143

Mark held his breath, gripped the broken hilt, and did not answer. The leather coat of the visitor was stained with dark red blood, which was particularly eye-catching in the white snowfield. The shape of the blood was irregular, as if it was splashed, not simply smeared. This made him more alert. Seeing that Mark did not respond, the visitor took a few steps forward and stopped two meters away from Mark. He looked at Mark and his surroundings vigilantly, his eyes as sharp as a hawk, as if he could see through all disguises. The wind and snow were howling, and the snowflakes hit the faces of the two people, bringing a sting. The huge rock stood still in the wind and snow, like a silent giant, watching everything in front of it.

Mark carefully observed the visitor and found that in addition to the blood on the leather coat, the visitor's left arm seemed to be injured. It was simply bandaged with a dirty piece of cloth, and blood was also seeping out of the cloth. He secretly speculated about the identity and intention of the visitor. He slowly stood up, took a defensive posture, and pointed the broken hilt of the sword at the visitor. Although the hilt of the sword was broken, it still gave Mark a sense of security when he held it in his hand.

Seeing this, the man pointed the spear in his hand at Mark and asked in a cold tone: "Who are you? What are you doing here?" His voice was a little hoarse, as if he had not spoken for a long time.

Mark remained silent, did not put down his weapon, but slowly retreated, trying to distance himself from the man. Seeing Mark retreat, the man also moved forward, pressing step by step, leaving Mark no chance to escape. His footsteps were steady and powerful, and every step made a creaking sound on the snow. "I ask again, who are you? What are you doing here?" The man asked again in a harsh voice, with a hint of impatience in his tone. His right hand tightly grasped the spear, and his knuckles turned white because of the force.

Mark turned his head slightly to avoid the wind and snow blowing in his face, stared at the visitor with vigilant eyes, and slowly said: "My name is Mark, a traveler. I got lost and wanted to find a place to avoid the snow." As he spoke, he observed the visitor's reaction calmly.

"Traveler?" The visitor didn't seem to believe Mark's words. He sneered, "Where did the traveler come from in this icy and snowy place? I see you are sneaking around, you must be plotting something bad!" He handed the spear forward, and the tip of the spear almost touched Mark's chest, "Tell me your identity and purpose honestly, otherwise don't blame me for being rude!"

Mark took a deep breath and tried to keep his tone calm, "I am really a traveler. If you don't believe me, you can check my backpack." He took the backpack off his back and put it on the ground, "There are only some of my personal belongings and some food in it."

The visitor did not relax his vigilance. He pointed the spear at the backpack, "Open it!"

Mark squatted down and opened the backpack, revealing the items inside - some frozen meat, simple tools, worn-out clothes, and two dull holy stone fragments.

The visitor used his spear to move the things in his backpack. His eyes stayed on the two pieces of holy stone for a moment, then he looked up and looked at Mark in confusion, "What is this?"

Mark's heart moved. It seemed that the visitor did not recognize the holy stone fragments. "This is a stone I picked up by chance. I thought it was very special, so I took it with me." He explained calmly, trying not to let his emotions fluctuate.

The visitor stared at Mark for a moment, as if judging the truth of his words. The wind and snow were howling, and snowflakes were flying between the two people, blocking their sight. "It's not peaceful around here. You'd better leave here as soon as possible." The visitor finally retracted his spear. His tone was still cold, but less hostile than before. He turned around and prepared to leave. After walking a few steps, he stopped again and turned back to Mark and said, "Go south along this road and you will reach a village. It's safer there." After that, he walked into the wind and snow without looking back, and his figure quickly disappeared in the white snowfield.

Mark looked at the direction where the visitor left, with a lot of thoughts in his mind. He put on his backpack again, picked up the broken hilt on the ground, and walked in the direction indicated by the visitor. The wind and snow were still howling, and the snowflakes were still flying, but Mark felt a little warm in his heart. He knew how precious the trust between people was in this cold snowfield.

Mark walked south along the footprints on the snow, one deep and one shallow. The biting cold wind wrapped in snowflakes, slapping his face mercilessly, freezing his cheeks. He wrapped his worn leather coat tightly and held the broken hilt tightly in his hand to get a little comfort and sense of security. After walking for about an hour, the wind and snow gradually became smaller, and the vision became wider. In the distance, a few lights appeared faintly, like twinkling stars in the night sky. Mark was delighted, quickened his pace, and walked towards the direction of the lights.

The lights were getting closer and closer, and gradually, the outlines of some houses appeared in Mark's field of vision. This is a small village with low houses, mostly built of stone and wood, and the roofs covered with thick snow. The village was very quiet, with only a few wisps of smoke rising and drifting in the air.

Mark walked to the entrance of the village and saw an old man in a thick sheepskin coat sitting on a stone, holding a pipe in his hand and smoking. When the old man saw Mark, a trace of doubt flashed in his turbid eyes. He slowly stood up and asked in a hoarse voice: "Young man, where are you from?"

Mark stopped and replied politely: "Old man, I'm lost, may I ask where this is?" As he spoke, he rubbed his frozen hands and exhaled a breath of white air.

The old man squinted his eyes, looked at Mark carefully, and then pointed in the direction of the village, "This is Cedar Village. If you follow this road, you can reach the center of the village."

"Thank you!" Mark thanked the old man and continued to walk towards the village.

The road in the village was covered with thick snow, which made a creaking sound when stepped on. Not long after Mark walked along the road, he saw a group of children playing in the snow. The children were wearing thick cotton-padded clothes and furry hats, chasing each other, laughing and talking, adding a touch of vitality to this quiet village.

A little girl with pigtails saw Mark, stopped, and looked at him curiously. She walked up to Mark, tilted her head and asked, "Big brother, are you from another place?"

Mark smiled slightly, squatted down, and looked at the little girl at eye level, "Yes, I come from a long way away. What's your name?"

The little girl blinked her big eyes, "My name is Amy, the cake my mother makes is delicious, do you want to go to my house to try it?"

A warm current surged in Mark's heart, and he gently touched Amy's head, "Thank you, Amy. Can you tell me what year it is now?"

Amy nodded and said, "Brother, you are so strange, this year is 4204!"

"4204? That's the same time I left? But why did a village suddenly appear in the North Pole? Did I make some changes in the past?"