The evil soul masters did not forget their defeat. Word of the Everfrost Patriarch spread across continent, but so too did their hatred. In dark forests, cult leaders gathered. They muttered, "This frost clan becomes too beloved by common folk. If they stand long, our shadows disappear."
And so, pressure began. First, caravans vanished. Next, villages allied to Leng Clan were raided at night. Bodies frozen in strange postures appeared at gates as mockery. It was clear—evil sects wanted to provoke Leng Zhi.
Inside Frostpine Stronghold, council gathered. Elders spat curses, disciples burned with anger. But Leng Zhi raised calm hand.
"Do not be baited. Frost does not chase storm. But"—his eyes grew sharp like ice edges—"frost will not let roots be cut."
He organized patrols, layers of fortresses built across valleys with his inscriptions. His Everfrost Doctrine became living defense: walls not rigid, but flowing—veils guiding caravans to safety, binds shaping choke points, pulses suppressing corruption.
Villagers began to believe Leng Clan was not only family, but shield of whole north. Every dawn, hundreds whispered creed aloud: Frost never falls.
The evil soul masters struck still, but each attempt failed. The land itself seemed colder, every attack slowed. Frustrated, they planned greater assault.
Leng Zhi looked southward at rumors of alliances, whispering faintly: "Dark grows bold. Then frost must prepare for greater war than Spirit Hall's shadow."