On the icy plains, a few Lizardmen were fleeing for their lives, their steps staggered and desperate.
They were the first group to scatter, initially numbering over a dozen, composed of Lizardmen and a few Half-demons, but now, only they were left.
Thump thump thump thump—
Nearby, terrifying sounds of mushroom creatures running over the snow echoed, yet no enemy figure could be seen.
"Damn invisible creatures! Damn it!" Gola squeezed out the last breath from his lungs, desperately moving his heavy legs, hoping to run just half a step faster than his companions.
At this moment, he immensely envied those Half-demons he had once looked down upon; at the start of their collapse, many winged Half-demons simply flew away, disappearing into the murky sky; others, with joints adapted to snowy environments, sprinted on the frozen ground.
Unlike them, the Lizardmen had only a faint hope of survival in this dire situation.
