Ian curled up in the narrow isolation room.

The space was small, only able to accommodate a few tattered straw mats and a couple of stiff blankets.

The air was mixed with dampness and decay, like the scent of death lingering.

Darkness enveloped the surroundings.

Repressed sounds constantly echoed in his ears.

Someone coughed, someone groaned, someone cried softly.

Others mumbled gibberish, whispering nonexistent names, or repeating bizarre dreams to themselves.

This was already the late stage of the illness, Ian guessed the other might not live much longer.

Ian wrapped the ragged blanket around himself, trembling all over.

Despite the air being hot and damp, he felt as though he was lying naked in the snow, every inch of skin tingling with cold.

His head throbbed violently, like a sheet of paper being slowly torn to shreds.

Even moving a finger became an extravagant hope.

Ian knew it wasn't an ordinary illness; this was the "Snow Spirit Curse."

This was the Northern Territory's long-standing nightmare, a death tide that inevitably swept through every few decades.

Ian closed his eyes, trying to focus, but it was too cold.

Every breath felt like inhaling shards of ice.

Blood seemed to stop flowing, even his heart felt frozen and sluggish.

Suddenly, in the blurry darkness before him, he saw Erin.

She was his wife.

That familiar and gentle smile stood at the isolation room's door, gently waving at him.

"Ian…" she called to him.

The voice was ethereal like a dream, yet heartbreakingly real.

Ian's eyes warmed, almost making him want to crawl towards her.

But reason held him tightly.

No, this was not real.

All of this was an illusion from the "Snow Spirit Curse."

Just yesterday, in the isolation area next door, someone saw the apparition of a deceased relative, and then died the next day.

Ian clenched his teeth, drove his nails into his palm, trying to use the pain to pull himself back to reality.

But his body was too weak, even the sense of pain dulled.

Pain, like a hand, slowly yet ruthlessly clenched his throat.

He was afraid, but not of death.

He feared he might never see Mia again.

His daughter.

The small figure chasing after fallen leaves in the autumn breeze.

The little girl smiling widely by the campfire.

The child who once cried from hunger, now finally able to sleep soundly.

Clearly, Mia was still so young.

And life had just started to improve.

A few days ago, they even had a small hut for just the father and daughter.

Mia could sleep peacefully there, no longer waking in the middle of the night.

Work was tough, but with hard work, they could earn work points to exchange for food and clothes.

Most importantly, Mia had made friends, other rescued kids like her, who always played in the camp's center.

In those times, Ian always stood at a distance, quietly watching.

Seeing that long-lost smile brought a warmth that almost melted his heart.

It felt like… finally, he could believe that the future would slowly get better.

But now.

The damned plague, like a merciless lightning bolt, shattered it all.

If he were to die just like this…

What would happen to Mia?

Would she, too, be swallowed by this epidemic?

Ian's breathing grew faint, a severe dizziness rose to his head, as if he was being swept into a cold abyss.

He was being consumed bit by bit by cold and despair.

Outside the isolation room, night felt frozen thick.

......

The spread of the White Sleep Fever was terrifyingly fast.

Almost everyone in every corner showed symptoms.

The isolation zone where Ian was located was completely sealed off.

Doctors and soldiers executed Lord Louis' orders one by one, without any leniency, without any hesitation.

Everyone understood that the situation was already beyond the point of no return.

Under orders, everyone had to wear protective gear and drink boiled water daily to reduce virus transmission.

The infected were isolated in batches, each household was separated by canvas sheets and wooden doors, dividing the camp into isolated islands.

Even so, the effect was minimal.

Everyone was well aware.

The spread of this epidemic moved as fast as an out-of-control flood, leaving people almost no chance to struggle.

All efforts, all defenses, were as fragile and powerless as dry branches in the wind.

Watching as the situation crumbled bit by bit.

Terror and despair, like dense fog, seeped silently into every inch of air in the camp.

Suddenly, in this boundless despair, came the urgent sound of hooves outside the isolation area!

Clop-clop-clop-clop-clop!

A knight, covered in wind and snow, staggered in, his face flushed, shouting loudly, "Lord Louis has caught a Fire-backed Turtle! It's on the way! Is the Steam House ready?"

For a moment, everyone froze.

The logistics officer's eyes turned red, nodding vigorously as if clinging to a lifeline, trembling as he shouted back: "Ready!!"

The next morning.

A dozen knights arrived on horseback, pulling the heavy Cold Iron Cage, finally transporting a few giant Fire-backed Turtles over.

The Fire-backed Turtles, with their thick shells and dark red energy blocks on their backs, were the key to salvation.

But at the moment, due to the Unconsciousness Potion, the turtles were all unconscious.

Someone shouted aloud, "The Fire-backed Turtles are here!! There is hope!!"

The entire isolation area erupted in cheers.

The long-repressed sorrow and despair shattered like a clap of spring thunder.

The crowd thanked the great Lord Louis, embracing and crying with joy.

In those dark days, the first ray of dawn had finally arrived.

The Fire-backed Turtles were carefully transported into the refurbished steam room.

However, they remained immobile, and people were at a loss on how to awaken them.

Knight Mario stepped out from the crowd.

He remembered the task given to him by Louis; the Fire-backed Turtles needed to be "activated."

Mario took a deep breath, and fighting energy roared through his body, infusing his entire being.

Then he stomped heavily on the shell of one of the Fire-backed Turtles.

"Thud!!" A dull sound echoed.

The unconscious Fire-backed Turtle shuddered suddenly, the energy block on its back lit up with a crimson glow.

Then, "Hiss—!!"

They all awoke, arching their shells, spurting out scorching white steam.

The billowing heat quickly filled the entire steam room, dispelling the cold and deathly air.

The doctors quickly sprang into action.

They shouted orders as they carried the most critically ill patients into the steam-filled room.

The moist, warm air enveloped every icy skin, seeming to forcibly reclaim people from Death's grasp.

Patients were brought one after another into this warm space, and their furrowed brows finally relaxed slightly.

The shadow of death, at this moment, was pushed back by the steam's heat wave.

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