“We're close." Barbacoa's husky voice growled over the whistling of the cold winds as she steadily made her way uphill, her boots crunching over the snow. Despite the discomfort of her frozen fur—tipped white from the harsh colds—her usual stern glare remained across her battle-hardened face.

“Very well." One Swing nodded back. His long hair and lengthy red scarf blew wildly around at his back, as his boots too crunched up the snowy ridge behind the woman. At his side, the one-hundred-and-sixty-four-foot violet blade dragged along the snow next to him, trailing fifty meters down the mountain.

After leaving Gran Torte, the two of them had run all the way to the base of Mount Kyuri-Cumber. One Swing was used to walking from place to place, but running wasn’t much different, he thought. In fact, running was just a type of walking where the length of one’s stride becomes longer. And with that fact in mind, One Swing deemed running more superior to walking, and resolved to use it as his main form of transportation from now on.

The purpose of their long trek to Mount Kyuri-Cumber was to resolve the A-Rank quest to clear out a fortress of bandits along its frozen ridges. The other purpose was to find out how Shashlik of a Thousand Nettles had been defeated, and what he so urgently wanted to convey to the Adventurers Guild before he passed out from his injuries. The fact that his body had been so severely burnt despite the frozen environment of Mount Kyuri-Cumber was a mystery that both One Swing and Barbacoa hoped to resolve along with the bandit extermination quest.

“Sorry,” Barbacoa said, glancing back at the swordsman following behind her. “I didn’t account for your lack of fur. You must be cold.”

One Swing shook his head, a smirk on his face.

One Swing liked the cold. The stinging winds of the frozen mountain would pierce through his armour, prickle across his skin, and seep deep into his body. Although it was deeply uncomfortable and One Swing had begun to lose feeling in his hands and feet, he found the feeling of his hardened nipples rubbing against the inside of his shirt to be quite comforting. The harsh colds had seemingly extended the length of his nipples, and served as a strong lesson in finding length amongst hardship. A lesson that One Swing took deep to heart.

From further up the ridge, a warm orange light was softly glowing, its gentle flickering barely visible beneath the harsh winds.

“That’s it.” Barbacoa gestured towards it. “Keep your sword low. It’s better if we catch them by surprise.”

One Swing nodded back and did as she asked, dragging his sword along the snow behind him. One Swing was impressed with the veteran adventurer's cautiousness. It was true that his sword would alert them if they saw it from a distance. After all, his sword was purple, and a purple sword would very easily stand out amongst the white of the snow.

Quietly approaching the orange light in the distance, the sight of the fortress they were looking for soon came into view. Thick logs buried deep into the snow made up the walls, clustered together around an alcove buried beneath a cliff. Protected by the log walls and the ceiling of the hollowed cliff, it served as a perfect shelter from the harsh elements across the mountain’s frozen ridges.

It was difficult to tell from their approach up the mountain, but the fortress must have been relatively large, seeing as it was supposed to house more than a hundred bandits within its walls.

“There doesn’t seem to be anyone on watch,” One Swing said, peering up towards the top of the walls which were now close enough to clearly make out. “That’s fortunate for us.”

“Or not,” Barbacoa replied, before lifting her snout in the air and giving a thorough sniff. “I can smell them in there. And if if I can smell them—”

Suddenly, the glow of many lanterns began to light up the tops of the walls. People had gathered atop the other side, now scanning their eyes across the snow mountain ridge beneath them.

“Damn,” the wolf-woman cursed, ducking behind a rocky formation sticking out from the snowy ridge and out of sight from the bandits atop the walls. “I didn’t think they’d detect our scent in this weather. I was careless.”

As One Swing ducked behind the formation next to her, she gave the man a nod and jerked her head towards the direction of the wooden fortress.

“Are they in range?” she asked. “Or do you need to get closer?”

One Swing took a quick peek out of their hiding place, judging the distance between them and the fortress of bandits.

The plan the two had formulated on their way up the mountain was to surprise the bandits with a swing of One Swing’s colossal blade, tearing down the fortified walls of their hideout, and paving the way for Barbacoa to rush in and clear the way.

Ducking back behind the rock, One Swing shook his head. “Not quite,” he said. “Perhaps we should return to the Capital and have a blacksmith extend my sword?”

“Right. Stay close behind me. I’ll get you in range.” Ignoring One Swing’s suggestion to travel back down the mountain, Barbacoa readied her furry fists in front of her and jumped out from behind the rock, swiftly making her way towards the fortress in the distance.

“Very well.” Following after her, One Swing gripped the handle of his sword with both hands and heaved it atop his shoulder, its one-hundred-and-sixty-four foot blade trailing fifty meters into the air.

Not a moment later, the sharp ringing of a bell echoed out from the fortress, drawing even more bandits atop the walls. Most of them wielding bows, and all of them looking directly towards the two rapidly approaching adventurers, no longer hidden.

“How did they spot us so quickly?” One Swing said as he chased after the wolf-woman now charging through the snow, his towering blade bouncing above his shoulder with every running stride. “Their lookouts must be very skilled.”

Before the two had managed to get much distance through the snow, they suddenly found themselves assailed by an onslaught of arrows. From the tops of the fortress walls in the distance, the bandits had begun to fire at them. Although most of them missed their mark, whizzing harmlessly through the cold air and pattering harmlessly into the snow around them, the occasional arrow would find its way towards its target, before being immediately swatted away with the back of a furry fist.

“It’s hard to see them in this weather,” Barbacoa growled, swatting the incoming arrows out of the air with nothing but the back of her bare fists. “Stay close behind me.”

One Swing was impressed. Barbacoa truly had the prowess of an A-Rank adventurer. To repel such a long-ranged attack with nothing but her bare hands was a true demonstration of her defensive length. If One Swing was to one day become an S-Rank adventurer, he knew he would have to master both offensive and defensive length as well.

“Don’t worry about me,” One Swing called back. “I will deflect them on my own.”

Rushing ahead of the woman, he tightened the grip on his sword and awaited the next incoming arrow.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“No. Leave it to me. Wait until we’re in range before you swing your—”

“Moon Sundering Hell Blizzard—!”

—One Swing swung his sword down in front of him.

Demonstrating his own defensive length, One Swing had decided to deflect the long-ranged attacks just as his A-Rank companion had done. However, unlike Barbacoa, One Swing lacked both the perception skills to see the incoming arrows, and the reaction time to deal with them. And so, unable to see anything through the snowy weather, One Swing decided to swing his sword just in case.

The gigantic blade arced down in front of him, the heated intensity and speed of the swing carving a trail of violet steam through the frozen air. Falling short of the fortress, the blade connected with the ground, plunging deep into the snow and into the mountainside beneath.

The entire mountain shook as the low rumble of the impact spread out across the ridge. Cracks began to form in the snow and everything directly in front of the impact began to crumble and fall into the ever-growing crevice now creeping up the mountain. As the crevice spread up towards the fortress, the entire walls of thick logs were forced down into the widening abyss. Moving through and beyond the fortress, the widening cracks spread their way through the mountain, splitting straight through the cliff at the fortress's back and forcing the entire alcove to crumble in on itself, burying the fortress in a landslide of rock and snow.

Pulling the sword from the ground, One Swing heaved his colossal blade back atop his shoulder and gripped the blade tightly once more, prepared to deflect any more incoming attacks. Of course, since the fortress was now no more, it seemed unlikely for any more arrows to be shot their way. However, One Swing noticed that the mountain had not stopped rumbling. Something was coming down the mountain towards them. Something big.

He soon realized what it was.

“Avalanche!” Barbacoa yelled, bracing herself for the impact.

From higher up the mountain, a landslide of snow was rumbling down towards them. It seemed the entire mountainside had been dislodged from the mountain itself after One Swing’s attack, and was now sliding down the ridge towards them.

“Onesie, grab my hand! I can dig the both of us out after we—!”

“Blizzard’s Frozen Mountain Cleave—!”

—One Swing swung his blade down in front of him. Again.

The violet blade tore through the rush of cascading snow, forcing it apart and splitting it into two streams that continued down the ridge on either side of the two adventurers. The sharp hiss of the heated blade carving a path of steam through the avalanche cried out across the mountain as they were buffeted by the hot air, and shrouded in the heavy ensuing mist that came from it.

Once the rumbling below their feet had stopped, and the steamy mist cleared from around them, they were able to see what had become of the fortress of bandits they were hunting. Above them, the clouds and heavy weather had been seemingly cut away by One Swing’s devastating chain of attacks, splitting open a gash in the sky that allowed the sun to shine across their path.

The fortress was no more. All that remained of the log walls, the bandits above them, and even the cliff sheltering them had been reduced to nothing but rocks and rubble scattered across the mounds of snow along the deep crevice running up the mountainside.

One Swing smirked.

“Good work,” Barbacoa said, a scowl on her face. She wasn’t angry. She just happened to have the face of one who often is.

Approaching the wreckage of where the fortress once stood, the woman brought her snout to the ground and began to sniff across the snow.

Watching her curiously for a while, One Swing eventually questioned the woman.

“What are you doing?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

“Checking for survivors,” the woman answered back.

“I’m sure any who are still alive will soon perish beneath the snow and rock if we simply leave them buried down there. Though I admire the lengths of your thoroughness, I don’t think it necessary.”

“I know,” she replied, before her wolf-like ears suddenly pricked up and she paused in her tracks, her nose still hovering above the snow. “Ah. Found one.”

Clawing into the ground, she effortlessly shovelled away armfuls of snow and rock as she began to dig a large hole in the snow.

“I need one alive,” she began, continuing further and further into the hole that was rapidly deepening beneath her. “I need to find out what happened to Ash.”

“Ash?”

“Shashlik.”

“Ah.”

That was true. Though One Swing had destroyed the fortress and all of the bandits inside, it still remained a mystery why the A-Rank adventurer, Shashlik of a Thousand Nettles, returned to the city half-dead and covered in severe burns. From what One Swing knew of the man, somebody like him wouldn’t have had much trouble dealing with a few bandits hiding along a frozen mountainside. Something unexpected must have happened.

Eventually, appearing over the edge of the hole she had made, Barbacoa clawed her way back above ground, dragging the broken and bloodied body of a bandit up with her. The rough-looking man coughed and spluttered up snow as he gulped in the air around him, before being lifted up into the air by the thick paw of a scowling wolf-woman.

“What happened to Shashlik?” she growled, holding the man up from her claws dug deep into his shoulder. “How was he bested by the likes of you lowly bandits?”

“I—I don’t know who that is…” the man groaned back, his broken body dangling limply beneath Barbacoa’s firm grasp.

“The A-Rank adventurer.” Barbacoa tightened her grasp on the man. “The one that came here several days prior.”

Wincing at the painful claws digging into his shoulder, the man spat out an immediate reply.

“Nobody came here!” the man replied through pained spluttering. “And we definitely never fought no A-Rank! Maybe a few C-Ranks at best, but that’s only down the mountain. Nobody’s ever come up to us before.”

Barbacoa scowled. Though she wasn't exactly pleased with the bandit, it was more of a puzzled scowl than anything else.

"Could he be lying?" One Swing asked, nodding to the man held in Barbacoa's grip.

In response, the woman shook her head. “Unlikely.” Lifting a free claw to her face, she tapped it across her furry snout. “If he is, he’s very good at masking it. The smell, that is.”

Struggling beneath her grip, the man shot her a hopeful look. “Does that mean you’ll let me—?”

“No,” the woman replied simply, burying her furry fist into the man’s face.

Tossing the headless corpse back into the hole she dug, Barbacoa gave another puzzled scowl. One Swing was quite puzzled himself. It seemed Shashlik had not arrived here at all. Something on the way here had dealt him a severe injury before he made it here. Possibly something else along the mountain…

As the two pondered in silence for a few moments, a low rumbling began to beat across the mountainside again. Tightly gripping the handle of his blade in preparation for another avalanche, One Swing quickly realized that the rumbling wasn’t coming from the ground beneath his feet. It was coming from the air. The air itself was trembling and vibrating across the mountain, accompanied by the loud flapping of something heavy being dragged through the air.

Turning their attention further up the mountain, the source of the commotion finally came into view.

Swooping over the peaked ridge, a giant scaly beast was hovering above the ground. The huge wings at its side beat through the air, the vibrations from each flap of its powerful appendages rumbling across the entire mountainside and kicking up towering whirlwinds of snow beneath it. It was similar to a drake, except it had wings, and was a lot longer. A lot longer.

One Swing was frozen to the spot, in utter awe of the creature he was seeing. It was far longer than any creature One Swing had ever seen before. Its entire body—from the tip of its scaly snout to its lengthy tail—could crush a small village by simply landing its gigantic body across it. It was far lengthier than One Swing’s mighty sword, even.

As the winged creature swooped down the mountain towards them, he noticed its chest start to burn a bright orange, as if a ball of fire existed within it. Brighter and brighter it grew as the creature drew closer and closer. One Swing continued to watch in awe as the orange turned to blue, and then the creature opened its toothy maw.

“—sie! Onesie!”

One Swing’s attention was suddenly torn away by the woman at his side, a panicked growl to her usual stoic tone.

“Get down! Now!” she shouted, pushing him to the snow.

Not a moment later, a concentrated stream of molten blue flame burst forth from its mouth, sweeping across the mountainside in a torrent of hot steam and molten rock. Swooping across the ridge where the two adventurers had disappeared beneath the searing flames and explosion of steam, the winged beast continued onward and into the distance, leaving nothing but a trail of molten devastation in its wake.