The biting cold wind was like a hungry wolf on the grassland, roaring like a tear and beating the heavy cowhide felt tent wildly. The temperature inside the tent was extremely low, and a sickly sweet smell filled the air. It was the smell of fresh blood mixed with the old rust that lingered all year round, overwhelming the aroma of poor-quality powder emitted when the red candle burned.
This was supposed to be a wedding night symbolizing peace and alliance, but at this moment, the felt tent was as quiet as a newly sealed living tomb.
The heavy and difficult wooden wheels rolled over the rough ground, making a tooth-breaking squeaking sound. The wheelchair stopped in front of the bed.
The man sitting in the wheelchair looked like a broken but still dangerous beast dormant in the darkness. His skin, which had not seen the sun all year round, was sickly pale, and the line of his jaw was so sharp that it seemed like it could cut through the winter ice. His whole body exudes an unabashedly strong murderous aura, which is the aura of death that can only be possessed by those who have truly climbed out of the mountain of corpses and sea of blood.
