Peace never lasted. Deep in empire shadows, cults of evil soul masters multiplied. Where Spirit Hall once oppressed them, now absence let them thrive. They envied Leng Clan most of all—symbol of endurance, trusted by commoners.
One winter, while caravans crossed eastern plain, an ambush came. Dead forests twisted alive under necrotic spirits. Forty disciples found themselves trapped in dark net of chains. Leng Zhi himself rode with them, sensing this day would come.
Evil masters cackled. "So this is Everfrost Patriarch? Let's see your walls against decay."
Leng Zhi stepped forward calm, age 30 but aura deep as glacier. His soul rings blazed brighter—four skills now fluid like breath.
Everfrost Veil blanketed night, dark mist freezing, necrotic souls slowed. Bind snapped chains, Fortress rose huge, but still, enemy unleashed swarm of undead beasts corroding barrier.
For first time in years, he let Everfrost Core beat harder. Frozen Pulse surged outward, not only slowing foe but suppressing dark qi itself. Beasts stumbled, spirits cracked. Then his disciples, inspired, roared, charging fearlessly behind wall.
The battle lasted hours. Finally, at dawn, evil masters retreated screaming. Leng disciples cried victory—but beneath, Patriarch bled slightly from nose. He smiled, hiding it.
He inscribed that morning: Frost may bleed but will never bow.
Whispers spread continent‑wide: Everfrost Patriarch personally stood against evil cult. Some said he was already saint of frost.
But Leng Zhi knew—his cycle just beginning. Greater storms loomed beyond, and he must prepare clan for centuries, not years.