The north.
The snow fell harder and harder, and the temperature between heaven and earth grew ever more bitter.
The farther north one went, the more the cold pierced to the bone.
Even some races that had once possessed powerful resistance to the cold could no longer endure it and had no choice but to migrate south, their entire peoples in tow.
These included the frost giants, northern dwarves, and snow elves.
Yet the increasingly numerous Dragonkind on the northern lands could still move about in this bitterly cold world. It was unbelievable.
They too were affected by the bitter cold, but they did not find it as unbearable as other living creatures did.
Perhaps there were unknown reasons behind this, but the Bronze People had no ability to investigate.
Day after day, snow fell and swirled across the sky like densely packed wool.
The ground level of the entire northern land had risen considerably beneath this endless accumulation of snow.
At the foot of Mount Tai.
Lirui'en and the others descended the mountain bearing the divine sword.
Unlike the apprehension and uncertainty they had felt on their way here, they now truly strode forth in martial glory, their spirits soaring.
They intended to return along their original route, once again traveling overland.
Although they all possessed the ability to fly, the tradition when making a pilgrimage to the Gods was to walk the earth as a sign of respect.
When they stepped beyond the Mount Tai region and looked toward the swirling snow and the phantom ocean of flames in the sky, separated by a single line, they once again felt the mighty power of the Gods.
So they turned back and bowed toward Mount Tai once more before preparing to turn and enter the snow that filled the