The vast expanse of land was enveloped by a grey blizzard, obscuring everything. Black felt strips danced in the fierce wind, as snow in large clumps buried the felt only to be quickly swept away by the subsequent gales, again and again.
What was even worse, among the wind and snow, were sharp sandstones mixed in.
In the grip of winds exceeding thirty meters per second, the sandstones unleashed an unbelievable force, easily slicing through delicate skin and leaving behind wounds—shallow yet white-marked gashes by the thousands.
Bi Fang retracted his hand back into the felt, and just for an instant, he felt as if his skin had been peeled off, leaving numerous white marks on it.
A hundred years ago, bands of brave men stepped foot on this land, only to fall one by one. Packs of wild wolves, fierce land bears, and hidden crevasses in the glaciers beneath the snow—all counted for nothing.
The harsh climate.
That was the true danger.