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In the fierce and desperate battle of Darius, the power and determination emanating from him shone like a warm light, glittering on the cold battlefield. This power penetrated Gragas's unconsciousness, like warm sunlight shining into a deep winter night, slowly awakening his dormant soul. Gragas's consciousness gradually emerged from an endless darkness. His body felt heavy and cold, every breath accompanied by painful convulsions. His brain was covered with thick ice and snow, thoughts slow and blurry, as if awakening from a long sleep.
Gragas's eyelids seemed to be weighed down by heavy objects, and it took several attempts before he could barely open them. A hazy white filled his field of vision, making it difficult for him to discern his surroundings. He felt pain all over his body, as if every cell was conveying messages of agony to him. But this pain only confirmed to him that he was still alive.
Gragas tried to move his body, but found his muscles tight and tired, as if every past battle had converged on him at that moment. He wanted to speak, but his throat could only produce a faint hoarse sound. His vision gradually focused, beginning to discern the surrounding scenery. In the distance, the sounds of battle thundered, but he couldn't distinguish who was fighting.
In his daze, Gragas was unaware that it was Darius protecting him. In his field of vision, there were only blurry figures wielding weapons, like an unnamed hero, struggling against fate in this land of death. A vague and profound sense of gratitude welled up in Gragas's heart, but he had not yet fully understood who this gratitude was for.
As time passed, Gragas's consciousness gradually became clearer. He began to realize that his life was continuing, all thanks to the relentless warrior on the battlefield. Gragas was filled with doubt and curiosity, eager to know the identity of the warrior and why he was here, as well as what would happen next. His mind was filled with the unknown, as well as a hint of unease and anticipation.
Through his blurred vision, Gragas watched the lone warrior carrying his own weight, filled with deep admiration. On this frozen tundra, the warrior not only bore his own burden but also bravely fought wave after wave of Frosty Puppet. Gragas felt grateful, yet also helpless, as his body seemed to be tightly bound by invisible chains, unable to provide any substantial assistance.
He turned his head with effort, trying to see the face of his savior more clearly. But in this chaotic and snowy environment, everything seemed blurry. He looked at the ocean of Frosty Puppets, feeling a sense of terror. He had heard of this evil magic in the bars of Freljord, dismissing it as drunken nonsense at the time. But now, this horrifying reality was right in front of him.
The Frosty Puppets attacked mercilessly, each impact making Gragas feel his body sway, each tremor causing pain in his heart. He saw the figure of the warrior weaving through the Frosty Puppets, each swing of the weapon powerful, each defense resolute. Gragas felt an emotion he had never experienced before - he wanted to stand up and fight alongside this unknown warrior.
While surrounded by the harsh realities of the battlefield, Gragas suddenly recalls a name: Lissandra. This name is filled with power and fear in the legends of Freljord. The ancient witch is said to possess the ability to control frost and necromancy, and has even defeated ancient deities. Her mysterious and terrifying power has long been a source of dread for the people of Freljord.
Gragas recalls the stories and rumors from the tavern, the dark schemes and evil deeds attributed to Lissandra. If these Frosty Puppets are truly her work, then her power surpasses the scope of what Gragas knows. Such magic is not only astonishing, but also carries a suffocating terror.
Lissandra, this name is like a cold blade, carving a deep mark in Gragas's heart. This shadow of Freljord, her existence is a threat to the balance of the entire land. Gragas cannot imagine the disaster her unlimited power could bring to this land.
As Gragas struggled under this heavy pressure, he suddenly realized that he and the brave warrior before him might both be pawns in this conspiracy. Lissandra's power and ambition are a huge threat to any living being in this land. In this desolate and death-filled land, Gragas deeply felt an unprecedented danger and despair. His heart was filled with the urge to warn the tireless warrior beside him that these terrifying Frosty Puppets might be the evil creations of Lissandra, the ancient witch. However, when he tried to speak, only a low and weak hoarse sound came out of his throat. The tense situation on the battlefield made any words seem powerless and insignificant, as if they were drowned out by the merciless sounds of battle.
In the midst of this chaos and death, Gragas is keenly aware of the peril they are in. The Frosty Puppets keep emerging, each collision feeling like a summons from the Grim Reaper, and this unknown warrior seems to be his only hope. Gragas feels helpless, knowing that even if he could articulate all of this, it might not change the current situation.
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