Ten minutes later, a hunched figure wrapped in a thick fur coat whose original color could no longer be seen, his face covered with frozen oil and ice, carrying a deflated animal skin roll, trudged into the backyard of the "Rock Supply Station" with one foot deep and one foot shallow.
The two tough guards from the Black Anvil Church glanced at him, their cold eyes sweeping over the tattered leather coat and the empty package. They snorted two puffs of white steam from their noses and looked away.
Another desert tramp who was blown down by the wind and snow and wanted to try his luck at Black Anvil to pick up some scraps was too much of a waste of energy to even take a second look.
These homeless people are just not smart. The gathering time announced by the Black Anvil Church is before dinner.
We are almost leaving now, and people are still coming!
However, it was too late, and they didn't need to bother with a group of stupid guys.
After all, the truly smart ones all go to the big churches, and only fools come to work as helpers in a small, unknown church like Black Anvil for the so-called freedom.
Mark now felt like a compacted lump of snow, mixed in with a group of silent and sad-looking dwarves and hired workers who were carrying goods. It was not difficult for him to get on a team of sleds that were transporting goods out.
The carts were pulled by several long-haired ice beasts with droopy heads and frozen manes.
The sled was piled high with bulging sacks that exuded a restrained, frosty vitality.
What was inside was obviously frost-marked potatoes and a box of "belly-warming stones" wrapped in straw, which occasionally gave off a hint of warmth.
In the darkness before dawn, the convoy quietly left the hustle and bustle and stench of the Fortagan settlement and plunged into the vaster and more silent Arctic ice field.
The biting wind scraped across his cheeks like a knife. Mark buried his face deeper into the fur collar of his fur coat, leaving only his eyes exposed.
The soul's perception was like an invisible spider web that quietly spread out, covering the team that was moving forward in silence.
confusion.
This is the most direct "taste" feedback from his soul.
The souls of dozens of Black Anvil cultists and hired laborers who were escorting the people were like a pot of randomly cooked stew.
He tasted the familiar breath of stars and moon with the cold aftertaste of the evening star and shadow. Although he tried his best to conceal it, the unique cold structure could not escape his perception.
He also tasted the unique sticky and turbid feeling of the Dark Church of the Icefield, like a mixture of rotten oil and cheap incense.
This feeling was different from the feeling Enzo usually gave him.
Enzo's dark aura gives him the feeling of the matte black color of high-end car covers, deep and stylish.
But when Mark saw the aura of these people from the Icefield Dark Church for the first time, he actually felt nauseous in his heart.
I don’t know if it’s because I’m a clergyman and I naturally have a problem with the Dark Church, or if the soul aura of those people is disgusting.
In addition to the two most obvious soul auras, he also tasted one or two faint but tenacious auras of faith belonging to the traditional dwarven soul-forging god, which echoed with fire and rock.
Mark was familiar with this scent, as Enzo also had it, and it was very strong.
But in comparison, it is rare in the Black Anvil Church.
It's complicated enough having these three types of people on the team.
Not to mention the other scattered and faint fragments of prayers that are as weak as a candle in the wind.
There are prayers to the totems of unknown ice beasts, primitive instincts craving for food and warmth, and even a hint of pure greed for blood, chaos, and lust.
Mark almost rolled his eyes. Such a chaotic source of faith was probably mostly from beings that jumped back and forth between the abyss and evil gods.
"Tsk, the business capabilities of the Ice Gods are worrying!" He silently complained to Xiao Mu in his arms, "This faith market is as chaotic as a garbage dump after a snowstorm. Anyone can throw some soul residue in there. Each church looks so grand, but in the end, even their core members can't control the exodus of faith?
"No wonder this place is like a feeding ground for wild dogs, everyone wants to get a big bite. Look at this hodgepodge of souls. If it could be made into a pot of soup, it would probably be dominated by darkness, with the stars and moon adding a fresh flavor, and the dwarf god adding a hint of iron... Well, whether that person can swallow it is another matter."
Xiao Mu squirmed restlessly in his arms, as if she was also intoxicated by the mixed and chaotic spiritual atmosphere.
It took about six or seven hours for the team to leave the Fortagan gathering place, and during this time they did not encounter any troubles such as wilderness bandits.
We just rested for half an hour on the road before continuing on our journey.
However, shortly after the restart, the situation changed for no apparent reason.
As the team moved forward, the sky became darker and darker, and the lead-gray clouds pressed very low, as if they were about to kiss the frozen ground directly.
The wind was no longer simply cold, but carried a whistling and tearing sound, blowing up the snow foam on the ground and hitting the sled with crackling sounds.
The experienced escort leader, a Black Anvil Dwarf warrior with a scar on his face, growled deeply in his throat:
"Shit! It's an extreme ice storm! Quick! Tie up the potatoes tightly! Protect the warm stone box! Everyone, get together! Don't get blown away!"
As soon as he finished speaking, it was as if heaven and earth were angry and a real storm came.
The strong wind instantly turned into a solid white wall, carrying hailstones the size of eggs and as hard as stones, and endless snow waves that could swallow everything in an instant.
The vision was instantly reduced to zero, leaving only the wildly spinning white abyss and the deafening roar of the wind.
The sled was shaken violently by the wind, and the long-haired beast let out a terrified roar.
Mark clung to the edge of the sled, the cold metal making his fingertips ache.
The extremely cold energy mixed in the storm was like billions of ice needles, frantically trying to penetrate the barrier of his soul perception.
But in this extremely chaotic energy field, his talent as a soul harmonizer was stimulated to the extreme!
Amidst the noisy white noise of energy, a few deliberate fluctuations, like fireflies in the dark night, instantly attracted his attention!
That was the moment when the storm reached its peak power.
It was not the natural chaos caused by the storm, but several teams consciously and synchronously cut into specific wind directions and energy gaps!
The soul core of a team is pure shadow of the stars and the moon, as cold as the tip of a poisoned dagger.
Amid the roaring storm, they collectively turned towards a swirling vortex with weaker wind in the left front, their movements as coordinated as a knife!
The other team exuded the sticky decadence unique to the Dark Church, mixed with a special excitement.
They did not resist at all. Instead, they took advantage of the violent wind and slid out in a direction that was obviously deviating from the planned route, like ink blending into the darkness!
It's the right rear!
There is even a fairly large team of Black Anvil Dwarves with a relatively purer aura of faith!
They seemed to have lost interest in those precious frost-marked potatoes. In the chaos, they decisively abandoned some of their baggage and collectively rushed towards a direction covered with rugged icicles.
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