Bola shivered, his body trembled uncontrollably. He slowly turned around, recalling the road behind him, and only then did he realize that despite his long efforts and the seemingly "endless" distance, he had actually covered only a little ground.
Lancelot slipped off Bola's body and fell into the snow, the supply pack falling alongside. Without the burden, Bola felt an unprecedented lightness.
He slowly knelt down as if his spine had been broken, lowering his head, then roared powerlessly.
Bola repeatedly raised his fists and pounded the ground, wasting his strength to vent his anger and helplessness.
[A cruel decision.]
"Ah—"
Like a madman, Bola continued to howl wildly until he no longer had the strength. He then ended this ridiculous tantrum, leaning blankly against a stone.
"How ridiculous..."
Bola muttered to himself.
This isn't some knight's novel where Bola shouts the name of his enemy, driven by hatred and rage, to walk out of this icy hell.
