Days bled together under the relentless Borealis skies, each one drawing Leon closer to a transformation he had scarcely imagined possible.
Khazarg had started to show a begrudging respect for Leon’s determination, going as far as allowing him to drop the honorific “Old” and simply address him as Khazarg. The Gnoll Berserker even began to share his food with him, a rare sign of acceptance despite Leon being human.
Leon thought Khazarg just felt lonely.
One afternoon, as they sat by the fire after a particularly gruelling training session, Leon decided to ask the question that had been lingering in his mind. “What does your name mean in Gnollish, Khazarg?”
Khazarg’s expression shifted, a shadow of something primal crossing his features. He growled something in Gnollish, the guttural sounds rolling off his tongue like thunder. Leon couldn’t decipher the meaning, but the way Khazarg pronounced it sent chills down his spine.
“It means White Bear,” he continued in Common Tongue, his tone a mixture of pride and somber reflection. “At my birth, I was already enormous and white like the snow. They say bears are the strongest creatures of the Tundra, though I can say that they are not but my parents thought so, and so I was named.”
Leon nodded, absorbing the weight of the name and the strength it implied. He had improved significantly during his time with Khazarg; he had risen in levels and had gained a new class—[Berserker Level 10].
“The first ten levels are the easiest,” Khazarg had told him during one of their sessions, his voice gruff yet encouraging. “After that, it’s a struggle. You’ll have to push your body and mind further than you ever thought possible.” Leon had listened closely, knowing the path ahead wouldn’t be simple.
Curiosity had gnawed at him, and he had found himself asking, “What about you, Khazarg? What level are you?”
Khazarg had paused, his expression unreadable. “I am level 48,” he had replied, the weight of the number heavy in the air.
Leon’s eyes had widened. “Forty-eight? That’s—And what’s your class?”
The Berserker’s gaze had shifted at that, his demeanor suddenly more guarded, and he had stared at Leon, head tilted, unblinking. “Classes are personal, Leon. They reflect who you are and the trials you’ve faced.”
Leon had nodded, tense, understanding the implications. “I get it. You don’t have to share if you don’t want to.”
After a moment of silence, Khazarg had replied, relaxing, “But if you must know, I am a [Berserker of the Howling Wind].”
“Berserker of the Howling Wind,” Leon had repeated, letting the term roll off his tongue. It sounded fitting for the imposing figure before him. “Hence the Howling Berserker thing. That suits you.”
Khazarg had grunted, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. “Just remember, a class does not make you strong. It is the journey that shapes you. Train hard, and perhaps one day, you will earn a class like my own.”
The Berserker’s words had lingered in Leon's mind. With each passing day, he felt himself transforming, not just in skill but in understanding what it truly meant to be in control—strong.
Thanks to Khazarg’s strange weapons, he had unlocked a new Skill: [Bladed Hands]. Leon had learned that it was a basic ability, sometimes used by [Battlefield Healers] to cut limbs. It conjured ethereal, almost invisible blades that wrapped around his hands like a second skin, as if forged from the air itself.
After gaining it, Leon had put the blades Khazarg had given him in his belt pouch, preferring instead to harness the raw power of his hands.
One day, Khazarg was absent, and Leon took the opportunity to step outside, breathing in the crisp, icy air, when a rustle in the snow caught his attention, and he turned around.
Only to find himself face-to face with a massive Frostback Bear.
Its massive form loomed before him, fur white as snow, blending seamlessly with the tundra around them. The bear's back was adorned with jagged ice spikes, glistening menacingly in the daylight—natural weapons that could be launched like projectiles.
Leon felt his heart race, adrenaline and fear surging through him. He was shirtless, a remnant of his training sessions, but he drew upon the familiar warmth of his rage. “[Anger, My Warmth],” he muttered, feeling the heat building within him, a stark contrast to the chill of the surrounding air.
The Frostback Bear roared, an ear-splitting bellow that sent tremors through Leon's chest. And before he could react, it launched a volley of frozen shards. They whistled through the air with deadly accuracy.
Leon barely had time to think. Instinct kicked in. He ducked and rolled to the side, the ice spikes embedding themselves into the ground with a thudding crack where he had stood just moments before. His breath came out in ragged bursts, visible against the cold air. He pushed himself back to his feet, his muscles aching from the sudden movement.
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The bear wasn’t waiting. It charged, its enormous paws thundering across the snow, each step sending a small quake through the frozen ground. Leon met its charge head-on, fueled by his rage, his [Bladed Hands] shimmering faintly in the pale light. He could feel the heat of his anger burning in his veins, but Khazarg’s words echoed in his mind. Control it. Don’t let it control you.
He sidestepped as the bear swiped one massive paw at him, the force of the blow creating a gust of wind that rattled his bones. Leon slashed back with precision, his blades cutting shallow but painful wounds along the beast’s flank. The bear roared again, spinning with surprising speed, lashing out with its other paw. Leon felt the rush of air before the impact.
He managed to twist away just in time, but the bear’s claws grazed his shoulder, tearing through his clothing and biting into his flesh. The sharp pain was immediate, but he couldn’t focus on it. He had no time to dwell on the injury; the bear was relentless.
It growled low and dangerous, the spikes on its back shifting as another wave of icy projectiles formed. Leon didn’t wait. He charged, closing the distance between them before the bear could release another deadly barrage. The beast swung one paw at him in a wide arc, and Leon slid under it, feeling the rush of cold air as the claws barely missed his head.
Leon slashed at the bear’s belly, his [Bladed Hands] cutting deep. Blood sprayed from the wound, staining the snow beneath them, but the bear barely flinched. Instead, it reared back and let out a thunderous roar, summoning its fury. Icy winds swirled around it, and the ground beneath Leon’s feet became slick with frost.
He staggered back, nearly losing his footing, as the bear lunged again, faster than he expected for a creature of its size. Leon barely managed to parry its glancing swipe, crossing his arms defensively and letting the force of the blow send him skidding backwards. His breath came in sharp, cold gasps as he quickly recalculated his approach. He was losing.
The bear wasn’t tiring. If anything, the cold seemed to fuel it, its eyes glowing with an unnatural blue light as it summoned more ice spikes, each one forming with a crackling sound.
Leon needed to think. Think!
The bear hurled another volley of frozen shards at him, forcing him to dive to the side. His body ached with every movement, but his mind raced. He couldn’t overpower it—not yet. He had to weaken it, chip away at its strength until it had no choice but to slow down. Only then could he finish the job.
With renewed focus, Leon shifted his stance. He controlled his breathing, centering his rage. It was no longer a blazing inferno, but something colder, sharper, like a frozen blade. His movements became more calculated, more precise.
The bear charged again, its paws thundering against the snow. Leon dashed to the side, his feet gliding over the icy terrain as he slashed at the bear’s legs. The beast howled in pain but didn’t stop. It whirled, sending another paw crashing toward Leon.
This time, Leon didn’t dodge fully. He rolled with the blow, letting the bear’s momentum carry him backwards. The impact was brutal, knocking the wind out of him, but he quickly recovered, using the moment to strike again, cutting deep into the bear’s side.
The Frostback Bear staggered, blood pouring from its wounds now, staining the snow a deep crimson. But it was far from finished. With a snarl, it lowered its head and charged, using its full weight to try and crush Leon beneath its bulk.
Leon darted to the side, avoiding the brunt of the charge, but the bear was quicker than before. Its massive paw caught him across the chest, sending him sprawling into the snow. Pain shot through his ribs, and for a moment, the world spun. His vision blurred, and all he could hear was the rapid thudding of his heart.
Leon had to get up. He couldn’t stop. Not now.
He struggled to his feet, clutching his side. The bear loomed over him, its breath misting in the cold air. Blood dripped from its wounds, but its icy eyes remained focused, filled with primal fury. It let out another roar, more spikes forming along its back.
But this time, Leon was ready.
His rage, cold and controlled, surged through him, numbing the pain. He charged, not away from the bear’s spikes, but toward them. He moved fast, ducking beneath the volley as they shot toward him, feeling the cold burn as one scraped his arm. But it didn’t matter. He was too close now.
With a feral shout, Leon drove his [Bladed Hands] into the bear’s side, burying them deep into its thick hide. The bear howled, thrashing wildly as blood poured from the wound, soaking the snow beneath them. Leon twisted his blades and slashed again, cutting deeper, aiming for the vital organs.
The Frostback Bear staggered, its movements slowing as its strength drained away. It swung a final, desperate blow at Leon, but he was faster. He ducked under the swipe and slashed the bear’s throat in one swift motion.
The bear let out a final, gurgling roar, its massive form shuddering as it collapsed onto the blood-soaked snow, dead.
Leon stood over the fallen beast, blood dripping from his hands as he stared down at the Frostback Bear’s lifeless body, head tilted, and for a moment, all was silent. Then, drenched in sweat and blood, Leon dropped to his knees, exhaustion washing over him, chest heaving.
Suddenly, from the shadows, a low chuckle broke the quiet. “Not bad,” came Khazarg’s voice, savagely grinning as he approached. “Not bad at all, human.”
Leon scowled, suspicion creeping into his mind. “You were gone the whole time! I could have—”
“Died? Perhaps,” Khazarg interrupted, his voice low. “But you didn’t.” He knelt beside him, poking at his chest with one long claw, drawing blood. “Did you?”
Leon took a deep breath, forcing his anger down. “No, White Bear. I didn’t.”
“Indeed.” Khazarg reached into his satchel and pulled out a small vial filled with shimmering red liquid. “Here,” he said, tossing it to Leon. “Drink this. It’s a Health Potion—works wonders on flesh wounds.”
Turning his head, Khazazrg inspected the bear with a mix of respect and hunger. “You’ve come far. This fight shows it. Come, let’s gather the meat.”
[Berserker Level 11!]
From that day forward, Khazarg began taking Leon with him on hunting trips. And it was during one of those trips, that they stumbled upon a group of Gnolls.
A group of Gnolls not from the Er’Dovaz—from another tribe.