The fourth morning bell hadn't yet rung when I opened my eyes. Yesterday's discovery in the resonance text had kept me awake far into the night, mind racing with possibilities. Now, with the estate still sleeping around me, it was time to properly test what I'd found.

My muscles protested as I sat up - two days of intense physical training had left their mark. Perfect. The text had been specific about the ideal state being between exhaustion and alertness. I moved through a brief series of stretches, just enough to wake my body without dispersing the lingering fatigue.

Rather than head to the training halls, I settled into a meditation pose on my bed. The position was important - specific channels needed to align properly. In my past life, I'd studied similar theoretical frameworks without ever being able to implement them. Now, with both power and knowledge...

The breathing pattern was precise. Each inhale had to draw in natural ice energy, each exhale had to guide it through specific pathways. The founder's disciple had hidden the true method behind seemingly basic instructions, but decades of study let me see the deeper purpose.

Breathe in. Hold. Channel. Release.

Again.

The pre-dawn sounds of the estate grew distant. Even the eternal cold of House Eiskar seemed to fade.

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White.

Endless white in all directions. Not snow, not quite ice, but something between. The air held absolute stillness, pregnant with potential. The first wolf emerged, crystalline form catching sourceless light.

My ice dagger materialized as I shifted into a low guard position, weight balanced on the balls of my feet. The wolf lunged - predictable attack pattern. I pivoted left, blade angled upward to catch the junction between skull and spine. Clean kill. The construct shattered into powder.

Two more formed, flanking positions. Basic pack tactics. I kept my center low, dagger in a reverse grip. The right wolf charged first - I stepped inside its lunge, blade finding the eye socket while my left hand caught its jaw, using its momentum to crash into its partner. Both shattered.

Four wolves now, coordinated approach. They circled, looking for openings. I maintained my stance, dagger held at middle guard. First attack came from behind - I dropped and spun, blade taking out its front legs while rolling clear of the others' attacks. Back to feet, two quick strikes: throat and spine. The remaining two died in a combination of blade work and precise joint breaks.

Eight wolves materialized from the white void. They moved with more coordination now, trying to herd me into a kill zone. I kept mobile, using short steps to maintain balance. The first pair attacked head-on while others tried to circle - basic flanking maneuver.

I met the charge with precise footwork. Step inside the first wolf's lunge, dagger finding the sweet spot under its jaw while my shoulder checked it into its partner. Pivot right, blade reversed. Two quick strikes severed spine and throat. Don't stop moving. The remaining wolves pressed in.

Short shuffle step back, draw them in. One lunged for my legs - I vaulted over it, dagger plunging down through its skull mid-leap. Land and roll, coming up inside another's guard. Grab its crystalline jaw, wrench hard while the blade found its heart. Three left. They attacked together.

Sixteen emerged from the void. No time to count now - just move, strike, kill. They came in coordinated waves. I kept my footwork tight, never crossing my feet. A wolf lunged for my throat - side step, blade catching its eye while my elbow shattered another's jaw. Keep moving.

Three attacked from different angles. I dropped low, sweeping one's legs while the dagger found another's heart. Roll right, come up striking. The third wolf's head exploded under a precision strike to the temple. More replaced them immediately.

Thirty-two filled my vision now. The dagger became a blur of motion - throat, eye, spine, heart. Each strike had to kill. No wasted movement. A wolf's fangs snapped at my arm - I used its momentum to throw it into two others, all three shattering on impact. Keep moving. Keep killing.

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They pressed closer, forcing me to tighten my defense. The dagger found killing points with mechanical precision. Duck under a lunge, blade rising to split a skull. Pivot, strike, two more dead. My off-hand grabbed crystalline fur, using their own weight as weapons against each other.

Sixty-four. They came in waves now, coordinated assault patterns. I adapted, using their numbers against them. Let them tangle with each other. The dagger never stopped moving - eye socket, throat, heart, spine. Basic targets, repeated with lethal efficiency. A wolf's head shattered under my boot while the blade claimed two more.

One twenty-eight. The white expanse filled with crystalline death. No room for complex techniques now. Pure efficiency. Strike, move, strike again. The dagger broke against a skull - I formed another instantly, never breaking rhythm. Three wolves died in a single combination of strikes. Still they came.

Two fifty-six. An ocean of ice and fangs. Every movement had to count. Every strike had to kill. The dagger found lethal points faster than thought - heart, throat, eye, spine. Repeat. Perfect each motion. No energy wasted. A wolf's spine snapped under my elbow while the blade claimed two more.

Five twelve. They filled every direction now. The ground disappeared beneath shattered ice. Keep moving. Keep killing. The dagger became pure motion, finding vulnerable points before wolves fully formed. Roll under snapping jaws. Come up striking. Three more die. Don't slow down. Don't stop.

A thousand twenty-four. The world became ice and motion and death. Theory crystallized into lethal practice. The dagger moved without conscious thought, finding killing points through pure instinct. Wolves died by the dozens but more replaced them instantly. Every breath measured, every strike perfect.

Two thousand forty-eight. No space to think now. Only move. Only kill. The dagger found hearts and throats and eyes faster than conscious thought. Perfect economy of motion. No energy wasted. Wolves shattered against each other as I used their own momentum as weapons. Still they came.

Four thousand ninety-six. The horizon vanished behind walls of moving ice. No room for error. The dagger became everywhere it needed to be, nowhere it didn't. Each strike had to kill. Each step had to be perfect. Theory refined by endless repetition into pure combat flow.

Eight thousand one hundred ninety-two... The white void filled with crystalline death. Move. Strike. Kill. Again and again and again. The dagger never stopped. Never slowed. Found lethal points faster than thought. Perfect efficiency born of desperate necessity.

Sixteen thousand three hundred eighty-four... The numbers blurred together as the wolves merge into a relentless tide. My movements became a seamless flow, no longer individual strikes but a continuous single movement that never stops.

Thirty-two thousand seven hundred sixty-eight. The world became nothing but ice wolves and killing. The dagger moved without thought, finding lethal points through pure instinct. Every direction held death. Every moment demanded perfection. Strike. Move. Kill. Again and again and again.

Sixty-five thousand five hundred thirty-six. My arms burned but the blade never slowed. Theory became pure action. No space between thought and movement. The dagger found hearts and throats and eyes in endless succession. Each kill made room for two more. Each victory brought new waves of crystalline death.

Numbers lost meaning. They filled the white void completely now. An ocean of ice and fangs and death. Move. Strike. Kill. The dagger shattered and reformed countless times. My muscles screamed but every movement remained precise. No choice. No rest. Only combat.

More.

My world narrowed to points of impact. Nothing existed but the next kill, the next dodge, the next perfect strike. The dagger became pure motion, finding lethal points before wolves fully formed. Theory refined beyond thought into pure killing efficiency.

More.

The endless white disappeared beneath layers of shattered ice. Still they came. Wave after wave after wave. The dagger moved without direction, finding vulnerable points through perfect instinct. No room for error. No space for hesitation. Just endless, perfect violence.

More.

My thoughts began to fragment. The boundaries between self and combat blurred. Was I moving through them or were they moving through me? The dagger killed and killed and killed but nothing changed. Nothing ended. Only more wolves, more death, more perfect execution of endless theory.

More.

The white void filled completely. No horizon. No ground. No sky. Only wolves and ice and death. My consciousness started to slip. The dagger moved on its own now, guided by something beyond thought. Each kill perfect but meaningless in the face of infinite opponents.

More...

The wolves began to blur together. Individual forms lost meaning. They became a single mass of crystalline death, pressing in from all sides. The dagger still moved but I couldn't feel my arms anymore. Theory and practice and reality merged into something else entirely.

Then...

They began to fade. Not dying, just... dissolving. The endless waves of wolves becoming mist, becoming snow, becoming nothing. The white void empty except for falling ice crystals. My arms dropped. The dagger disappeared.

Silence.

Perfect, absolute silence.

Then movement. A single wolf materialized directly in front of me. Larger than the others. More real somehow. All fang and talon.

No time to move. No space to dodge. Its ice-cold fangs found my throat...

Light.

Real light.

My eyes opened to white sheets and the smell of healing herbs. The infirmary. My body felt distant, heavy with more than mere fatigue. Frost coated the blankets, the walls, the ceiling above me.

"Young Master Isaac?" A healer's concerned face appeared, and I can’t make out the details. "You're awake."