CHAPTER 63: THE TRIAL OF FROSTY GALE

The blue light retreated from Han Feng's body, coiling around him like a serpent made of frozen lightning. The cold radiated from him in waves, chilling the air, frosting the broken stones, turning the breath of the refugees into clouds of white mist. He was no longer the calm, composed figure who had descended from the sky. He was something else now—something colder, something more ancient, something that had been forged in the fires of the Sects' power and hardened by centuries of service. His eyes had turned the colour of winter frost, pale and distant, and his voice carried the weight of absolute authority.