As his opponent, Ye Ting naturally had no obligation to answer Arthas's questions. He merely held Sylvanas and danced through the flashing sword light like a butterfly among flowers.
At last, his sword repeatedly striking empty air enraged Arthas. The fallen prince threw back his head and roared:
"Enough! You cowardly insect who only knows how to dodge! Face me and fight me head-on!"
"Making a mage fight a death knight head-on—is that supposed to be an insult to my intelligence?" Ye Ting shot back with a scornful sneer.
"If that's the case, then let winter's death stop you in your tracks—"
Arthas shouted lowly, raising his massive runeblade high before slamming it into the ground. The next instant, terrible frost spread outward from him along with a wave of bitter cold. Within dozens of meters, the temperature plummeted abruptly, as though they had been transported from Quel'Thalas to Northrend. Even the floor was covered in a thin layer of ice.
At such a low temperature, anyone unprepared would be frozen stiff even if they were not directly encased by frost elements, their mobility greatly impaired. That would allow Arthas to crush his opponent at leisure. This was his tactic.
At the very least, Sylvanas in Ye Ting's arms could no longer endure it. Though she was a legendary ranger with both formidable ranged firepower and close-combat prowess rivaling that of a legendary warrior, a ranger was still a ranger. Her physical constitution could not compare with those thick-skinned brutes. At that moment, she instinctively curled deeper into Ye Ting's embrace, seeking a trace of warmth.
Yet Ye Ting himself seemed completely unaffected by the frost, his bearing as calm as ever. The immense magical power within him transformed into a steady stream of heat, making him like a furnace