The snowstorm raged on, the cold wind like knives, as the hunting party moved silently forward.
The twenty Ice Trolls walked with steady steps and grim expressions.
The Mammoth tooth amulets hanging from their waists, though crude, bore a fierce intensity in every carving, etched by their own stone knives.
It wasn't for decoration, but to remember their fallen brethren.
The leading Troll, Skala, had a hideous scar across his right eye, a mark left years ago from a direct battle with a follower of Hakkah, the Snow Leopard.
In that battle, their tribe lost the loa's response, and lost their faith.
From that day on, Skala never bowed to any loa again.
They were the tribe's last fighting force, and their last hope.
The northern tribes pressed in, occupying ridges and valleys, tightly encircling their people in the most shattered corner of ZulDrak.
Resources dwindled day by day, Mammoths migrated south, Ice Wolves shifted territories, children began gnawing on tree bark, and elders starved to death in their tents.
Skala couldn't wait to die.
Even if the loa had abandoned them, he couldn't abandon his own people.
"West, two more hills, and we'll reach Grizzly Hills," he murmured, as if speaking to himself.
His second-in-command, Gulen, nodded, his facial tattoos weathered and faded, his spear clutched tightly in his hand.
"This time, we must succeed."
"Either return with meat, or carry my corpse back," Skala said coldly.
This wasn't their first hunt, and hopefully it wouldn't be their last.
But they all knew in their hearts that one more failure would mean the complete disappearance of their crumbling tribe.
On the third morning, the snowstorm briefly paused.
The sun hung in the sky like a dusty animal hide drum, dull and grey, offering no warmth.
Skala stood at the top of the slope, his gaze like knives, sweeping over the snow-covered forest in Grizzly Hills.
Stout fir trees stood silently, their branches laden with frost.
Deep within the woods, a shallow snow trail stretched out, hoof prints.
Mammoth.
His eyes instantly sharpened.
"Gulen, take a few men, don't get too close," he said in a low voice, "See what the situation is."
"Understood." Gulen waved to three team members, who silently slipped into the snowy woods.
The rest quickly lay down, hiding behind the snowdrifts on the hillside, gripping their weapons, holding their breath.
The cold wind blew again, carrying fine snow and the scent of distant animals.
Half an hour later, Gulen returned, a trace of barely contained excitement on his face.
"It's a young male Mammoth, solitary. Its steps are unsteady, it might be injured, which is probably why it fled here. No wolf packs or other hunter tracks found nearby."
A glint flashed in Skala's eyes.
The heavens hadn't completely forgotten them after all.
"Are there enough of us?" Gulen asked.
Skala was silent for a few seconds, then said in a low voice, "Enough."
He glanced at the team, each face grim, muscles taut.
They hadn't eaten a full meal for three days straight, only chewing on frozen, hard dried meat, enduring the night with snow and tree bark.
But even these people still had fire burning in their eyes.
Skala slowly said, "We'll circle to the east, where the slope is gentler, making less noise. I'll take five men to lure the Mammoth, and the rest will ambush behind the rock wall at the south entrance. Once the Mammoth charges, use sacks and spears to suppress its head."
"Remember, it must be clean and swift. If it drags on, the scent of blood will attract trouble."
Everyone nodded.
This was a practiced coordination, requiring no further words.
A Mammoth was no ordinary prey; its hide was thick, its bones hard, and its charge could overturn an entire camp.
One mistake could mean several lives.
But they had no choice.
Skala quietly gave the order, "Prepare, the hunt begins tonight."
In the cold wind, the hunting party silently dispersed, entering their most familiar rhythm.
Silent, ruthless, precise.
They had to be like snow leopards—stalk, lock on, kill.
Even without the loa's protection, they were still ZulDrak's most dangerous hunters.
Some time later.
The shadows of Grizzly Hills stretched long, and the snow glowed with a faint blue light.
The air carried the scent of resin and decaying leaves, and the lingering musky odor of the Mammoth.
Skala knelt on the snowy slope, raising a fur-wrapped fist. The team stopped.
Not far ahead, the Mammoth was foraging alone. Its right foreleg was noticeably lame, limping slightly as it walked, and there were bloodstains on its shoulder and back.
It hadn't detected the killing intent lurking in the snow, still rooting through the snow for grass, occasionally curling a clump of bushes with its long trunk, chewing slowly.
"Position confirmed." Gulen crouched beside him, whispering, "The main force is already ambushed at the southern rock wall, traps are set, all that's left is your command."
Skala nodded, then suddenly drew the bone spear from his back, quietly saying, "Act."
He quickly leaped down from the snowy slope, ran a few steps to the Mammoth's flank, let out a roar, and hurled the spear with all his might!
"Thud!"
The bone spear plunged deep into the Mammoth's shoulder, and the Mammoth roared to the sky in fury, blood gushing like a spring, splashing a red flower in the snow.
"Roar—!!"
In its shock and rage, the Mammoth suddenly turned, its trunk raised high, and charged towards Skala's direction.
Skala showed no desire to fight, turning and running with extreme speed, leading the Mammoth on a wild chase towards the trap area to the south.
The snow-covered ground trembled, as if groaning.
The Mammoth pursued in a frenzy, completely disregarding direction, only fixated on the enemy who had first wounded it.
"Almost there!" Gulen roared from behind the rocks.
The moment the Mammoth stepped into the trap's range, the Trolls ambushed on the south side roared in unison, leaping from the snow!
Sacks flew like rain, covering the Mammoth's eyes and trunk, several thick spears pierced its hamstrings simultaneously, and on the other side, several men pulled hard with ropes, forcing its head towards the ground.
The Mammoth struggled wildly, lashing out with its trunk like a long whip, knocking down two Trolls; one was directly flung dozens of meters, crashing against the rock wall, his fate unknown.
"Don't retreat!" Skala roared, rushing forward, plunging a spear into the soft flesh on the Mammoth's neck, blood splattering his face.
Gulen also pounced, his long knife gouging towards the Mammoth's eye.
Blood and hot steam mingled in the snow, making it hard to open one's eyes.
The battle lasted for over ten minutes, until the Mammoth's last low growl, its knees buckling, and it crashed to the ground, its remaining strength finally exhausted.
Everyone stood up, panting heavily, covered in blood, some from the Mammoth, some their own.
Skala stood beside the Mammoth's corpse, his shoulders trembling slightly. It wasn't fear, but the tremor of finally winning the gamble, of finding his footing precariously on the edge of a cliff.
"Cut the meat, don't waste any," he said in a low voice, "Take the liver, heart, and kidneys first, we'll eat them hot tonight."
"Tomorrow, we'll skin it and take the bones to make armor."
"Carry the rest back to camp."
"Go check on the one who was flung, see if he's alive or dead." Skala looked at a young hunter, his voice deep but carrying undeniable authority.
The hunter nodded, picked up his spear, and ran towards the rock wall.
The wind died down, and the sky grew colder.
The scent of fresh blood still swirled in the air, but overriding it was the silent solemnity of victory.
Just as Skala's adrenaline began to cool, a piercing shriek suddenly ripped through the silence of the snowy plain.
Skala abruptly looked up, only to see an ice-blue figure diving down from the direction of Storm Peaks—it was an adult Proto-Dragon!
Its wingspan was over ten meters, and its ice-crystal-like scales reflected dazzling cold light in the sunlight.
"Impossible…" Gulen's voice was hoarse with shock, "They should be nesting in the peaks this season!"
The Proto-Dragon's condition was clearly abnormal.
Its flight path was erratic and chaotic, and its dragon eyes flickered with a nearly insane fear, as if it was being chased by something terrifying.
Even more bizarre, tendrils of black mist were entwined around its ice-blue scales.
"Disperse! Find cover!" Skala roared the command, but it was already too late.
The Proto-Dragon crashed into the battlefield, its sharp dragon claws tearing the Mammoth's corpse in half.
A Troll who couldn't dodge was struck by the dragon's tail, flying dozens of meters like a rag doll.
Skala stared intently at the out-of-control beast, suddenly noticing a pitch-black object embedded in its neck… was that a dragon scale?
Before he could get a clear look, the Proto-Dragon suddenly let out a mournful wail, turned its head, and stared directly at Skala.
In those dragon eyes, filled with pain and madness, Skala saw the reflection of death.