Chapter 212: [212] Visitors From The Snow

Harold, the old man who had wandered into Ark’s camp, sat so close to the fire that Ark thought he would end up setting himself aflame.

He could understand that he must have been cold, but his reaction was strange. It was almost as though he had a fetish for the heat...

"How is he doing?" Ark asked Thalia, who was sitting next to him.

"He is fine. He was suffering from hypothermia and would have had frostbite had we not found him when we did. But..." Thalia paused briefly. "He is strange."

"Really? I didn’t notice." Ark joked as he watched the man devour his plate of food.

He was eating like a wild animal about to go into hibernation. He wasn’t even chewing properly, just tearing off meat and gulping it down as quickly as he could.

Thalia laughed, then cleared her throat. "On a serious note..."

"Normal people would have died a long time ago in this cold. Yet, he somehow survived for so long."

Ark nodded. "Maybe it is because he is a native to this place? The people here have been living with the cold for centuries. They must have developed a thick back for it."

There was no way the cold tolerance of people living in sheer cold would be comparable to those living in temperate regions—

"Keh—!!!"

The old man suddenly buckled, coughing profusely, his eyes neaely bulging out of his head.

"Hey, old man Harold, are you alright?!" Rodolph quickly hurried up to him, while Ark and Thalia remained seated, watching the exchange with mild curiosity.

"Old man, breathe, try to breathe!!"

Rodolph quickly picked him up and held him from behind, squeezing his chest so hard that he coughed up the food that he had been choking on.

The moment his airways were freed, the old man jumped right back to his food, as though he had not almost died a few seconds prior...

Rodolph turned around to stare at Ark, giving him an exasperated look, and Ark just shrugged and let out a breath.

He was not surprised that the man would eat so much that he would choke on his food. After all, this was the fourth time...

"So what do you plan to do with him?" Thalia asked, turning her attention back to Ark.

"I don’t know, but I’m sure it would be foolish to let him go," Ark explained. "We know we need to find the dungeon boss, but we have no idea where to look."

A native had wandered into their camp just like that. It almost seemed too good to be true.

Maybe it was...

At least, the person currently standing behind him believed that was the case.

"You are making a mistake." Ragnar’s tone was icy, his displeasure clearly written on his face as he watched the man.

He was of the opinion that they leave the old man to die, or better yet, kill him themselves.

"These NPCs can’t be trusted. They may be hidden enemies, lying in wait, searching for the perfect opportunity to stab you in the back!"

He shook his head in disappointment, a certain emotion welling up in his eyes. "I’ve seen it before, you know? My entire party was wiped out before we could even realise what was happening..."

Ranger’s shoulder’s slightly drooped downwards.

"It was a woman. She looked defenceless, weak. She was injured." His orange eyes sharpened as he watched the old man.

"She poisoned us in our sleep." Ragnar’s claws sprang out of the tips of his fingers, his eyes narrowing with disgust as he stared at the old man.

"We should kill him. He is an NPC. What does it matter? He’s not real!"

Ark shook his head. He could understand Ragnar’s concerns, but most of his reservations came from a mistake he had made in the past.

Because of his past experience, his judgment was flawed. He was not thinking logically.

"We need a native, Ragnar..."

"We will find another one!" Ragnar snarled, interrupting Ark. "Just not one that walked up to us..."

Ark stood up and turned around to face him. Ragnar was taller, so he had to raise his head a bit to meet his gaze.

"But it is not your decision to make now, is it?"

Thalia stood up as well and took a place by Ark’s side, her expression calm but exuding quiet hostility.

Ragnar’s lower lip twitched, and a guttural roar rumbled at the pit of his gut. Then he hissed and turned around. "Do as you wish. It will be your funeral," he said as he walked away.

Thalia’s slit pupils narrowed as she watched him go. "What do you think about him?"

Ark was silent for a few seconds. "He is useful..."

He turned around to where the old man stood, watching him closely.

"For now, that is all that matters."

Thalia nodded, and suddenly, Ark’s body seemed to straighten like a pole, his azure blue eyes burning brightly.

"How did they...?! Everyone into formation!"

Swish!

There was a quiet, almost imperceptible whistle in the air. Ark was running the moment he heard it, his eyes locked on the old man.

’No time to summon my sword!’

Just as Ark got to him, he swung his foot into the air that seemed empty a few moments ago.

Crack!

His foot slammed into a white arrow, knocking it out of the sky and into the air, just before he caught it and crushed it in his palms.

His party were next to him in seconds, creating a defensive formation around him, the old man, and the support team.

Ark stared at the broken arrow. It was made out of white ice, making it almost imperceptible in a world of white, a weapon made for stealth kills.

He stared around the area, at the field of white ice that surrounded them all.

"What is that? Where did that arrow come from?!" Rodolph asked in a panicked tone, but Ark did not answer.

Instead, he turned towards a certain direction, his weapon manifesting between his fingers. It had a long, polished black staff, intricate patterns lining the entirety of it, and a crimson blade that curved inward. His scythe.

Ark pointed it in a direction, and then his voice came out with disgust.

"Show yourselves."

For a few seconds, there was silence, and then the sounds of clapping and laughter began all around them...

The air around them blurred, just before fizzling as though it were a glitch.

Surrounding them at a distance in all directions were men with very pale skin, markings on their faces, and icy blue eyes...

Just like Harold’s, except without the faint glow his eyes seemed to have.

They all held shields crafted from a strange material and white iron swords that gleamed in the faint light of day.

The man who was likely the leader sat on the back of a tamed frost bear, wearing a lush coat that must have belonged to a hulking beast in the past.

His eyes were lighter than those of the others, and they glowed like beacons through the icy haze carried by the wind.

"Impressive!" The man’s smile stretched from ear to ear as he politely bowed.

"I am Isak Galand Kristiansen!" His voice boomed over the snow. "And I come bearing gifts!"

[Threat detected! Winter Tribesmen, Level 33 x 50!]

[Threat detected! Winter Tribesmen (Sunborn), Level 33 x 10!]

[Threat detected! Isak Son of Kristian, Level 35 x 1!]