The two loyal guards were instantly and cruelly torn to shreds!
Blood and fragments of organs splattered everywhere, a gruesome sight.
The tide of battle instantly turned!
The oppressive presence and bloody slaughter brought by the Loa's true form made Ital'ruk's soldiers' souls tremble!
Hakkah's claws did not pause, continuing their strike towards Skala's back!
In the nick of time—"Roar—!"
An earth-shattering bear roar echoed across the entire battlefield!
The frozen earth at the edge of the battlefield crumbled with a crash!
A giant white bear, imbued with impact force and golden-red holy flames, crashed into the center of the battlefield like a meteor!
It was the King of the White Mountain, Rhunok!
His bear paw, containing the immense power to crush mountains, struck first, slamming into Hakkah's form!
"Boom!"
A deafening roar accompanied by a piercing explosion!
Hakkah let out a shrill, pained shriek, her body sent flying like a broken kite by Rhunok's single blow, crashing heavily into a distant snowdrift, instantly kicking up a flurry of snow!
Rhunok's massive body stood between Skala and Hakkah.
His golden-red bear eyes swept over Skala's father lying on the ground, then looked at Skala, who gripped his battle-axe, still catching his breath, his deep, resonant voice rumbling across the battlefield like muffled thunder:
"He is no longer there, Skala. Only an empty shell remains." The giant bear's gaze held a hint of pity. "But his fate is yours to decide."
With that, Rhunok said no more, turning towards the direction where Hakkah had crashed, letting out a thunderous roar, and charging forward.
In Skala's eyes, time seemed to freeze at this moment.
He didn't see Rhunok beating Hakkah, nor did he see the collapse of Hakkah's guards; he only saw the empty shell of his father before him.
He looked down at his father lying on the frozen earth.
Those hollow eyes still reflected the lead-grey sky, devoid of life.
Fragments of memory flashed uncontrollably again: not combat techniques, but older, warmer scenes—his father sharing deep-sea provisions acquired through trade by the campfire, his smile appearing exceptionally gentle in the flickering firelight;
The private conversation between father and son on the most desperate snowy night for the tribe.
Those vivid, warm images formed a stark contrast with the cold corpse before him.
The veins on Skala's hand, gripping the battle-axe, bulged, his knuckles white from the force.
Sorrow once again overwhelmed him.
But he did not tremble.
The lingering warmth of the Divine Emblem supported his faltering will.
He understood.
This was not his father.
This was merely a tool used by Hakkah to carry out her will.
If he didn't end this, this empty shell would continue to be driven to do more things against his father's wishes.
Therefore, for his father to rest in peace, he had to do this.
A low growl, suppressed to the extreme, erupted from Skala's mouth, "Damn it!"
Skala suddenly stepped forward, his battle-axe tracing a brief yet decisive arc through the wind and snow!
Without further hesitation, the axe blade descended precisely!
Pfft!
A dull, soft sound.
Time began to flow again at this moment.
His father's hollow eyes finally fixed on the dim, gloomy sky.
There was no pain, no release, only complete silence.
The burly body twitched slightly, then completely settled into stillness.
Skala slowly straightened up.
He did not look at the body on the ground again, but simply stood there quietly, letting the cold snowflakes fall on his blood-stained leather armor and axe blade.
A dull ache emanated from the wound in his waist, but deeper was a sense of numbness, as if his soul had been torn apart and then forcibly mended.
There was no expression on his face, only sternness, and a steadily settling determination in his eyes, solid as rock.
He lifted his foot, stepped over his father's body, and walked step by step out of that place of blood and snow, of decision.
The wind and snow lashed at his face, but could not move him in the slightest.
When he re-entered the main battlefield, Gulen, Gollon, and Siye immediately surrounded him.
They saw the wound on Skala's waist, the fresh blood on his axe blade, and more importantly, the unprecedented expression on his face—a leader's aura, cleansed of the last trace of hesitation and naivety.
Heavy, yet incredibly firm.
"Boss—" Gollon's voice was filled with concern.
"Clear the battlefield, reform ranks." Skala's voice was calm, yet carried an unprecedented force, clearly piercing through the howling wind and snow. "Hakkah's guards, those who surrender will be spared, those who resist will be killed without mercy."
Gulen looked deeply at Skala, the usual teasing in his eyes completely gone, replaced only by approval and a hint of awe.
He said nothing, only nodded heavily, and turned to carry out the order.
Siye silently cast a divine spell on Skala's waist wound; a soft glow lit up, dispelling the pain and cold.
Skala's commands became more concise and efficient, each instruction striking directly at the core.
The soldiers were inspired by his aura; their morale, which had been shaken by the Loa's divine battle, quickly recovered, erupting into a fiercer offensive.
Hakkah's guards, having witnessed their deity repelled and lost their most elite chosen squad, their will to resist instantly crumbled, and they began to rout.
Just as the Ital'ruk army was clearing the remaining enemies and preparing to advance towards the Gundrak city walls, a scout, covered in blood, rode through the wind and snow.
He galloped to Skala, dismounted from his wolf, his voice hoarse with excitement and exhaustion: "Administrator! Good news! Lord Toka's detachment, along with the warriors of allied tribes like Lukare, has already breached Gundrak's city gates from the southeast! Frost Howl is about to be finished!"
The news was like a clap of thunder, instantly drawing the gaze of all the trolls present.
Skala suddenly stood up, donned his cloak, and commanded, "All troops, charge! We can't let that kid Toka steal our thunder!"
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