Even though summer had fully arrived, the snow in Northrend had not yet completely melted.
However, the Frost Howl army was no longer willing to wait.
Hamur, draped in thick Mammoth fur, sat upon a war chariot pulled by men.
He disdained showing off his muscles by riding a mount like the youngsters.
As Matos's chosen High Priest, steadiness was the embodiment of his authority.
Leading five hundred elite warriors, he marched directly towards Gray Tooth Valley, following the will of the Mammoth God.
"That's just a small tribe established half a year ago," his adjutant leaned in, his tone tinged with disdain, "You're right, High Priest, this is the most suitable offering for Matos."
Hamur closed his eyes and did not answer, devoutly praying to the great Mammoth God, reporting the progress of his plan.
"That is our lost temple," he finally spoke, his voice low and hoarse, "Matos's idol once stood there."
"But now it is occupied by heretics."
"They worship a dragon," the adjutant sneered, "and even think it's some new god."
"Before Matos, what is a dragon... right, High Priest?"
The adjutant's words clearly hid a fear of that unknown Dragon God.
After all, the Proto-Dragon, whom they were most familiar with, was already a powerful and terrifying existence, let alone a five-colored giant dragon.
Hamur reached into his bosom and pulled out a jet-black bone talisman, upon which was carved the abstract totem of a Mammoth—this was Matos's token.
The cold sensation transmitted through his fingertips, just like the cold wind of Northrend.
"You don't understand."
"That dragon... only dares to ignite his flames on the wasteland abandoned by my Lord Matos."
"How cowardly, not daring to face the majesty of the Mammoth God directly."
"And we," his eyes were like torches, casting their gaze southward, "will extinguish it for Matos."
The war chariots rumbled forward, five hundred Frost Howl warriors silent as mountains, well-equipped.
They were one of the most elite armies on the snow plains; once battle began, they showed no mercy.
Their objective was clear:
To re-enter that "Land of Betrayal."
To re-erect that idol belonging to Matos.
After crossing an unnamed mountain ridge, the terrain gradually leveled out.
The snow was almost gone, the pine forest sparse, and the biting cold wind no longer cut at their faces like a knife, replaced instead by a more oppressive stillness.
Hamur stood at the edge of the high ground, overlooking the valley that stretched continuously downwards in the distance.
Even without a map, he knew that was the entrance to Gray Tooth Valley.
"Set up camp," he ordered.
The order quickly spread throughout the entire force.
The warriors of the Frost Howl tribe orderly set up war tents and lit braziers in the low ground.
Then, scouts were dispatched in four directions—the Main Valley Road and three branch roads.
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