The Northern Continent's winds, already capable of flash-freezing a mortal in seconds, seemed to grow even more colder as the spiritual pressure around the ancient stone gates reached a boiling point.
Xue Bing'er stood at the vanguard of the Ice God Palace disciples, her blue hair whipping like a banner of frost against the white horizon.
She didn't move, her arms remained crossed over her chest, and her silver eyes remained fixed on the swirling golden patterns etched into the monolithic entrance.
"Sect Master, the gates are still emitting a high-frequency spatial pulse. They are repelling everyone who approaches within fifty paces," noted one of her inner sect elders, a man whose beard was literally a cluster of icicles. "It probably hasn't been fully opened yet. If we force our way in now, the spatial backlash could shatter a Golden Core foundation."
