This sort of bullying the weak while fearing the strong, this feigned pitifulness, could never fool Hoshino.
Surrounding people, killing them, feeding on their fear—these milky-white mists were incarnations of the Winterwisp will. It inflicted its hatred over its own destruction equally upon every passerby, as though that could soothe its resentment.
Hoshino's thought process was not remotely saintly. She simply could not understand what this mountain range was doing.
"That happened centuries ago, didn't it? No matter what happened back then, you're already dead." Hoshino shook her head. "Since you're dead, don't keep living. It's deeply disrespectful to the people who are still alive."
She had come to lay the dead to rest.
And naturally, laying the dead to rest required the blade in her hand.
Inside the white mist, Mudrock had no idea how many slowly approaching Winterspirit Snow Witches she had beaten back. Unlike jackals that caught the scent of exhaustion and immediately pounced, these monsters were in no hurry. They came one at a time, gradually wearing down her remaining strength, as though Mudrock's Squad was already theirs for the taking.
"I'm getting a little tired."
Mudrock murmured to herself. For a patient with her level of infection, few doctors were willing to provide battlefield treatment. Fortunately, her protective suit was filled with her own unique Originium Arts, granting it terrifyingly high resistance to Arts.
But even the toughest armor had its limits.
Compared to her extraordinary defenses, Mudrock's offensive methods were unremarkable. She had only an engineering hammer, along with Arts that burned away her life.
She had tried using the Leithanien witchcraft she had learned, but the moment she did, before she could even inflict any damage, the Winterwisp Blood Shamans acted as if they had been injected with stimulants. Their attacks grew increasingly