Demon Hunter and His Cabin
Chapter 840 - 652: Memory Fragments of Sword Master Cold Crow

Chapter 840: Chapter 652: Memory Fragments of Sword Master Cold Crow

Roger wanted to lower his head to check the state of his own body, but there was no time for words. His frail body was grabbed by someone and dragged, stumbling, back into the nearby wooden cabin.

"Bang!"

The heavy door slammed shut, blocking the wind and snow outside. The interior space was small and devoid of decorations. A hole in the wall was hastily covered with a piece of animal hide, though snow and wind still seeped in from its edges.

To be honest, this could barely be called a house. Compared to the freezing cold outside, at least here offered a moment’s respite.

In the center of the room was an iron brazier filled with glowing red embers. A few figures were seated around it.

"You’re lucky, kid."

The speaker wiped his face, revealing a roughly hewn visage.

"You just came in from outside. You can’t go straight to the fire..."

The man babbled something, but Roger couldn’t catch a word. His mind was preoccupied by confusion about his current state.

"Shuntsuki?"

"What’s going on here?"

Before losing consciousness, all I saw was a Black Moon. Could it be that Sword Master Cold Crow didn’t actually intend to kill me?

If it had been someone shrewd like the Tengu Divine Master, he probably wouldn’t care much about Yatagarasu Akiryu being disabled.

A crippled son is nothing compared to a rapidly growing Extreme Path Sword Master.

But Sword Master Cold Crow is different.

The unwavering stubbornness etched into his very marrow and swordsmanship meant this man would never compromise on anything.

The choices I made weren’t because I was supposed to, but because I wanted to—purely that.

But now, the situation has become enigmatically complicated.

Did Sword Master Cold Crow have another purpose, or was it the peculiar nature of the Hunter’s Cabin that led Roger to end up here?

"His spiritual world?"

"But wasn’t he supposed to have escaped from the world controlled by the Silver Dragon as a Guardian Spirit? Why would he end up as a child?"

Too many questions swirled in Roger’s mind, distracting him from the fact that his clothes were being stripped off by someone without him noticing.

Uh...

Outside, it hadn’t been obvious, but his clothes had been stuffed with snow. If it wasn’t cleared, it’d be a problem once it melted into water.

Having endured such a harsh environment for a long time, as soon as Roger entered the cabin, he noticed his frail body starting to recover quickly.

It seemed this body had significant resistance to the cold.

Roger could only do his best to act as if he had just escaped from the extreme cold. He dared not display any abnormalities now.

The situation was peculiar. Perhaps Sword Master Cold Crow’s consciousness hovered above this world, silently observing everything.

After everything was adjusted, Roger was faced with a new question.

What should he do next?

"The Hunter’s Cabin..."

He tried hard to sense the presence of the Hunter’s Cabin, but no matter how hard he tried, his mind was blank. Closing his eyes, fragments of knowledge flashed through his head, cultivation techniques still fresh and clear.

And yet, his body felt hollow.

What also puzzled him was the state of his spirit—it felt as if something was gradually moving further and further away from him.

"What is it?"

"My power?"

"Thud thud thud!"

At that moment, an urgent knocking rang out from the rickety wooden door.

The wind howled outside. In such an oppressive atmosphere, no one wanted to speak. Over time, the sound of the wind and snow had become a kind of background noise, but the sudden knocking shattered the established silence.

"Who’s there?!"

The speaker was the weathered middle-aged man who had brought Roger in from outside.

Crack, crack.

It seemed like something struck the wooden door, but the knocking abruptly ceased.

The man hesitated, glancing around at the others in the cabin. "Is anyone not here?"

"Everyone’s here,"

a woman murmured softly.

The man’s heart clenched. He suddenly strode forward, and when he returned, a hatchet had appeared in his hand.

"Maybe it’s a stone blown down from the mountain, carried by the wind and snow, and then..."

the woman said quietly, but her eyes were filled with terror.

In the next second, the knocks resumed—this time louder and faster, and the rapid, piercing sound penetrated the wooden door, thrusting directly into the minds of everyone inside.

At the same time, a low, elderly voice seeped through the door’s cracks, reverberating throughout the room.

"Why won’t you open the door?"

"The weather is so cold. Are you just going to let me freeze to death out here?"

Bang bang bang!

"Open the door quickly, it’s too cold!"

Upon hearing the voice, the blood drained from the woman’s face. Her lips turned white, and she trembled as she squeezed out a single name.

"Granny Snow..."

"I’ve heard that voice before. They are incarnations of resentment, wandering deep within the mountains, and they especially love to feast on the brains of children!"

After she spoke, her eyes widened suddenly, scanning a corner of the room where a frail figure sat.

Roger’s heart skipped a beat. He glanced around and silently cursed. In this room, he was the smallest person.

"Bang bang bang!"

The knocks came again, louder this time. It was clear that the strikes carried greater force, and something sharp seemed to scrape across the door.

The people gathered around the fire huddled closer together, their eyes darting collectively toward Roger.

"Are you sure?"

"Could it be a villager trapped outside by the snowstorm?" the man asked hoarsely.

"I won’t mistake it. Ten years ago, I heard this very voice. It was a snowy night, just like tonight..."