All around him, blood-colored ice spears continuously formed, shooting out behind him.
Having left the Valley of Golden Gates long ago, Ronan suddenly stopped at a certain distant place, holding a blood-colored ice crystal long spear, turned around, and calmly watched the swiftly approaching deep blue aurora.
The aurora halted several miles away from him, amidst the overwhelming snowfall, making it impossible to discern the silhouette within.
"Not running anymore?"
A cold gaze pierced through the snowstorm, like a dagger falling onto Ronan's face, "Hand over the other half of the Ice Ring, and I'll let you leave now."
Ronan took a gentle breath, holding the spear with both hands, stepped forward, and vertically slashed.
A wave of murderous intent instantly cut forth, forming a thin film of icy blood light in the void, swiftly tearing through the layers of snowstorm ahead, then disappearing like wind.
