Three days passed in the blink of an eye.
On this day, Gale, a Sword Scabbard hanging at his waist, personally appeared before the North Snow Tribe's front lines. He unfurled his cyan wings, allowing him to hover in midair while thousands of the Demon Race circled around him, beating their wings and looking down upon the battered North snow Tribe camp.
The vast territory of the North Snow Tribe had been almost completely devoured by the Demon Race from Cold Heaven Cliff, leaving only three buildings in the core area still stubbornly resisting. Yet in just three short days, the Demon Race of Cold Heaven Cliff had failed to breach the North Snow Tribe's outermost line of defense.
Even though the Wall had been breached in countless places, a great swathe of houses behind it had collapsed, and fierce flames blazed, a young man holding a Witch Staff still stood at the North Snow Tribe's gate, gazing up at the Demon Race that filled the sky.
