, the blood already congealed into dark red, hardened scabs.

Shen Yinshuang lay in his arms, her complexion pale as paper, her lips purple, eyes tightly shut, and brows furrowed in pain.

Her breathing was so light and shallow that Luo Shang had to press his ear against her lips to confirm she was still alive.

Her hands were deathly cold, and Luo Shang used his remaining soul power to maintain her body heat.

But his own soul power was nearly exhausted.

They had been fleeing for so long that there had been no time to replenish it.

"Yinshuang, don't sleep." Luo Shang's voice was so hoarse it was barely audible, and he had to gasp for breath after every word.

"Talk to This Lonely One. Isn't that what you love to do most?"

Shen Yinshuang's eyelashes fluttered, but she did not wake.

Luo Shang looked at his wife's pale face, his throat feeling as if it were obstructed by something.

They had been hunted by Spirit Hall's Title Douluo for over half a month, fleeing from Frost Ridge City all the way to the Far North, crossing blizzards, traversing the Ice Plains, and passing through the territories of countless soul beasts.

He had killed dozens of Soul Saints and several Spirit Douluo, but his soul power was spent, and his wounds were growing deeper and harder to heal.

If he were alone, those two Title Douluo from Spirit Hall would be no match for him.

But he was not alone.

He lowered his head, resting his forehead against Shen Yinshuang's hair, and closed his eyes.

Footsteps echoed from outside the ice cave—not just one person, but many.

The sound of boots crunching on the ice was sharp and discordant in the quiet of the Far North.

Only the elites of Spirit Hall could have tracked them this far; they were all at least Soul Saints, as ordinary soul masters would have frozen to death on the road long ago.

A black shadow slid silently across the ice, moving with startling speed, and coalesced into a gaunt human shape at the entrance of the cave.

Ghost Douluo.

Luo Shang snapped his eyes open and stomped his foot against the ground. The ice-blue light of the Frost Cold Sword flared instantly, blasting the shadow backward.

Ghost Douluo's body slammed into the ice wall, leaving a deep crater, and his expression shifted instantly.

"My, my, Your Highness King Frost Extreme." A smiling voice drifted in from outside the cave, the tone flippant and disdainful.

"The famous King Frost Extreme, why have you stopped running?"

A man in golden robes walked into the cave, twirling a golden chrysanthemum in his hand, its petals trembling gently in the wind.

Chrysanthemum Douluo, a Title Douluo with the Celestial Chrysanthemum martial soul, rank ninety-five.

A faint, lingering smile hung on his lips as his golden eyes watched Luo Shang leaning against the wall, as if observing a beast trapped in a cage.

Luo Shang braced himself with the Frost Cold Sword and slowly stood up.

His movements were sluggish. He glanced down at Shen Yinshuang in his arms, gently propped her against the ice wall, covered her with his outer robe, and then turned to face the group of Spirit Hall soul masters at the entrance.

"Chrysanthemum Douluo." Luo Shang's voice was raspy, every word seemingly squeezed through gritted teeth.

"You, Ghost Douluo, and this pack of Spirit Hall curs behind you have hunted This Lonely One for half a month, chasing us deep into the Far North. Do you truly believe you have won?"

Chrysanthemum Douluo pinched the golden chrysanthemum, the petals rotating softly between his fingers.

His smile remained, but beneath it hid a faint, lingering unease that even he had not noticed.

"Your Highness King Frost Extreme, what are you saying?" Chrysanthemum Douluo's voice was unhurried, as if chatting with an old friend.

"The Pope merely wishes to invite you to Spirit Hall as a guest. Since you refused, we had to be a bit more 'insistent' with our invitation."

"A guest?" Luo Shang laughed, the sound echoing through the ice cave with a sense of indescribable desolation and mockery.

"That vile woman Bibi Dong first sent men to slaughter my Frost Ridge City, then sent you curs to hunt This Lonely One for half a month, and you call this being a guest?"

The expressions of the Spirit Hall soul masters at the entrance shifted.

The term "vile woman" carried the weight of three blades coming from the mouth of King Frost Extreme, each one carving into the pride of Spirit Hall.

Chrysanthemum Douluo's smile stiffened for a moment, a flicker of coldness crossing his golden eyes.

Ghost Douluo's gray pupils narrowed slightly, his expression turning even more somber.

The soul masters behind them exchanged glances; some tightened their grip on their weapons, others clenched their fists, but no one dared to speak.

"You! How dare you!" Chrysanthemum Douluo stepped forward, the golden petals exploding between his fingers into a spray of fine, golden light.

"What?" Luo Shang cut him off, holding the Frost Cold Sword horizontally before him. The ice-blue light flowing along the blade cast flickering shadows across his pale face.

"Did This Lonely One speak falsely? That vile woman was dumped by a man years ago, and unable to let it go, she decided to trample the entire world beneath her feet. First, she struck at the former Pope of Spirit Hall, Qian Xunji, and then at her own disciple—never mind, This Lonely One cannot be bothered to speak of such filth."

Luo Shang's voice was not loud, but every word rang out clearly, echoing through the ice cave.

Chrysanthemum Douluo's expression darkened completely.

Having followed Bibi Dong for decades, he knew that the Pope's greatest taboo was anyone mentioning the events of the past.

"King Frost Extreme, you are courting death." Chrysanthemum Douluo's voice was no longer flippant, replaced instead by a cold, emotionless dead silence.

Luo Shang looked at him, the corners of his mouth curling slightly. "Whether this King lives to see tomorrow is one thing, but I have vented to my heart's content today."

Chrysanthemum Douluo took a deep breath, suppressing that surge of rage. He suddenly laughed, a smile filled with a malicious, almost pathological pleasure.

"Your Highness King Frost Extreme, are you finished with your insults?" He pinched that golden chrysanthemum, its petals trembling gently between his fingertips.

"Finished. Now, let me tell you something."

Luo Shang did not speak, his scarlet eyes fixed upon him.

"After you die, your son—Luo Yun, is it?" Chrysanthemum Douluo's voice became airy, as if he were coaxing a child.

"We at Spirit Hall will take good care of him. The Pope has said that the child is gifted with extraordinary talent, a twin martial soul, a fine seedling. She intends to take him as her personal disciple and teach him everything she knows."

He paused, his smile deepening.

"Just imagine: your son, kneeling before the Pope, respectfully calling her 'Teacher.' How do you feel about that image?"

Behind Chrysanthemum Douluo, the Spirit Hall soul masters began to laugh.

The laughter was not loud, but it echoed through the ice cave, dripping with mockery.

Luo Shang's fingers tightened abruptly, and a thin layer of frost manifested upon the blade of the Frost Cold Sword.