"What are you doing just standing there?!" Gerald's voice thundered across the frozen lake, echoing like the roar of a beast. "Bunch of retards!"
He wanted to throw his sword at them. This was exactly why he hated babysitting newbies. They froze when things got rough—literally and figuratively.
But as furious as he was, he couldn't abandon them. Protocol was protocol. Every member counted, no matter how useless they were.
"Second unit—charge!" he barked, gripping his sword so tightly that frost creaked against the hilt. "And while you're at it, hammer those idiots in the head to knock some sense into them!"
Without another word, he sprinted forward, boots thudding on the cracking ice. The rest of the second unit followed—experienced players, their formation clean and disciplined. Their shields rose as one wall. Their swords glimmered faintly under the twin moons.
The clash came fast and brutal. The Frost Skeletons met the charge with shrieks that cut through the blizzard wind.
