Deep in the Phantom Illusionist Ruins, a white-clad bladesman stands amid wind and snow, a divine weapon in hand. Clad in light northern armor and robes whiter than snow, half his face is already ruined, cast into shadow by the High Elder’s sinister plot.
He cuts, splitting stone and cleaving clouds. Swift as a wraith, his every strike carries formidable force; his long blade tears through the air, leaving frost in its wake. After years in the northern Wulin, he had rarely met an equal. Proud by nature, he lived by his own code of vengeance, wielding Whiteshadow to cut down countless evil and heterodox foes.
In search of his missing son, he traveled south alone. After three years, he reached the Frozen Lands, only to discover that his son had already died there.
Grief and fury consumed him. He swore to destroy every enemy, unaware that his frenzied slaughter had already led him into the High Elder’s trap. Bound by several arts, he was reduced to a puppet guarding Puppet No. 99.
The endless wind and snow wear down what remains of his body, while his son’s death tortures his heart without end. Fortunately, he has found someone he can entrust this to, someone who can slay the monsters in his stead and avenge his son’s death.
