Qian Chonglang gritted his teeth and forced himself upright, driving the iron staff in his hand deep into the snow to steady his footing. At the same time, he turned his head and shouted behind him, "Stay close! Don't stop!"
The blizzard swallowed most of his voice, but the clansmen behind him still heard it.
They began moving closer together, trying to maintain their formation despite the near-zero visibility.
Yet the blizzard was far more violent than any of them had anticipated.
A fiercer gust swept in from the side, carrying fine ice crystals like sand that pierced their skin like countless needles striking at once.
Qian Chonglang stumbled two steps to the left involuntarily, his iron staff carving a crooked trail across the snow.
When Qian Chonglang regained his balance, he found that no one stood behind him anymore.
The clansmen who had been following him seemed to have been swallowed by the wind and snow all at once, leaving behind not even a trace.
Qian Chonglang stood where he was, his gaze sweeping over the space around him, completely buried beneath white.
He could hear the wind rushing in from every direction, yet he could not hear a single human voice.
Qian Chonglang opened his mouth to call out, but the cold wind poured into his throat with a stabbing pain. The moment his voice left his lips, the gale tore it apart, and even he could not hear it clearly.
He tightened his grip on the iron staff and waited for a while. Once he confirmed that the others would not appear anytime soon, he began moving slowly in one direction.
Qian Chonglang moved very slowly. Before every step, he had to probe ahead with his iron staff, making sure there were no ice crevasses or steep