As we prepared to commence battle, the temperature dropped suddenly.
Frost crept across the asphalt in branching veins, climbing up overturned cars and shattered streetlights as if the ground itself was holding its breath. The orcs faltered, their heavy footsteps slowing as ice crawled up their ankles, locking them in place.
Sung-min exhaled softly.
A pale mist spilled from his lips.
"I won't let them move past this point," he said, voice calm but edged with steel. "Don't worry."
Sharp spears of ice erupted from the ground—not wildly, not destructively—but with frightening accuracy. They pierced joints, pinned limbs, froze weapons mid-swing. Orcs roared as their bodies crystallized layer by layer, trapped between motion and stillness.
They weren't dead yet.
Min-jae scoffed. "You're too gentle." He said as heat surged around him.
