Twin heavy-lift helicopter rotors beat the mountain air with thunderous rhythm.
Three black Taichu transport helicopters banked steeply through the pine-covered gorges of the Western Hills.
Sitting in the main cabin, Lin Mo looked down through the observation window.
Beside him sat Chu Lingxiao, her slender fingers resting lightly on the hilt of the Millennium Frost-Moon Sword.
The frost-carved blade hummed with quiet silver resonance, chilling the cabin air.
Opposite them, Captain Tie Niu and thirty Righteous Iron Guards checked their tactical harnesses and cold-steel bracers.
“Twenty minutes ago, those bastards shut off the emergency blowers,” Tie Niu rumbled, his bronze jaw set in stone. “The deep shafts in the Western Hills are full of sulfur gas. Every minute counts.”
“We will not be late,” Lin Mo said calmly, his eyes focused on the mountain peaks ahead.
