The north wind howled, carrying snowflakes as broad as a child's palm that lashed against exposed skin like frozen needles. Though it was midday, the leaden, bruised sky rendered the world in a dim, twilight grey.
Thien Anh moved across the snow with the weightless grace of a phantom. Beneath his feet, the meter-thick layer of powder seemed not to yield at all.
"Watch closely. Don't drive your weight down. Distribute it across the entire sole; glide, don't step."
He turned to instruct Lam Linh. Clad in the vibrant crimson Magma Tiger coat, she resembled a mobile puffball.
"I… I'm trying…"
Lam Linh struggled to mimic his movements. But theory and practice were worlds apart.
Thump!
Before she had covered fifty meters, her foot slipped, and she face-planted into the biting cold snow. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her lungs searing as if inhaling crushed glass due to the sub-zero air.
"Get up. Continue," Thien Anh commanded coldly.
Lam Linh gritted her teeth, scrambling to her feet. She refused to be perceived as useless baggage. She dragged herself another fifty meters before her strength finally gave out. Her limbs went numb, the sensation fleeing her body.
Thien Anh sighed, shaking his head. "Physical stamina is pathetic. But your spirit… barely passable."
He signaled Thien Lang. The wolf understood instantly, padding over to gently take Lam Linh by the collar and toss her onto his back.
"Rest. Consider today your introductory lesson."
...
The group ventured deeper into the city center, heading toward Thai Son Street.
Once the most bustling commercial artery in Noi Ha, it had now transformed into a gargantuan hive for the Ghouls.
From a distance, the pristine white snow was infested with swarming black silhouettes. Thousands of Ghouls had gathered, their collective snarls and shrieks echoing through the frozen sky.
Strangely, they weren't standing still to freeze. Some were using their razor-sharp talons to dig through the thick ice and snow to… fish. The receding floodwaters had left countless fish and shrimp trapped in the mud and ice, now serving as a buffet for the horde.
They fed with primal savagery, devouring flesh, bone, and blood-stained ice alike.
"They're immense in number," Thien Anh observed, narrowing his eyes. "And they're adapting. Their skin is thickening, darkening to ash-grey to better absorb heat."
He turned to Lam Linh, handing her a modified AK assault rifle.
"Take this. Tuck the stock firmly into the hollow of your shoulder. Aim for the head. Semi-auto, one shot at a time."
Lam Linh's hands shook as she gripped the heavy weapon. She had never held a firearm in her life.
"Like… like this?"
She raised the rifle, but before the stock was even secured against her shoulder, her finger accidentally squeezed the trigger.
BANG!
The recoil of an AK is no joke, especially for the uninitiated with frail muscles like Lam Linh.
"AH!"
Lam Linh shrieked in pain as the rifle was wrenched from her hands. She clutched her right shoulder, tears welling up. "It hurts… I think it's dislocated…"
Thien Anh rubbed his forehead. Hopeless.
"Fine. Just sit still on Thien Lang's back and watch. Don't touch anything else before you put a bullet in my back."
He reset her shoulder joint with a sharp crack, making her shriek once more, before drawing today's primary weapon.
Not a gun. It was a Greatblade—over two meters long, the edge shimmering with a lethal luster, the hilt forged from ultra-light yet incredibly durable titanium alloy.
"Mutt! Cavalry formation!"
Thien Anh vaulted onto Thien Lang's back, sitting in front of Lam Linh.
"Hold on tight!"
Thien Lang let out an earth-shaking roar and charged into the Ghoul horde like a living armored tank.
WHOOSH!
Thien Anh swung the blade.
The edge sheared through the air, carving a lethal arc of death.
SQUELCH! SQUELCH!
Fresh blood geysered against the white snow like flowers in full bloom. Three Ghoul heads took flight simultaneously. Thien Anh's swing, combined with Thien Lang's momentum, created a terrifying kinetic force that sliced through necks as if they were soft dough.
"Kill!"
Thien Lang rammed through any who stood in his path, his claws shredding the frozen earth. Thien Anh wielded the blade with the fluid grace of a dancing dragon. Left-hand cleave, right-hand parry, a spinning horizontal slash.
Ghouls fell like wheat before a scythe.
Lam Linh sat behind him, arms locked around his waist, her eyes wide with a mix of terror and awe. This man… on the operating table, he was a map of tragic scars, but on the battlefield, he was the god of death himself.
After fifteen minutes of slaughter, Thien Anh's breathing grew heavy. The blade weighed dozens of kilograms; swinging it hundreds of times had left his arms vibrating with fatigue. Despite his mutation, stamina had its limits.
"Switching gear!" Thien Anh slammed the Greatblade into the snow and drew a light machine gun.
"Now for some stress relief."
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
The staccato roar of gunfire filled the air. Thien Anh didn't fire blindly. His marksman skills were at their peak. Every bullet claimed a skull. He fired like a pre-programmed machine: Head, head, heart, head.
Brass casings clattered rhythmically onto the steaming snow.
"Aren't you wasting ammunition?" Lam Linh shouted over the roar of the gun.
"Wasting what?" Thien Anh growled, swapping a fresh magazine in a single second. "The house is full of lead!"
In the old world, he had stockpiled an entire vault of gunpowder and projectiles. Coupled with the mini-reloading press in his bunker, burning through a few thousand rounds was a triviality.
The hunt on Thai Son Street transformed into a visceral, blood-soaked performance. The pristine white snow had been utterly reclaimed by a deep, visceral crimson.