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“Hah! Hah! Hah…!” Heavy breathing echoed across the icy plains.
Ping’an’s eyes were sharp as blades. Beads of sweat had barely formed on his skin before freezing solid, but he didn’t care. He only grew fiercer with every blow.
With a sharp arc of his sword, he lunged once more at Naran, who stood across from him like a blood-drenched war god, wielding a massive golden axe.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Blow after blow landed like a rapid-fire war drum.
But then the sound stopped abruptly.
Ping’an had been knocked flying again.
Naran looked at his tireless, tenacious older brother with a mixture of irritation and helplessness.
If not for the fact that he had grown up starved of family love, and so harbored a deep, instinctive fondness for any relative, even those he'd never met…Ping’an would’ve been killed by now. Dozens of times over.
Even so, Naran was thoroughly exasperated. Since leaving the encampment, he’d already been challenged 18 times. The longest Ping’an had lasted in any of their bouts was two breaths. And that was with him holding back.
“That’s enough for today.” Naran said, his voice low and gruff. He patted the direwolf at his side and said, “Finn, let’s go.”
The...
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