Zeka slowly made his way toward the distant territory, his gaze growing increasingly greedy and manic.
His pace rapidly picked up, and in just a minute, he had run more than two miles—far beyond the capacity of an ordinary human.
Snowflakes scattered everywhere with each of his steps.
In the distance, a group of people was gathering some dry wood to bring back for burning.
"Damn it! What kind of cursed weather is this?" one of them shouted angrily.
Another, clearly exhausted, shook his head. "Enough. Save your strength to withstand this cold. We don't have any proper winter clothing—having a fire is the best luck we could ask for."
"He's right," another sighed. "Let's just hope the Captain can capture the 'Resource Production Center' soon, otherwise we're all just waiting to die out here in this cold."
