From the distance came the savage howls of wolves, occasionally mixed in with the sad cries of Cloud Stepping Foals.
Zhao Yanran, who was speeding away on the icy surface, promptly smiled, her eyes showing the glee of taking revenge.
Suddenly she changed directions, running up a nearby hill. Zhao Yanran looked back in the direction she had come from, only to see that carriage was in a competition of speed with numerous swamp wolves as it headed to the east.
She smiled like a sunflower, then frowned tightly.
The wound on her chest was starting to hurt badly, she couldn't completely suppress the poison within her body.
She wiped her neck, only to notice that her entire hand was covered by fresh blood. What should had been a small and minute wound was being obstructed by a special power, leaving her unable to stop the bleeding.
"As expected, it is sword intent taking form! Thirteen years and his sword art is already connected to the spirit…"