North of the Frost Dragon Territory, deep within the valley, the snow was heavy, and the white forest shaded the sky.
In this forsaken land of lingering snow overlooked by the Northern Territory, an endangered power was quietly awakening, preparing for its final counterstrike.
Deep in the cave, dimly lit by animal fat torches, the firelight stretched the shadows of dozens of figures.
They wore beast skins and wielded iron blades. Some wore feathered bone helmets, some had ancient tattoos on their faces, and some stood barefoot on the ice, barely clothed, as if the cold wind had never driven them away.
These were the remaining leaders and chiefs of the Barbarian Race.
To be precise, this was all that the Snowfield could muster.
Wulu stood silently beside the fire, watching the crowd, his shadow cast by the firelight as a dark outline.
His title was Special Envoy, temporarily elected by the various clans, sent to the Prince to convey the opinion of the Barbarian Race.
