After leaving Snowfall Hollow, Jared and the others did not head straight for the northern mine.
They stopped halfway instead and found a hidden vale to hole up in.
The vale was small.
Mountains boxed it in on three sides, and only a narrow entrance led inside.
A stream ran within the vale, clear enough to see straight to the bottom.
Beside it lay a stretch of grass.
The last light of the setting sun spilled through the vale and washed everything in gold and red.
Jared spread the map across a flat slab of stone and pointed to where the northern mine was marked.
"There are over a thousand celestial cultivators at the mine. The captain of the guard is a True Immortal Realm Level Six, and elders from the Tribunal make regular inspections. No matter how strong I am, I can't kill that many by myself. And..."
He paused. "We're not going there to kill people. We're going there to save people. Once we get them out, we still have to bring them away safely."
Lydia crouched in front of the map, her brows drawn tight.
Her finger moved lightly across the map, as if she were measuring out distance and time.
"Over a thousand celestial cultivators, and how many do we have? Even if we add the people from Snowfall Hollow, we're still only a few dozen. If we hit them head-on, we don't have a chance."
Her voice was quiet, but what sat underneath it was plain enough for everyone there to hear.
Colden stood off to the side, his fists clenched so hard they creaked.
He had only awakened the Ice God Bloodline not long ago.
The power inside him was still surging, like the flame that had been smothered for far too long and had finally found a way out.
"Then what are we supposed to do? Just leave them there and not save them?"
His voice tightened. "Those people are my clansmen. They're being worked like animals in the mine, and we're just supposed to stand out here and watch?"
"We're saving them." Jared's finger moved across the map, drawing a line leftward from the northern mine. "Look here."
The others followed his finger with their eyes.
On the map, about 3,000 miles west of the northern mine, one region was marked out—the Skywolf Tribe.
That area was marked with beast-race sigils.
A red boundary line circled it, showing the full extent of the Skywolf Tribe's territory.
Gwendolyn's eyes narrowed slightly.
The Frost God's power moved slowly through her body, pushing back some of the chill around them.
"The Skywolf Tribe? You want Hadrian Wolfhowe to help?"
Jared nodded.
"The northern mine is close to the Skywolf Tribe. The Tribunal has been digging there for thousands of years, and the Skywolf Tribe has hated the sight of them for a long time. They just never had a reason to move, and they didn't dare to. The Tribunal Venerable is True Immortal Realm Level Eight. Hadrian can't beat him."
"What about now?" Lydia looked up at him.
Jared smiled.
It was a faint smile, but there was a glint in his eyes.
"Now it's different. The Skywolf Tribe owes me a favor. I saved the old chieftain's life. If I ask, Hadrian won't refuse."
He folded up the map and rose to his feet.
His green robe stirred in the evening wind.
At his waist, the Dragonslayer Sword caught the last light of the setting sun and threw back a faint gleam.
"We're going to the Skywolf Tribe."
The Skywolf Tribe's camp sat out on the Wastelands, tents stretching one after another as threads of cooking smoke curled into the air.
At dusk, the camp was thick with the smell of roasting meat and herbs.
Beast-race warriors sat around the bonfires. Some were sharpening their arms, some were talking in low voices, and some were tending to the wounded.
Children ran between the tents, chasing one another, their laughter ringing clear.
By the time Jared and the others arrived, Hadrian was already on the training ground, practicing with his axe.


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