The second wave of dozens of vicious wolves surged toward us in an instant. Fatty, Shirley Yang, Peter Huang, and I didn't have time to reload our firearms, so we raised our pistols and fired. Nearly every .45 caliber round dropped a wolf as they reached us; the steady crack of the gunfire bolstered our courage, overriding the fear of close combat.

Chuyi used the fore-end of his shotgun to knock down a vicious wolf, then let go of the weapon and slashed wildly with his hidden blade. An old wolf, slightly slower in its evasion, had half its nose sliced off by the lightning-fast blade, letting out a pained whine; Chuyi followed up instantly, cleanly severing its head.

Starting from Chuyi’s first shot, in less than two minutes, the ground was littered with wolf carcasses, among them several still twitching weakly, their labored breaths rising like white steam.

Everyone let out a breath, their taut nerves finally relaxing. The scene before them was gruesome; the wolves of Kalaramir were virtually annihilated this time. The battle ended much faster than expected, but if it hadn't been for Chuyi seizing the initiative, the snow-covered landscape of bodies might have contained more than just wolf corpses.

However, just as we emerged from the tension of intense fighting and allowed ourselves a moment of carelessness, a ghostly white shadow suddenly materialized behind Chuyi. The Wolf King had already clamped down on Chuyi’s shoulder. No one saw where the white-furred Wolf King had sprung from; by the time we thought to shoot, we realized our automatic pistols were still empty.

This one-eyed, white-furred old wolf was truly cunning, almost sentient. It seemed to know this was the moment of vulnerability, watching the pack get shot down without moving, lying motionless in the snow until it spotted its chance for a surprise attack. It must have known that once it revealed itself, even if it managed to bite one or two enemies, it would certainly perish. Yet, seemingly summoned by its ancestor, the "Crystal Mountain of Freedom," it sacrificed its life for one final assault, straight for the shepherd who had disrupted its plan and disturbed the soul of its forefather.

The white wolf moved like a wraith; even Chuyi was unprepared for such a maneuver, having assumed the Wolf King had been killed in the melee. There was no time to retaliate; it happened far too suddenly. In less time than it takes to blink, the white wolf tackled Chuyi, and the two tumbled through the opening on the top floor of the Demon Tower.

At the same instant, I managed to snap a fresh magazine into my M1911 and charged in, leaping into the Demon Tower, with Fatty and the others right behind me. Upon reaching the top floor, Ming Shu pointed down to the level below: “Quick! They rolled down to the next floor…”

My head felt like it was about to explode from anxiety. We chased them down floor by floor, finally finding the bodies of Chuyi and the Wolf King on the bottom level. The Wolf King was still locked onto Chuyi’s neck, Chuyi’s long saber lay nearby, but the wolf-skinning knife he held was buried to the hilt in the Wolf King’s heart. The Wolf King’s gleaming silver-white fur was now entirely stained crimson with the blood of both creatures—they had fought their way down from the tower’s summit, losing all their blood, long dead and without breath.

Chuyi was brave and bold. Though I hadn't known him long, Fatty and I clicked with him immediately; we shared a rare kinship. My heart felt sliced open, and I fought back the urge to weep, sinking onto the ground in despair, staring blankly at the corpses of Chuyi and the Wolf King.

The others were deeply saddened too. Shirley Yang grasped my hand, offering comfort: “If you need to cry, just let it out; it feels better afterward…”

I shook my head, feeling as if my heart were bleeding internally, yet no tears would come—losing another trusted comrade; that kind of pain couldn't be washed away by great sobbing. For now, I didn't want to speak to anyone.

Ming Shu tried to console me too: “Brother Chuyi killed the descendant of the White Wolf Demon Servants; his death is of immeasurable merit! A warrior who dies on the battlefield dies justly. Let us pray for him, wishing him an early ascension to Buddhahood! A human death is the greatest affair; we must first properly attend to his funeral according to their customs.”

I nodded to Ming Shu, telling them to prepare Chuyi’s body for burial; my mind was boiling like a pot that had reached a rolling boil, and I desperately needed a moment of quiet.

Ming Shu had Peter Huang and Fatty help separate Chuyi and the Wolf King. It seemed they had crashed directly onto the "Crystal Mountain of Freedom"—I wondered if they had managed to break it. Fatty wiped away some tears and snot, stopping the others: “Wait! Chuyi was my brother. He died a glorious death, and I must first offer a few words of eulogy for him.”

Ming Shu and the others resigned themselves to it, stepping aside to let Fatty conduct his impromptu memorial service. Fatty sighed, choking up as he addressed Chuyi’s body: “Our generation lives a life of battle, seeking to exchange it for the happiness of all mankind; may this blood and these tears be scattered over the blooming flowers of freedom across the world…”

Fatty droned on for quite a while, finally alleviating some of the sorrow in his chest, and then let Peter Huang assist with the body preparation. As soon as they moved the Wolf King’s carcass, they discovered the impact had shattered the "Crystal Mountain of Freedom"—the moment they touched it, it cracked apart with a loud noise into numerous shards. Everyone sucked in a sharp breath, hearts pounding, straining their ears for any sound from outside, not daring to breathe loudly.

After a moment, the glacier atop the Demon Tower remained silent. Had Shirley Yang misjudged the situation? Was there no sound wave inside the "Crystal Mountain of Freedom" capable of causing the snow peak to collapse? Perhaps after being frozen in the glacier for so long, it had simply malfunctioned. Regardless, we felt a temporary wave of relief.

Revealed inside the "Crystal Mountain of Freedom" was a fully transparent female corpse, with silver light flowing beneath her skin. Her internal bones and organs were a deep crimson, like agate, encased in what appeared to be transparent crystal. This couldn't be a real body, but rather an exquisite piece of craftsmanship—was this the "Glacier Crystal Corpse"? It didn't seem particularly remarkable.

I ignored Ming Shu’s preoccupation with his prized possession. Fatty and I moved Chuyi’s body to the eighth floor. When I tried to go higher, I suddenly felt utterly exhausted and short of breath, perhaps from excessive grief causing a stitch. We decided to rest for a moment.

Fatty said to me, “Commander Hu, can we rest on the floor above? Guarding these eighteen black-faced Arhats is giving me the creeps.”

Though my mind was slightly fuzzy, I clearly remembered there were nineteen guardian corpses seated on this floor. Why did Fatty say eighteen Arhats? Did he miscount? Or had one corpse suddenly vanished? I immediately grew alert and counted them one by one. There were indeed only eighteen: six in a row, arranged in three curved lines. I distinctly remembered there should have been seven in one row—had I misremembered, or had a corpse disappeared?

I was about to approach for a closer look at the change when Shirley Yang, accompanied by A Xiang, came up, followed by Ming Shu and the others. He and Peter Huang had managed to rope the "Glacier Crystal Corpse" and were securing the Faqiu Seal to its forehead with tape. Just as they were preparing to hoist it up with the ropes, the two crystal orbs with natural star charts, one blue and one white, were also attached.

I asked Shirley Yang if there were supposed to be nineteen bodies on the eighth floor. He nodded: “Yes. Nineteen in total. What’s wrong?”

Fearing A Xiang would get scared, I whispered to Shirley Yang, “I don’t know when, but one is missing. I’m going to check what’s happening first. You guys hurry up and get above; we need to leave this damned place as soon as possible.”

I slapped the tactical light on my helmet, which was askew from impact, held the M1911 in one hand and the Black Donkey Hoof in the other, and cautiously moved forward to examine the towering ancient corpses. I found a large fissure had opened in the dark corner of this wooden tower, against which the ancient corpses were lined up. Had the missing body fallen into it? Why did it have to act up at this very moment? Before I got close, I heard a sound, as if a large log were shifting within the crack.

I peered into the jagged opening in the tower corner, which slanted steeply downward like a bottomless abyss. A clumsy, bulky white humanoid shape was slowly pushing aside the black timbers, trying to clear space for itself to climb into the Demon Tower.

It was the Snow Maitreya that had consumed Han Shuna’s body. Seeing that the creature hadn’t noticed me, I quickly shrank back, intending to ask Fatty for some explosives to toss down and collapse the cavern below, burying it.

Just as I was about to call out to Fatty, I heard Ming Shu and Peter Huang shout in alarm simultaneously. They had successfully hauled the "Glacier Crystal Corpse" onto the eighth floor, but at that exact moment, a rapid, intense cracking sound erupted from below. The frequency of the noise increased moment by moment until countless sounds merged into one roar. I instantly understood: the "Crystal Mountain of Freedom" wasn't ineffective; it only triggered its internal sonic vibrations once the evil deity’s remains reached a specific altitude. This meant, theoretically, no one could ever take the "Glacier Crystal Corpse" out.

Rumbling, thunder-like sounds came from above. Millions of tons of accumulated snow on the peak would soon cover the Dragon’s Peak Glacier, and within half an hour, the cold wave would freeze that snow solid—we wouldn't be able to get out until this time next year.

Ming Shu and Peter Huang were terrified, their faces ash-white. The "Glacier Crystal Corpse" they were carrying dropped to the floor. The roaring sound of the avalanche resembled a thousand charging horses, shaking the very ground. Fearing Ming Shu and the others would panic, I yelled, “Don’t panic! Get into the corners of the tower walls; they’re sturdier…” But at that moment, even I couldn't hear my own voice over the din.

Someone’s “Wolf Eye” flashlight had dropped and rolled right next to the head of that strange "Glacier Crystal Corpse." The beam illuminated its mouth, and I inadvertently glanced over just as the crystal female corpse’s mouth suddenly flew wide open…

Ignoring the avalanche raging above, I instinctively reached into my field bag for the compressed air canister, ready to spray the creature a few times with ginger juice if any of those ghost insects capable of igniting "Immeasurable Karma Fire" emerged.

Indeed, a tiny ladybug flew out of the Glacier Crystal Corpse’s mouth. I aimed and sprayed it twice, but it had no effect whatsoever. By then, I saw clearly that this "Dapu" emerging from the crystal corpse, while shaped exactly like those blue bugs, was entirely silver-white, like a minuscule ice crystal hovering with beating wings. After a brief pause, it flew toward Peter Huang, who was closest to it.

Peter Huang, unaware of the danger, reached out to swat it dead. I shouted a warning, but my voice was drowned out by the roar of the avalanche; it was too late to save him. I watched as Peter Huang slapped the ice-crystal-like bug onto the ground. A layer of frost immediately coated his hand, and before he could even register panic, the glittering frost spread over his entire body. Peter Huang’s frozen, rigid corpse immediately crashed to the ground, shattering into countless particles of icy dust, from which a single, cold, glittering speck flew out of his mouth.