One breath. A pile of needles pierced her chest.

  For the past month, Mira had enjoyed a comfortable, soft bed. For the past month, Mira no longer had to worry about the cold of winter behind thick walls. But now, her world had turned 180 degrees.

  Mira lay flat behind a mound of hardened snow. Her body was wrapped in a white wolf fur cloak—a natural camouflage that made her almost invisible in the white expanse. Her breath came out in thin wisps that immediately froze into ice crystals at the tips of her eyelashes.

  The cold here was not just the temperature; it was teeth gnawing at her bones. Minus twenty degrees. But Mira didn't move. She even slowed her heartbeat, a meditation technique taught by Kars to conserve oxygen and energy.

  Beside her, half-buried in the snow, Torin—the local Biakind general—gave a hand signal. Three fingers raised. Three kilometers.

  The ground beneath Mira's feet began to tremble slightly. It wasn't an earthquake. It was the sound of footsteps. Thousands of iron-shod feet pounding the frozen ground.

  From behind the fog at the end of the valley, the ranks appeared. Purple and black banners fluttered stiffly in the north wind. The symbol of the Iron Rooster. The State Morpoll army.

  They were not the palace's elite troops, but their numbers were terrifying. Three thousand heavy infantry and five hundred armored cavalry. They moved slowly, marching in tight formation on the narrow path that cut through the giant pine forest.

  “They're stupid,” Torin whispered, his voice barely audible above the howling wind. “Bringing full plate armor to this region is like wearing an iron coffin.”

  Mira nodded slowly. State Morpoll was famous for its iron mines. Their army relied on absolute defense. But on a battlefield where the snow could reach an adult's waist, weight was the enemy.

  “Let the Vanguard pass,” Mira commanded with a finger gesture.

  She watched the front line of the Morpoll army pass beneath the cliff where they were hiding. Their warhorses snorted, steam rising from the nostrils of the poor animals. The wheels of the supply carts creaked, breaking the ice on the road.

  Commander Morpoll, a fat man on a black horse, was seen yelling at his troops to move faster. He didn't look up. He didn't look at the trees. Arrogance. They thought this was just a routine march to the Arlen assembly point. They thought the rebels were busy hiding in rat holes in the south.

  Mira waited. She waited until the center of the troops—the part carrying the magic artillery and logistics—was right in the killing zone.

  The zone was a sharp bend where the Taiga forest ended and the Tundra ravine began. The road there was narrow, flanked by snow cliffs on one side and dense forest on the other.

  Mira raised her hand. The binary Star Intian in her chest pulsed once, screaming as if it wanted to be released with force. However, she did not use explosive magic. She used a much simpler spell.

  She aimed at a large chunk of snow hanging precariously over the cliff across the road. “Push,” Mira whispered.

  A small gravitational push. Invisible. Energy efficient. But the effect was catastrophic.

  The chunk of snow broke off. Its fall triggered a chain reaction. The piles of snow along the cliff—already heavy from last night's storm—collapsed instantly. Thousands of tons of white snow slid down with a roaring sound like a dragon's roar.

  “LANDSLIDE!” shouted one of the Morpoll soldiers.

  Too late. The white wave hit the center of the Morpoll army. There was no fire. No blood spattered. Only a white void that swallowed hundreds of soldiers, supply carts, and cannons in the blink of an eye.

  The road was cut off. The Morpoll army was split in two. The front guard was separated from the rear line.

  “NOW!” shouted Mira, rising from her hiding place.

  From behind the trees of the Taiga forest, a hundred Biakind militiamen appeared. They did not wear iron armor. They wore light leather and skis on their feet. They slid down at high speed, passing between the trees.

  Arrows flew. These were no ordinary arrows. Their tips were coated with fuel oil. The arrows were not aimed at the Morpoll soldiers in armor (that would have been pointless). The arrows were aimed at the ground.

  The ground around the path had been doused with crude oil by Torin's men the night before, then covered with a thin layer of snow. When the fire arrows hit it, the snow exploded in a blaze. The line of fire stretched out, separating the panicked Morpoll troops. Their horses whinnied wildly, throwing their riders onto the frozen ground.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Total chaos.

  Mira slid down the snow mound, her wooden sled cutting through the wind. She formed a slender, long sword using hard light, then drew her sword, which now shone brighter than the expanse of snow. She landed right in the middle of a crowd of Morpoll soldiers who were trying to get up from the snow.

  A soldier with a large axe charged at her. The soldier's movements were slow. His feet were buried in snow. His armor was heavy. Mira, on the other hand, moved like a ghost. She ducked, letting the axe pass over her head, then thrust her sword into the gap between the soldier's armor—one of his weak points.

  The soldier collapsed. Mira didn't stop. She spun around, slashing the knee tendons of another soldier behind him. Efficiency. She didn't have the strength to fight brute force. She killed with anatomical precision.

  “Formation! Form a shield formation!” shouted Commander Morpoll, isolated at the front.

  The soldiers tried to close ranks, raising their iron shields. An iron wall formed. The Biakind militia's arrows bounced uselessly off it. They began to advance, a slow but unstoppable killing machine.

  Mira saw it. If they managed to form a phalanx, the lightly armed Biakind militia would be slaughtered.

  “Torin! Right flank!” Mira commanded.

  Torin and his squad threw smoke bombs—not ordinary smoke, but finely ground dried chili powder and pepper. A dirty tactic of the mountain people. A red cloud enveloped the shield formation. Coughs and screams of pain could be heard from behind the iron helmets. The formation wavered, but did not break.

  Mira knew she had to destroy his command center. She saw Commander Morpoll. The man was no ordinary soldier. A yellow Intian aura emanated from his body—a mid-level Earth element user. He used his magic to harden the snow around his troops, creating stable footing.

  Mira ran towards the Commander. Two elite guards blocked her with spears. Mira couldn't break through them with a normal sword.

  One minute. Mira closed her eyes for a moment as she ran. She activated her Imagination magic. Time ticked backwards in her head. 60... 59...

  “Reality is a canvas,” Mira whispered.

  In the eyes of the Morpoll soldiers, Mira was suddenly not alone. To the left and right of the girl, two shadowy figures appeared. Two giant polar bears made of transparent glass. Their eyes glowed purple.

  This was not a necromancer's spirit summoning. It was a Mental Construction condensed into reality.

  The two glass bears charged at the spear guards. Iron spears struck the bears' bodies. The bears cracked, but did not stop. Their glass claws knocked the guards aside like rag dolls.

  Commander Morpoll's eyes widened. “Witch!” He stamped his foot on the ground. “Earth Style: Earth Spike!”

  Sharp stone spikes shot out of the frozen ground, aiming at Mira. Mira didn't dodge. She jumped onto the newly emerged stone spikes, using them as a ladder. Her imagination was still active. 30 seconds remaining.

  She imagined her sword lengthening. The blade suddenly stretched into a five-meter-long whip of light. Mira swung it.

  The whip of light cut the Commander's horse's legs. The horse fell. Commander Morpoll tumbled in the snow.

  Mira landed in front of him. Her imagination was exhausted. The glass bear shattered into snow dust. Her sword returned to normal. Her breath was ragged. Cold sweat ran down her back. Using Imagination magic always drained her mentally.

  Commander Morpoll tried to get up, groping for his fallen sword. But the tip of Mira's sword was already pressed against his neck. In the gap between his helmet and chest protector.

  “Move even slightly,” Mira hissed, her breath steaming on the Commander's face, “and your blood will become an ice lollipop.”

  Silence fell upon the battlefield. Seeing their leader defeated and half their army buried in an avalanche, the Morpoll army's fighting spirit collapsed. They dropped their weapons. The sound of metal hitting the snow was dull.

  “Who are you?” asked the Morpoll commander, his eyes filled with fear. “You're not mountain militia. That magic...”

  Mira opened her wolf fur hood. Her brown hair, contrasting with the snow, fluttered. Her amber eyes stared sharply.

  “Give my regards to your Governor,” Mira said coldly. “Tell him that the road to Fasheart is closed.”

  Mira pressed her sword slightly, scratching the man's neck. “And tell him... if he sends another battalion, I won't bury them in the snow. I'll let them freeze to death until spring comes.”

  ***

  One Hour Later.

  The battle was over. It wasn't a major victory that changed the war map. It was just a skirmish. But its impact was vital. The remaining Morpoll troops were ordered to retreat, disarmed, and sent home on foot without armor. It was an humiliation that would make them think twice about returning.

  Mira sat atop a crate of captured ammunition. Around her, Biakind militiamen were looting the remains of the battle—taking food, blankets, and boots from the enemy.

  Torin approached, his rough face adorned with a satisfied grin. “Three thousand men were driven back by a hundred men and a pile of snow. This will be the song in the taverns for the next ten years.”

  Mira did not smile. She stared at the corpses of the Morpoll soldiers, which were beginning to stiffen and turn blue. Some of them were still young. Perhaps they had been forcibly recruited from mining villages.

  “This is only the first day, Torin,” Mira muttered. “And this is only the State army. We haven't faced Arlen's Main Legion yet.”

  Torin spat to the side. “Let them come. This land doesn't favor anyone, Miss. It only favors those who respect it.”

  Suddenly, a scout ran up. He was breathing heavily. “Miss Mira! A message from the air observation post!”

  Mira stood up, her fatigue instantly replaced by alertness. “Jax?”

  “No. It's a message from Ulric's owl,” the scout said, handing her a small scroll.

  Mira opened it. Ulric's writing was messy, written in haste.

  The Eastern route has been breached. The Forest Army failed to hold back the infiltration unit. They are no ordinary soldiers. They leave no footprints. Be careful. There are ‘Hunters’ in the forest.

  Mira crumpled the paper. Monsters? Or Shadow Soldiers?

  “Torin,” Mira called firmly. “Gather your men. We're moving now.”

  “Where to? We just won.”

  “We're not celebrating victory, General. We're preventing a massacre,” Mira put her hood back on, covering her face once more in white shadow.

  She stared eastward, toward the darker, denser part of the Taiga forest. Her instincts screamed. Something was there. Something more dangerous than three thousand armored soldiers.

  “Prepare my Glider,” Mira ordered one of the technicians Jax had brought along. “I need to see it from above.”

  Mira walked toward the cliff as the northern wind blew stronger, carrying the scent of ozone and the approaching danger. Guerrilla tactics worked against humans. But against a monster... Mira knew she needed more than just snow and gravity.

  She needed to become the monster itself.