He narrowly avoided the ice spear aimed at his skull, dropping into a roll so fast his shoulder scraped against the frozen earth. The spear hissed past him with a shrill whistle, burying itself into the ground where his head had been a heartbeat ago. But the danger didn't end with the missed strike. The frost that followed was far worse—unnatural, malicious, and wrong in a way that made his instincts scream.
This was no simple elemental spell.
The ice crawled out from the spear's core like living veins of winter, reaching toward him with cold tendrils that pulsed faintly, almost as if breathing. It did not spread outward in a natural pattern, nor did it seek to blanket its surroundings. Instead, every tendril curved and twisted toward him alone—hungry, eager, aware.
Sabre's pulse quickened. The frost slithered with unsettling intelligence, its cold presence tugging at the warmth of his body as though sensing the life it wanted to devour. He scrambled backward, dragging himself through the dirt, refusing to let even a fingertip touch the cursed ice.
The air itself grew thin. His breath fogged instantly, drifting upward in sluggish ribbons. Even the wind around him seemed frightened to move.
He forced his legs to obey, pushing himself upright, but the creeping ice closed the distance faster than he anticipated. He pivoted sharply, intending to sprint away—but his foot caught on a jutting root. His balance shattered. Sabre fell forward, bracing for the hard impact of earth.
Instead, he crashed into something soft and warm—and immediately wished he hadn't.
He hit the ground at the feet of the princess.
A beat of tense silence followed.
He looked up.
Her eyes glistened with a dangerous mix of amusement and irritation, the type of expression that promised nothing good for him. Her silver hair cascaded behind her like a flowing banner, shimmering with the same cold brilliance as the magic she wielded. And yet her beauty was overshadowed by the sheer dominance that radiated from her presence—effortless, regal, terrifying.
Before Sabre could move, speak, or even swallow, her hand flashed.
The slap landed with a thunderous crack.
A white starburst exploded behind his eyes. His body lifted off the ground from the sheer force of the strike, pain tearing through his jaw as he flew several meters backward. He crashed through a bush and tumbled across the forest floor, groaning as the world spun around him.
Her strength… it didn't match her appearance. Not at all.
That single strike carried the weight of something inhuman, something monstrous. It felt less like a slap and more like the force of a battering ram condensed into a delicate palm.
He finally skidded to a stop, coughing as he pushed himself upright. His cheek burned fiercely, and the metallic taste of blood coated his tongue.
From across the clearing, he heard soft, mocking laughter.
"So fragile," the princess said, her voice floating toward him like icicles carried by a breeze. "You can't even withstand a single hit. How disappointing."
Her tone wasn't angry. That somehow made it worse. She spoke to him the way one might speak to a broken tool—a mix of annoyance and lazy amusement.
Sabre clenched his fists, but he kept his expression neutral. He refused to let her words sink into him. She was stronger—far stronger than him. That was undeniable. Pride was useless here. Emotional responses were useless. All that mattered was surviving this encounter.
He forced himself to breathe steadily, ignoring the throbbing pain in his jaw.
Stay calm. Focus. Find an opening.
He knew he couldn't win in a direct fight. Her magical affinity alone overshadowed his by a terrifying margin, and her physical strength erased any hope of close combat.
He needed an escape. Nothing more.
Without making sudden movements, he shifted his weight and allowed his eyes to scan the surrounding forest. Tall pines wrapped the clearing like towering pillars, their shadows long and dark. Loose branches littered the ground. The terrain dipped slightly near the eastern edge—a possible route of retreat. He studied everything, committing each detail to memory.
The princess watched him with a slight tilt of her head, as if already bored of the entire encounter.
Sabre inhaled softly.
Time to act.
He sprang forward—not at her, but toward the nearest tree. He channeled every ounce of strength into his arms and dug his fingers into the trunk's base. With a guttural exertion, he ripped the tree from the ground, roots snapping in violent bursts of dirt.
He swung the uprooted tree sideways with desperate speed, heaving it into the space between him and the princess. The massive trunk crashed down with a heavy boom, sending leaves and dust flying into the air.
It wasn't meant to hurt her. It wouldn't.
It was meant to block her—if only for a heartbeat.
He turned sharply, his boots kicking up debris as he sprinted toward the eastern edge of the forest.
But as he dashed between the trees, a chilling realization struck him.
The forest wasn't empty.
From the shadows emerged figures—one by one—armored silhouettes stepping out with a quiet, predatory grace. Their armor carried the crest of the princess's kingdom: a snowflake carved into a silver shield.
The knights.
Their presence thickened the air with tension. Their eyes, cold and emotionless behind their visors, fixed directly on him. Each knight carried a blade or spear, and the faint shimmer of frost clung to their weapons, suggesting their bond with the princess's magic.
Sabre's lungs tightened.
This wasn't a coincidence. They hadn't simply wandered here.
They were stationed here.
Waiting.
Prepared.
And as they approached, he noticed something even more disturbing: one of the knights held a scroll in his hand—unfurled, illuminated by the faint blue glow of enchanted ink.
Sabre caught a glimpse of the writing.
His name.
His description.
His abilities.
And beneath that, a single line written in sharp, decisive script:
Capture on sight. Lethal force permitted.
A chill—not from frost, but from pure dread—ran through him.
The princess stepped lightly over the fallen tree as though it weighed nothing more than a feather. Her smug smile widened.
"Did you really think you were just passing through my forest by chance?" she asked, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "You're not dealing with an amateur, Sabre. I knew you would come this way."
He swallowed, his mouth dry. The knights formed a semicircle around him, tightening the noose.
Every escape route he'd considered—a dozen possibilities—now collapsed one after another. The forest itself suddenly felt smaller, the trees bending inward, the shadows squeezing around him.
Sabre forced himself not to panic.
Panic made people slow. Panic made people predictable.
He straightened, though his heart pounded so violently he could hear the blood rushing in his ears.
The princess approached, her steps graceful and unhurried. She enjoyed this—his cornered state, his helplessness. She relished the idea of crushing him not quickly, but slowly, savoring his desperation.
"You're surprisingly calm," she said, stopping a few feet away. "Most people beg at this point. Or cry. Or try some pathetic last attack."
Sabre exhaled, steadying himself. "Begging won't change anything," he said quietly.
Her eyes twinkled with amusement. "True. But watching someone break is rather… satisfying."
She raised her hand slightly, and the living frost responded instantly, gathering behind her like a silent army.
The knights tensed, ready to strike the moment she commanded.
Sabre's mind raced. Think. Think now. He couldn't overpower them. He couldn't outrun them. And he had only moments before the frost closed in on him again.
He scanned the forest one more time—every shadow, every slope, every insignificant detail—and finally, finally something clicked.
There. A way.
Risky. Insane. Nearly suicidal.
But it was a chance.
He shifted his stance, preparing for what came next.
The princess noticed. Her brow arched slightly.
"Oh? You still have some fight left?" She smiled. "Good. Make this interesting."
The frost behind her pulsed like a heartbeat.
The knights raised their weapons.
Sabre inhaled deeply.
This was it.
He had only one chance.