The night air was thick with the scent of frozen steel and death. Snow crunched beneath Arthur's boots as he stepped forward, his blood-red eyes locked onto the imposing figure standing before him. The Frost Elf Commander, clad in pristine ice-forged armor, radiated an aura of dominance. His blade, jagged like shattered glass, rested in his grip, ready to carve Arthur apart for the second time.
Arthur smirked, his breath misting in the air. "You dumb bastard. See? I'm still alive. And I will also be the last thing you ever get to see."
The Commander's face remained cold and impassive, his piercing, frost-blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly. No words came from his lips—only the silence of a man who did not waste effort on speech. But his body spoke volumes. His stance shifted, his grip on the sword tightened, his breath steady. He was ready.
Arthur barely had time to react before the Commander exploded forward.
Clang!
The force of the first strike sent Arthur skidding backward, his boots digging trenches in the snow. He barely managed to parry, his blade trembling in his grip. The weight behind the attack was immense—far beyond what an ordinary human could endure. The Commander's power wasn't just brute strength. It was refined, precise, deadly.
Arthur's grin widened. This was going to be fun.
He lunged forward, slashing at the Commander's torso. But the Frost Elf twisted his body with inhuman speed, sidestepping the attack and countering with a horizontal slice. Arthur ducked, rolling beneath the blow, his own sword flashing upward toward the Commander's exposed ribs.
A blur of movement—the bastard saw it coming.
The Commander spun, slamming his knee into Arthur's stomach, sending him flying backward. Arthur hit the ground hard, coughing up a mixture of blood and spit, but the pain only fueled his adrenaline.
"You hit harder than before," Arthur muttered, pushing himself up. "But I'm not the same weakling you left to die."
The Commander's lips curled slightly—not a smile, but an acknowledgment.
Then he attacked again.
From Adora's Perspective
Perched atop the rooftop of a ruined wooden hut, Adora watched the battle unfold. The speed at which they fought was inhuman—clashes of steel ringing through the frozen air like war drums. Each movement was so precise, so lethal, that a single mistake could mean instant death.
She swallowed hard, fingers gripping the wooden beam beneath her. Arthur's keeping up with him… but for how long?
The Commander was relentless, each of his movements fluid and efficient. He wasted nothing, every step calculated, every strike aimed for a fatal blow. But Arthur…
Arthur was different.
Where the Commander was precise, Arthur was unpredictable. His fighting style was wild, almost reckless, but there was a method to his madness. He wasn't just attacking—he was learning. Each exchange, each parry, he was adapting.
Damn it, Arthur… you better not die.
Back to Arthur
Arthur wiped blood from his lips and grinned. "You're good. But I bet you already knew that."
The Commander's only response was a flicker of movement.
Arthur barely had time to react before a knee slammed into his ribs. He felt something crack, pain exploding through his body. But instead of falling back, he twisted with the impact, using the momentum to bring his blade upward in a ruthless arc.
Shhhk!
The Commander barely dodged, but not fast enough. A deep gash tore through his side, spilling dark blue blood onto the white snow.
Arthur's grin widened. "Got you."
The Commander's eyes flickered with something close to amusement. Then his body shimmered, ice creeping up his wound, sealing it shut instantly.
Arthur exhaled through his nose. "Alright, that's bullshit."
The Commander didn't give him time to complain. He lunged again, this time faster than before. Arthur barely managed to duck under a swing, rolling across the snow and slashing at the Commander's legs. The Frost Elf leapt, landing gracefully behind him.
Arthur turned, only to find the Commander already mid-swing.
Time slowed.
Arthur knew he couldn't dodge in time. He needed an out.
His mind raced. Think. Think.
Then it clicked.
As the Commander's blade came down, Arthur let go of his sword. Instead of blocking, he lunged forward.
The blade carved into his shoulder, but Arthur didn't stop. He embraced the pain, using it as fuel. His free hand shot forward, fingers curling into a claw-like grip, and he grabbed the Commander's exposed throat.
The Frost Elf's eyes widened—his first real display of emotion.
Arthur smirked. "Too late."
With all his strength, Arthur sank his teeth into the Commander's neck.
Blood flooded his mouth. Essence surged through his veins, raw, overwhelming. The Commander jerked, trying to pull away, but Arthur held on, draining him of power, of life itself. The Frost Elf's body twitched, his limbs losing strength, his grip on the blade faltering.
Arthur could feel it—his victory, his enemy's fear.
With a final, violent pull, he ripped his head back, tearing out the Commander's throat.
Blue blood gushed, steaming against the cold air. The Frost Elf staggered, his once-proud figure swaying. His eyes, once filled with power, now held only disbelief.
Arthur spat blood onto the snow and met the dying warrior's gaze. "See, I told you I would be your doom."
The Commander's body collapsed, lifeless.
[ You have killed a Common Stalker, Frost Commander. ]
Arthur stepped over the corpse, exhaling heavily. His entire body ached, his shoulder screamed in pain, but none of it mattered. He won.
"Told you I'd be the last thing you will ever get to see"
He turned his gaze to the rooftops, where Adora stared at him in stunned silence.
He grinned. "Told you I'd win."
She didn't reply. She just exhaled, shaking her head. "You're insane."
Arthur chuckled, wiping the blood from his lips. "Yeah. But I'm alive."