Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Realm of Ice and Snow

Chapter 27: The World of Ice and Snow

Ye Bai picked a direction at random and started forward. The sky was filled with snowflakes as large as goose down, drifting and falling onto the forehead of a solitary figure making his way through the frozen world.

A snowflake landed on his brow, leaving a delicate imprint before quickly melting from the warmth of his skin, trickling down along his brow bone toward his eyes. Ye Bai raised his hand and wiped away the melting snow.

In this white world, all signs of life seemed buried beneath a thick blanket of snow. Ye Bai glanced around—no sign of man or beast anywhere.

As the sky gradually darkened, a trail of footprints marked the snow. Ye Bai found a spot where rocks jutted out of the earth, cleared away the snow beneath, and prepared to spend the night there.

In the dead of night, Ye Bai curled up under the rocks, his eyelids quivering restlessly—he hadn’t slept, merely rested with his eyes closed. In a place like this, no one could truly sleep.

Suddenly, a sound came from the pitch-black expanse outside. It was like the muffled, sinking thud of a feline’s paws pressing into the snow.

Ye Bai’s eyes snapped open, his dark gaze sweeping the surroundings. In truth, the night rendered everything nearly invisible—even with his recent breakthrough to the entry-level, he’d only barely heard the disturbance.

He listened intently toward the outside, ears strained for any sign.

A faint “rustle” came from the left side of the rock, accompanied by a low, rumbling sound reminiscent of a cat’s purr, and the faint scent of blood drifted to his nose.

Ye Bai immediately turned, his right fist clenched, emitting a faint blue glow.

But after a moment, the darkness fell silent again; the creature lurking there had retreated, unwilling to attack without absolute certainty of success.

A hunter always waits for the prey’s weakest moment to strike.

For a long while, the animal made no more noise, and Ye Bai knew he couldn’t maintain his heightened state all night—he’d be exhausted by morning and risk elimination.

He ran his hand along the edge of the rock, blue and red elemental energy flickering softly in his palm, then lay back down to rest.

He didn’t know how much time passed, but just as Ye Bai was finally drifting into sleep—

A deafening roar shattered the silence.

A giant figure burst in from outside. But Ye Bai had anticipated its return. Instantly, blue-red light flared at the edge of the rocks, and torrents of water poured down.

In the blue-red glow, Ye Bai saw it: a massive saber-toothed tiger, its body marked with yellow and black stripes, huge paws padding on thick flesh pads, the black stripes on its forehead forming the symbol of a king. Its black nose spewed white breath, and two enormous fangs protruded from its jaws, which opened wide, lunging for Ye Bai’s throat.

Lying deep within the rocks, Ye Bai stared coldly at the onrushing prehistoric beast. He hadn’t expected to encounter a king-tier animal so soon. His lips moved soundlessly:

“Freeze.”

Water streamed down from the rock, cascading over the saber-toothed tiger’s back. In an instant, the power of the Ice Age manifested—the beast was frozen in mid-air, still in mid-pounce.

It roared, displaying its kingly ferocity, but the ice encasing it began to crack.

Ye Bai wasted no time. Gathering a surge of water-element power in his right hand, he shaped it into an ice spike and thrust it into the tiger’s skull.

The struggling beast let out a few final, mournful cries, then fell silent.

At the moment the saber-toothed tiger died, Ye Bai’s sleeve lit up, projecting a palm-sized display screen.

Points: 1 (952)

Below was a blank area, except for a red dot in the lower right.

Ye Bai left the rocky area immediately—fresh blood would soon attract other predators. Though the cold slowed the spread of the scent, there was no guarantee other hunters weren’t nearby.

Night here was the opposite of day—sunlight reflected off the snow endlessly by day, making it a world of light; but at night, it seemed to swallow all brightness, a world of utter darkness.

As he walked, Ye Bai fiddled with the display on his arm. He didn’t know how the scoreboard had appeared, but he guessed the “952” was his current ranking, and the red dot below—whether it marked an animal or another contestant, he couldn’t tell.

Brushing snow from his shoulder, Ye Bai mused that if his guess was correct, he was ranked 952nd out of two thousand—far too low. He would need to find a way to earn more points.

Soon, the last traces of light vanished, and darkness returned. No matter how he tried, the scoreboard wouldn’t appear again; perhaps it only surfaced briefly when points were gained.

With night being the realm of predators, Ye Bai dared not travel far. He found a place to shelter from the snow and waited for dawn, when he could better observe his surroundings.

Night belonged to the hunters. From all directions, they scoured the land for food, while the two thousand contestants here were both hunters and prey—chasing, fleeing, hunting, ambushing and counter-ambushing, the drama of survival playing out across the land, a final flourish of life in this age of extinction.

“Boss, I’ve already been bait five times tonight. Can’t I have a break? Lying in the snow isn’t cold, but once it melts, I’m soaked and miserable.”

A man in tall boots kicked his companion. “Quit whining and get back out there. You’re getting points, aren’t you?”

The “bait” saw his chief’s temper flare and turned away, using his scant power to dry his damp clothes, then took out a small bottle, pouring its contents on himself.

“Fine, fine, I’ll go. You say you’ll give me points, but you keep the lion’s share. I’ve been at this all night and only earned 0.3 points.”

“What did you say?” The man in boots, his skin faintly glowing green—clearly another entry-level—snapped from behind. The other man quickly dropped to the ground, feigning death, looking for all the world like he’d frozen solid.

Satisfied, the leader let his power fade and lay down at the other end of the snowy field.

The bait lay motionless, feeling the snow melt beneath him, lamenting his poor luck.

He’d originally hunted alone, chasing prey like a rabbit as dusk fell, when he entered this territory. He’d barely killed his quarry—already in the jaws of some monster—when a man appeared, accusing him of killing his bait.

The man asked if he wanted to end the test or continue. Unwilling to be threatened, he charged in with all the desperation of a fight to the death.

He was defeated in a single instant—the fastest loss of his life. The man had lifted him from the snow with one hand, his gaze unforgettable.

“Will you act as my bait, or do you want to go home? I won’t take all the points; you’ll get a share.”

He hadn’t wanted to choose, but with both stick and carrot before him, he could only agree. And so he’d spent the night as bait.

Winter’s dawn came late, and in the Ice Age, every year was winter. No one knew the hour, but finally, a lazy sun crept above the snowy horizon, spilling weak light.

Ye Bai emerged from his shelter and realized he’d spent the night under a snow-laden pine. Strangely, though last night brought heavy snow, the sun’s rise brought clear skies; only clumps of snow slipped occasionally from the pine branches above.

Heading toward the sunrise, Ye Bai spotted a line of tiny tracks in the snow.

They stretched from afar, circling the pine, then veered off in another direction. Ye Bai followed, using his water-element power to sense his surroundings. All was silent—no sign of life.

After a long pursuit, the tracks faded. Suddenly, a tree sculpted of ice appeared ahead, with a hollow halfway up.

Ye Bai sensed life within and felt a surge of joy—another point awaited him.

He wrapped his fist in elemental power and unleashed a thousand kilograms of entry-level strength.

With a crash, the ice-tree snapped in two, and a creature like a squirrel darted out, vanishing into the distance.

Ye Bai gave chase, refusing to yield, racing into the unknown…