"Damn… it's so cold…" The warmly dressed slaver rubbed his gloved hands together as he approached the cabin. "By the gods! that mistake wasn't even mine, so why does it feel like I'm being punished? They could've sent someone else to pick up the merchandise instead of me…"
In front of the door, he paused for a moment, his face tense. "How big will the loss be? Shit… why do I have to be the one to announce this? The boss is going to hold a grudge against me." He sighed deeply. "That is, if I even manage to light the campfire and make the right smoke signal… Either way. Let the gods decide my fate."
He slowly turned the doorknob, not knowing what awaited him on the other side. It could be endless blessings or unexpected calamities, but he himself believed it was the latter. After all, they had made a mistake.
A few days earlier, their group had planned and carried out an ambush, kidnapping several children and young Alter, specifically Summer Wolves. The plan was simple and perfect: capture them and take them to a glacial zone to avoid retaliation from the adults who would soon come after them.
After all, no Summer Wolf had enough aptitude to enter a glacial zone. In the worst-case scenario, one or two might manage to follow the captors, but they would be weakened and still only two.
The plan was perfect… however.
The only problem with the entire plan was that they overestimated the capabilities of two magical tools, the [Glacinata Bear Coat] and the [Transmission Glove]. The first could increase cold aptitude by up to two ranks, and the second allowed that aptitude to be shared through direct or indirect contact.
Using a single rope that connected everyone, the [Transmission Glove] granted Rank E aptitude to the Alters through indirect contact, allowing them to at least survive in the glacial zone. However, the lack of coats still left them growing increasingly sick. The real problem, though, came when the [Transmission Glove] began to show signs of failure due to overload.
This quickly resulted in the weakening and death of the Alters, who collapsed to the ground one after another with dull thuds, forcing a detour for an emergency stop at an old, abandoned cabin where they were left behind while the person in charge informed the group of the incident and worked on a solution.
Now he had to inform the group of the current status of the merchandise through a smoke signal and lead them to reunite with the others before continuing to the final destination, where they would be sold at a high price.
"Let's do this…" Gathering all the courage he had, he opened the door…
However...
He saw only a blur streaking across the room at incredible speed, crashing into the window and shattering it into countless pieces. Fragments scattered through the freezing air outside and fell onto the snow, allowing a demonic cold to rush into the cabin with a furious howl. A heavy thud reached the slaver's ears as something hit the ground outside, while the wind slammed into him and pulled his hood back.
"Someone went through the window…" he thought instinctively, failing to keep up with the sudden shift. Then he shouted:
"Someone escaped!" His eyes widened, and he immediately rushed into the cabin with heavy steps, already drawing the sword at his waist. His eyes quickly scanned the room, noticing a young Alter in front of the fireplace and another leaning against the opposite window, but he ignored all of it in his tension.
Almost instantly, he reached the center of the cabin and faced the broken window. He nearly jumped through it without a second thought to chase the escaping Alter, but then he noticed there were no footprints, nor was anyone there.
There was only a bone axe embedded in the snow-covered ground.
"What? What's going on—" Suddenly, the words rising to his throat were cut off as he began to choke. Two thin arms, yet with herculean strength, wrapped around and squeezed his neck, while two legs locked around his torso, preventing any movement of his arms.
"What… who?" Unable to process the situation, he began to struggle wildly, thrashing his body from side to side while his feet stumbled desperately across the cabin, teeth clenched.
Even so, the grip only tightened as his face began to change color.
"AHH!!! ARGH!!!" In a desperate move, he threw his head backward, striking the young Alter's face and nose with brutal force. Blood spurted in two streams, tracing down the youth's face as his consciousness wavered and his vision blurred. The grip weakened as the attacker's mind failed to keep up with the life-or-death struggle.
Sensing this, the man struggled even more fiercely, slamming his back against furniture and walls, crushing the attacker against everything he could find. Clay pots shattered in large numbers, their fragments scraping against the young one's skin, creating numerous painful cuts.
The young Alter, however, quickly recovered, refusing to pass out. With an instinctive growl, he opened his mouth as wide as he could and bit into the man's neck like a beast. The man screamed so loudly it seemed the entire mountain could hear, and then a chunk of flesh was torn away, forcing another piercing scream.
Even so, the slaver recovered and prepared a counterattack. But without giving him a chance, the youth bit again and tore off his ear.
The scream that followed came from the depths of a suffering soul.
The sheer pain placed the slaver's mind under tremendous pressure.
The grip tightened once more, and pulling backward, the youth slammed the man to the ground. The impact knocked all the air from the youth's lungs as he was crushed against the floor. At the same time, the slaver could no longer struggle as fiercely.
Less and less he resisted as the youth tightened his hold around his neck, leaving him barely able to fight back. His face quickly changed color, from bright red to a sickly blue. Even his small struggles became slow and weak, soon fading entirely as his face turned a deep purple and tears gathered and ran down his cheeks… Then the movement stopped.
He was dead.
The young one kept squeezing for a few more minutes anyway, just to make sure he was truly dead.
Then, after some time, he finally sighed, releasing the body and pushing it aside weakly. He stared at the ceiling while recovering his breath. His body ached, ached terribly.
The taste of blood filled every corner of his mouth.
His lungs rose and fell as his heart pounded against his sternum like a battering ram. He didn't know what he should feel. His face was covered in his own blood and his enemy's.
He had killed a person without any mercy.
This was supposed to be a game, but the realism was overwhelming.
He tried to swallow dry, but only something wet with a metallic taste slid down his throat. Finally, he slowly sat up, reassessing his situation.
"The enemy group will come soon if they realize there is no smoke signal... I need to deal with that as soon as possible..." He then looked at the enemy's clothes. "Well... At least, I managed to get some warm clothes without damaging them... But, damn. Killing a man to steal his clothes… how wrong is that?" He sighed, standing up and moving to carry out the reason for that killing.