Compared to the continuous bloodshed along the way, this land is certainly much friendlier. There are no Watcher, no Demon, nor any raging winds or giant waves; there is only this vast expanse of unbeaten snow.
At this moment, however, the Plague Doctor's heart wells up with an ever-growing fear. He begins to pray for some physical monster to leap out so he can slay it. That way, the emotion of "fear" would at least have a tangible vessel; it can bleed, and it can be killed, thus conquered.
But now, it's different. Fear has transformed into an omnipresent breeze, like dying old men, incessantly murmuring by his ear.
Both the Plague Doctor and Lorenzo sensed the strangeness of this land, but the power is shapeless and formless. Apart from feeling terrified and administering injections, it seems they possess no ability to resist.
This…pure white Hell.
"Plague Doctor, is there such a possibility?"
Lorenzo grips the rope, looking at the snowfield filled with footprints behind him.
