Why would this little rascal, wanting to escape quickly, flee towards increasingly steep mountains?
He was too injured to control his sword, and even if he temporarily evaded her pursuit with the cover of these wildly growing ancient woods, it would only alleviate his immediate plight.
If forced to the mountain peak, with a cliff ahead and pursuers behind, wouldn't he be heading to a dead end?
The Three-tailed Demon Fox spread her divine sense, blocking all the paths to the sides of the mountain.
Thus, even with wings, the little rascal wouldn't escape.
She was no longer in a rush to chase, walking leisurely instead.
Surely, by the time she reached the peak, the heavily injured rascal would have exhausted all his strength.
The unnamed mountain peak was extremely cold, different from the lush greenery below.
The summit was snow-covered, filled with white mist, with the silver clouds behind seemingly piercing through the Heavenly Sea.
