She turned to scrutinize the statue of Elride, revered by the Secret Ritual Group members, seemingly hewn from massive stones and perpetually solid ice by these people day and night.
Immediately after, the ice storm swirled once more, abruptly turning the calm Mount Kuro icy cold, with the biting, merciless frost wind stabbing at faces like daggers.
On the mountaintop, the members of the Secret Ritual Group rose, flinging open their robes and cloaks, meeting the blizzard with their unprotected chests, swiftly turning into ice sculptures, dead beyond revival.
"Lunatics—utter madness!" Farosa frowned. She thought she was quite maniacal herself, but these devotees of the ancient giant gods were a bunch of senseless madmen.
Could it be that what Easter said was somewhat true, that to them, becoming unmoving ice sculptures and dying was considered a blessing? Like a herd of suicidal Arctic Lemmings, doing an assortment of lunatic things all day long.
