บท 570: Friend, Please Wait for One...

In the Siberian wilderness of the Caucasus, dim fires flickered in the dispirited city in the distance.

The stench lingering in the wasteland had yet to dissipate.

The ignited ruins were still emitting pungent smog, and the extinguished embers gave off a dark red glow, which flickered in the cold wind, like the breaths of a dying person.

The powder-like snow that was drifting profusely fell in the cold wind and covered the earth. It descended upon the world, accompanied by the pervasive cold wind that sprinkled it into the fortress.

The wounded soldiers lying on felt croaked difficultly, trying to breathe. They exhaled white clouds of air as if souls were dissipating as death gradually drew near.

The war with the catastrophe was about to end.