Two days of hard travel brought Ethan to the foothills of Tundra Mountain. The journey had been uneventful, and the roads still relatively safe this close to inhabited lands. As he began his ascent, however, the landscape changed dramatically.
Tundra Mountain rose like a titan from the earth, its peak disappearing into a perpetual crown of clouds. Unlike the rounded, weathered mountains of the central ranges, this behemoth was jagged and sharp, with exposed faces of dark stone that contrasted starkly against the brilliant white snow that covered much of its surface. Massive ice formations clung to its sides, some resembling frozen waterfalls suspended in time, others forming fantastical sculptures that caught and refracted the sunlight into rainbow prisms.
The mountain seemed to exist in its own weather system. Even now, as Ethan began the climb, he could see clear skies at the base while violent snow squalls whipped around the middle sections, and above that, an eerie calm around the summit. Local legends claimed the mountain breathed—inhaling and exhaling storms as a living creature might draw breath.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
Ethan's boots broke through the crusted snow as he established a steady rhythm, each step measured and deliberate. The air grew noticeably thinner as he ascended, and the temperature dropped steadily. By midday, when he paused to consult his map, his breath formed thick clouds before his face.
The first signs of danger came as the sun began its descent toward the horizon. A low growl, almost subsonic, vibrated through the snow beneath his feet. Ethan froze, his hand moving instinctively to his belt, fingers brushing against the hilt of his defense knife.
From behind a nearby ridge, a massive shape emerged—a wolf three times larger than its ordinary cousins, its fur so white it nearly vanished against the snow. Only its eyes, an unnatural ice-blue, stood out clearly as it stalked forward, muscles rippling beneath its thick coat.
*Not just one*, Ethan realized as two more shapes materialized from the whiteness, moving to flank him. *A hunting pack.*
With practiced calm, Ethan assessed his options. Running would trigger their chase instinct. Fighting all three simultaneously would be challenging, especially as the light faded.
With a flick of his wrist, Ethan sent his defense knife spinning into the air before him. It hung suspended by his mental control, rotating slowly as a barrier between him and the lead wolf.
The wolves hesitated, their instincts warning them of unfamiliar danger. Ethan used this moment to send his ice knife arcing high above, guiding it with his mind to land perfectly in the middle of the pack.
"Freeze," he whispered.
The knife glowed bright blue against the snow, and in an instant, a massive ice formation erupted from the ground. Sharp crystalline spikes shot out in every direction like a deadly flower blooming in seconds, each razor-edged point finding its mark with lethal precision.
The wolves didn't even have time to react. The ice spikes pierced through all three creatures simultaneously, their massive forms impaled before they could take another step. Blood steamed against the frozen spikes as the pack died in seconds, their surprised expressions frozen in time.
Ethan recalled his ice knife with a thought, the deadly formation remaining as a glittering monument to the brief but decisive encounter. He sheathed his knives with practiced efficiency, already moving forward to continue his ascent.
Night was falling rapidly as he continued his ascent, the stars emerging as brilliant points of light in the darkening sky. Finding a relatively sheltered overhang, Ethan established camp, using his ice knife to create a wall that blocked the biting wind.
Morning brought new challenges as he climbed higher. The air thinned dramatically, forcing Ethan to pace himself carefully. Twice he was forced to detour around massive crevasses that hadn't appeared on his map, and once he narrowly avoided an avalanche triggered by his own footsteps.
By afternoon of his third day on the mountain, Ethan had reached the zone where the truly dangerous creatures dwelled. He dispatched a nest of Ice Crawlers with calculated precision, their frozen blood shattering like glass as it hit the ground. Shortly after, he was forced to shelter in a narrow cave as a blizzard descended without warning, reducing visibility to mere inches.
It was during this storm, as he huddled near a small fire carefully maintained with his limited fuel supply, that Ethan heard it—a cry for help, so faint it might have been a trick of the howling wind.
Ethan extinguished his fire and moved to the cave entrance, straining to hear through the wall of white. There it was again—a human voice, calling out in desperation.
Without hesitation, Ethan secured his gear and stepped into the blizzard. The wind struck him like a physical blow, and the cold bit through his layers of protection. Navigating by sound alone, he fought his way toward the voice, his knives hovering protectively around him, guided by his mental control even as the storm threatened to tear them from his grasp.
As he rounded a jagged outcropping, the scene before him came into focus through the swirling snow. A figure—human, judging by size and movement—was backed against a sheer cliff face, fighting off massive, shaggy white shapes that could only be Yetis. Not one, but five of the legendary beasts had cornered their prey.
To Ethan's shock, the figure wasn't cowering but fighting with fierce determination. A massive sword cleaved through the air, keeping the Yetis at bay with powerful, precise strikes. The swordsman moved with a familiar grace that Ethan recognized instantly.
*It can't be.*
Ethan didn't hesitate. With precise mental control, he sent his teleport knife sailing through the air, guiding it to land directly behind one of the Yetis attacking from the rear.
Fzzt!
In an instant, he appeared behind the creature, his normal knife already plunging into its spine. The creature howled and collapsed, drawing the attention of the others.
Grey, for it was indeed him, didn't waste time on surprise. Instead, he called out without taking his eyes off his opponents, "About time someone else showed up to this fight!"
The casual arrogance in his tone, as if Ethan's arrival was expected rather than shocking, was so typically Grey that it immediately raised Ethan's concern.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Ethan demanded, already moving his knives into position.
Grey scoffed, his sword slicing through the air to ward off another Yeti's attack. "Same thing you are. Hunting."
One of the Yetis roared and charged at Ethan, ending their exchange. The hunter's focus snapped fully to the battle, his knives responding instantly to his mental commands.
Working in parallel—though clearly not coordinating their efforts—Grey and Ethan engaged the remaining Yetis. Grey's style was aggressive and direct, his massive sword cleaving through the air with devastating power. In contrast, Ethan's approach was fluid and strategic, his knives dancing around him in patterns that seemed almost choreographed.
Grey's blade flashed as he launched himself at a Yeti, his form perfect as he executed a devastating slash. The monster's arm separated from its body with a spray of dark blood that froze almost instantly in the frigid air. The Yeti bellowed in pain, swinging its remaining arm in a wild counterstrike.
With impressive agility, Grey evaded the attack, his boots barely touching the snow before he landed in a perfect ready stance. Energy seemed to flow into his massive blade, causing it to glow with an ominous red light.
*He's charging his special attack*, Ethan realized, recognizing the technique Grey had been practicing for months.
Three seconds passed as the energy built, the Yeti charging toward Grey with murderous intent. At the last possible moment, Grey unleashed his attack—a horizontal slash so powerful it ripped through the air with devastating force.
The Yeti's forward momentum carried its severed torso several feet before both halves collapsed into the blood-stained snow.
Ethan, meanwhile, had dispatched the remaining Yetis with calculated precision, his knives moving in perfect harmony with his thoughts. The battle concluded with both fighters standing amid the fallen creatures, breathing heavily from exertion but otherwise unharmed.
Grey casually flicked Yeti blood from his blade before sheathing it across his back. Only then did he turn to face Ethan fully, his expression coldly indifferent.
"You're in my territory," Grey stated flatly, as if Ethan were the one out of place on this deadly mountain.
Ethan studied the young man before him. Grey had clearly grown stronger since their last encounter, his movements more refined, his attacks more powerful. But his presence here was still reckless beyond measure.
"This isn't a training ground, Grey," Ethan replied, sheathing his knives one by one. "This mountain will kill you."
"Maybe," Grey replied with a shrug. "But not today. And not before I prove what I came here to prove."
"Which is?"
Grey's eyes narrowed with cold ambition. "That I'm stronger than you think. That I don't need anyone's protection or guidance." He gestured dismissively at the Yeti corpses. "That I can handle whatever challenges come my way."
The implications of Grey's words sank in slowly. The boy hadn't followed Ethan out of any concern—he'd come to test himself against the same dangers, to prove his worth to himself and others.
"This isn't about proving anything," Ethan said, fighting to keep his voice level.
"Isn't it?" Grey's expression was hard as stone. "Everything comes back to proving something. To Grandpa. To the others. To myself." He gestured to the mountain looming above them. "And if I can survive what kills experienced hunters, then maybe people will finally take me seriously."
The howling wind filled the silence between them as Ethan carefully considered his response.
"You're not ready for what's up there," Ethan finally said, his tone matter-of-fact.
Grey's jaw tightened. "You don't get to decide what I'm ready for."
"I know the Frost Wyrm will kill you if you face it unprepared," Ethan countered. "Not because you lack skill, but because preparation matters more than raw ability on this mountain."
Grey scoffed. "So what's your solution? Send me back like a child? I'd rather die up here than crawl back defeated."
Ethan studied the stubborn young swordsman before him. Grey's fierce pride and reckless determination could easily get him killed, but there was no denying his skill or his resolve.
"My solution," Ethan said carefully, "is that we find shelter before this blizzard gets worse. Then we can figure out how to keep you alive long enough to prove whatever you came here to prove."
"I don't need your help," Grey replied sharply. "I was doing fine before you showed up."
"You were about to become Yeti food when I found you," Ethan pointed out.
"I had them exactly where I wanted them," Grey shot back, his pride flaring.
"For now," Ethan agreed, gesturing toward a promising cave entrance nearby. "But the mountain doesn't care about your pride. It only cares about whether you survive."
Grey hesitated only briefly before giving a curt nod and heading toward the cave. As they trudged through the deepening snow, neither spoke, but Ethan could feel Grey's calculating gaze assessing him, measuring him, treating him as an obstacle to overcome rather than an ally.
In the glow of the small fire Ethan built to ward off the bone-deep cold, neither of them spoke much. There was no need for conversation or explanations. They were two people with the same dangerous goal, temporarily sharing shelter in a hostile environment—the older man experienced and cautious, the young swordsman reckless and determined, bound by circumstances rather than any sense of camaraderie.
And despite the complications Grey's presence created for his mission, Ethan couldn't shake the feeling that this unexpected challenge was exactly what the mountain had intended all along.