Back at the Western Gate, the number of corrupted dragons had dwindled significantly.
Thanks to Nox's spirit army spreading through the forest, the Ice Monarch's strategic pull deeper into the ancient forests, and the unexpected assistance of the Frost Elder Dragon, the fighters at the gate finally felt a brief sense of respite.
Still, occasionally, a few corrupted beasts dared to fly overhead.
They never made it far.
Swoosh!
A jagged ice lance—nearly ten meters long—tore through the air with vicious speed. The corrupted dragon it pierced let out a horrible shriek as its neck split apart, and its head dropped like a falling boulder.
At the edge of the wall—which was as wide as a highway back on Earth—Drake, the Frost Prince, wielded an ice lance over fifteen meters long. A flash of blue light passed through his eyes, and then he raised the ice lance as if preparing to strike.
Swoosh!
