In the depths of Frost Hell,
the balding middle-aged man, following the guidance of the organization's upper echelons, battled his way through the brambles and snow... Only to end up lost in the end.
Before the Guide Bird was damaged, they had an accurate direction; all that the upper echelons could give them now was a general idea of where to go—they assumed that since the balding middle-aged man had managed to find them, he would naturally have no difficulty finding the entity deep within.
The balding middle-aged man glanced at his watch from time to time—not a high-quality tactical wristwatch, but just an ordinary one. Noticing forty to fifty minutes had passed, he started to become anxious.
'For such a long time... Not knowing how many kilometers I've dashed, even though I haven't encountered any Patrol Teams, could it be that Pale Prison... truly hasn't noticed anything unusual?'
