The freezing wind howling through the mountain pass did not carry the scent of snow anymore; it carried the absolute, unmistakable stench of impending doom. Tony Clark slowly walked out from the massive iron threshold of the secret mountain vault, his heavy leather boots making a clear, resonant clicking sound on the frosted stone.
His dark hunting cloak billowed violently behind his tall frame, but his posture was perfectly relaxed, settling back into his signature, lazy nonchalance. Beneath his robes, his newly reinforced 9th Class Elder Disciple magus foundation vibrated with a terrifying, dense solar energy [3.5× baseline multiplier] that turned the surrounding mountain air impossibly heavy, forcing the falling frost to vaporize into harmless mist before it could even touch his skin.
