[The blue energy field carved through deep snowdrifts, sending up plumes of white powder.]
[A deafening roar shook the air. The ice demon's massive five-meter frame erupted from its hiding place, overturning tons of accumulated snow and revealing the disturbed earth beneath.]
[Wolf Priest Ulric's black power armor emitted a low mechanical growl as its systems activated. His towering figure was already in motion, closing the distance with frightening speed.]
[Your eyes struggled to track his movements. He was too fast, too precise. Each step was perfectly placed, his body moving with an economy of motion that seemed impossible for something so large.]
[In the span of a single heartbeat, the power staff connected with the ice demon's knee. The impact was devastating. The buzzing energy field burned through thick hide and shattered bone.]
[The ice demon's roar of pain split the frozen air.]
[But Ulric didn't pause. The power staff, wreathed in its crackling blue aura, continued its deadly work. Each strike targeted a vulnerable point with surgical precision. Joints. Tendons. Nerve clusters.]
["Hunting and fighting are never simple skills," Ulric's powerful voice cut through the demon's howls as if the creature's agony were nothing more than background noise. "You must form a complete plan in your mind. Know your prey's characteristics intimately. Control your impulsive desire to attack."]
[Every swing of his power staff restricted the ice demon's next possible movement. Every blow forced the creature to react rather than act. Ulric was herding it, controlling its rage, turning its own size and strength against it.]
[His technique was masterful. Like a butcher breaking down a carcass, each motion served a purpose. This was combat experience accumulated across centuries, perhaps millennia. The kind of skill that could only be earned through endless repetition and countless battles.]
[The ice demon's terrifying bulk crashed to the frozen ground with an earthshaking impact. Throughout the entire encounter, it had failed to land even a single counterattack against Ulric. Not one.]
["Mortal boy, do you remember what I've shown you?" Ulric's wolf-skull helm turned toward you as he raised the power staff one final time.]
[The weapon came down on the ice demon's massive skull. There was a wet crunch, then a hissing spray as superheated brain matter splattered across the snow. Where it landed, the white powder sizzled and melted, releasing wisps of acrid steam.]
[You stood there, slack-jawed, watching the Wolf Priest who had ended such a formidable creature with what seemed like casual effort. Your hands spread helplessly at your sides. What could you possibly say?]
[In the fourth week, you followed Ulric across the white wasteland to the base of a towering cliff. The rock face stretched upward until it disappeared into low-hanging clouds.]
[Ulric handed you several weapons. Wooden training knives, their grain tight and dense. Throwing spears with fire-hardened points. Simple but functional.]
["Your target," Ulric said, gesturing to himself, "is me."]
[The Wolf Priest removed his skull helm, revealing his weathered features and snow-white beard. He set about building a massive bonfire with practiced efficiency, then began preparing a Drax beast for roasting. The creature resembled a dragon in miniature, its scaled hide gleaming in the firelight.]
[The rules were simple. If you could touch his black power armor with your wooden weapons, you earned the right to eat. Until then, you went hungry.]
[You launched yourself into the attack without hesitation.]
[Ulric didn't even turn around. He continued tending the roasting meat, his attention seemingly fixed entirely on his culinary work. Your throwing spear hurtled toward his back. At the last possible moment, Ulric shifted his weight, and the spear sailed harmlessly past to embed itself in the snow beyond.]
[You closed the distance, drawing the wooden training knife. Close combat. Use your smaller size as an advantage.]
[It didn't work. No matter how you feinted, no matter what angle you attacked from, Ulric always seemed to know. He held a simple wooden stick in one hand, never looking away from the cooking meat, and effortlessly deflected every strike you attempted. The stick moved in small, economical arcs, meeting your blade at precisely the right angle to turn it aside.]
[Hunger gnawed at your belly. You had to think. Brute force and speed weren't enough. You needed to be clever.]
[You reset your stance and came at him again. This time, when he moved to block with the wooden stick, you let him. Then you deliberately shattered your own wooden knife against his parry.]
[Splinters exploded through the air. Dozens of wooden shards peppered Ulric's power armor with sharp clicking sounds.]
["Cunning mortal boy." Wolf Priest Ulric finally turned to look down at you where you'd collapsed in the snow, chest heaving with exhaustion. His deep laugh rumbled like distant thunder. "Your behavior reminds me of a shameful little cub I once knew."]
[You'd barely earned your meal, but earned it you had.]
[After you'd devoured your portion of the Drax beast, savoring every bite of the rich, gamey meat, Ulric suddenly raised one hand and pointed toward the nearby cliff face.]
["Now," he said, his tone conversational despite the severity of his words, "you need to climb that cliff. If you reach the top alive, I will take you to the next trial."]
[He paused, letting the weight of his next words sink in.]
["If you die during the attempt, I will not bury your body. Everything you are will return to Fenris. Your flesh will nourish the soil. Your bones will become part of the mountain. This is the way of things here."]
[You tilted your head back, following the line of rock upward. The cliff stretched impossibly high, its surface pockmarked with cracks and ledges but offering no obvious path. Wind whistled past its face, and you could see patches of ice gleaming where water had frozen in the stone.]
[You approached the base of the cliff, examining the rock face more closely. Your fingers traced potential handholds, testing their stability. Some crumbled at your touch. Others held firm.]
[Taking a deep breath, you began to climb.]
[The first few meters were manageable. Your fingers found purchase in cracks. Your toes wedged into narrow ledges. The cold made everything more difficult. The stone sucked the warmth from your hands, making your fingers stiff and clumsy.]
[Higher. Always higher.]
[Your muscles burned with the constant strain. Every movement had to be calculated, deliberate. One mistake would send you plummeting back to the ground below.]
[A handhold gave way beneath your weight. For a terrifying moment, you hung by one arm, feet scrabbling against bare stone. Your heart hammered against your ribs. You forced yourself to breathe slowly, fighting down panic. Your free hand found a new grip. Crisis averted.]
[The wind picked up as you climbed higher, threatening to peel you from the rock face. It shrieked in your ears and tugged at your bearskin clothing. You pressed yourself flat against the stone, waiting for the gust to pass.]
[Your arms trembled with fatigue. Every muscle screamed for rest. But there was nowhere to rest. Nowhere to stop. Only up or down, and down meant failure.]
[Then your searching hand found something different. Not stone, but metal. A chain, anchored to the rock, stretching upward and disappearing over the cliff's edge. It was thick and heavy, its links crusted with ice.]
[You gripped the chain with both hands and began hauling yourself upward. The metal was even colder than the stone, but it provided reliable purchase. Hand over hand, you climbed.]
[Your shoulders felt like they were on fire. Your fingers had gone numb again, but you forced them to keep gripping, keep pulling.]
[Finally, mercifully, you dragged yourself over the top edge and collapsed onto flat ground. Your chest heaved as you gulped down air. Every part of your body ached.]
[Wolf Priest Ulric stood nearby, arms crossed over his massive chest. He must have climbed up some other way, or perhaps simply scaled the cliff in a fraction of the time it had taken you. His expression was unreadable.]
["You survived," he said simply. "That is more than many can claim."]
[He turned and began walking across the plateau. You forced yourself to your feet, legs shaking, and followed.]
[Hours passed. The plateau gave way to rocky terrain, then to another stretch of snow-covered wasteland. Your exhaustion was absolute, but you kept moving. Stopping meant being left behind.]
[The landscape became a blur. One foot in front of the other. Don't think about the pain. Don't think about how tired you are. Just move.]
[At some point, you must have lost consciousness while still walking. Your body simply gave out.]
[When awareness returned, you were no longer on your feet.]