Li Guanglong’s pupils shrank sharply, his right hand clamping down on the hilt of his sword, true energy instantly coursing through his body, even his breathing unconsciously slowed. Wan Chong and a group of soldiers also immediately assumed defensive stances, the cold gleam of drawn sabers flashing under the moonlight. From the sealed exit, the icy wind carried snow pellets that stung their faces, but no one paid attention to the pain. There was no trace of drunkenness in Batu’s eyes, only clarity. Behind him, the snowman warriors all stood solemnly, crystal spears slanted toward the ground—obviously they had been waiting here for some time. “Murong Xue, how dare you betray the tribe!” one snowman warrior roared in the tribal tongue. Murong Xue’s face turned deathly pale, and he instinctively took a step back. He knew well the strength of these snowman elites—each one was a Grandmaster-level expert. Once they made a move, the consequences would be disastrous. Li Guanglong kept his eye...