Air Conditioning and Barbarians: Sealing all the doors and windows can lead to more than just poor air circulation.

I exhaled slowly, watching my breath condense into a cloud of white mist, and then shivered.

I hate cold weather.

A layer of white crystals coated the scattered stones around me, and the tips of the vegetation were adorned with various frost formations. This year's negative Arctic Oscillation was particularly strong, making the winter much colder, with the first snow arriving early and fierce.

The outdoor training grounds, naturally, were a sheet of silver, with only a few flattened areas exposing the grayish-black ground underneath. A few Snows were playing in the snow, the snowballs bursting against their pure white fur, and everyone was laughing joyfully.

When Qana appeared, all the wolves stopped playing and gathered around the swordsmanship master.

I had always been curious about how Qana could move so nimbly through the snow, especially considering he weighed a hundred kilograms. Was it some kind of psychic ability?

I wasn't paying much attention to what Qana was saying because, as usual, he would come to find me later, and we would head together to that secluded training space.

So when I heard a few key words, my ears perked up. I turned toward the swordsmanship master, wanting to make sure I hadn't misheard.

"Richter, lead the run." He repeated himself, though my reluctance made me bold enough to tilt my head and protest to the master. I was unsurprised to receive a "don't waste my time" expression in response.

I had no choice but to lower my ears and accept that this was really happening.

With a sigh, I shook myself, stretching to shake off the ice crystals clinging to my snow gear, and started the equipment check process. I first ensured the crampons were working properly, then drew the ice axe from the boot's sheath and firmly tied the strap around my wrist. Lastly, I put on dark goggles, adjusting them for the best fit. Once ready, I took several deep breaths, forcing myself to take the first step into what I was sure would be an extremely grueling task.

I hate long-distance running.

I hate cross-country long-distance running.

I hate cross-country long-distance running in winter.

I hate cross-country long-distance running in winter, especially when I have to lead and clear the way.

I hate cross-country long-distance running in winter, leading and clearing the way while feeling all the hateful glares on my back because I'm too slow, forcing them to endure the cold wind.

"Why... why... why?" I gasped as I asked.

Qana lifted me by the scruff of my neck, carrying me into the secluded training space. I still hadn't caught my breath, and my ears were frozen stiff, my whiskers were iced over, and every now and then, I'd shiver so hard my teeth clattered.

"To make you understand that even if you can master the stance of a psychic, without sufficient training, there are still many things you can't do," Qana stated simply, as if explaining a basic truth. "Piqsirpoq led the run for the last three years."

"So what?" I responded with a complaining tone, retracting the crampons into my boots, taking off the goggles, and brushing the snow off my face. Then, I rubbed my hands together and held my poor ears. I had worried for a moment that they might fall off and shatter on the ground.

The swordsmanship master didn't respond, so I glanced at him, but his expression immediately made my tail tuck between my legs.

"Uh... I mean... uh..." I still couldn't feel my ears, so I kept my hands on my head and lowered it toward Qana, fixing my gaze on the ground. "Yes, Master," I said in a submissive tone.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Qana press something on the wall, and then the room's temperature began to rise.

I sighed with satisfaction, relaxing as my body stopped trembling.

"Arrogance leads to defeat," the swordsmanship master said, hanging his cloak on the side and walking toward me. "If you know your weaknesses but don't work to strengthen them, it's a lazy attitude."

To emphasize his point, Qana moved in front of me and knocked on the top of my head.

"Yes, Master," I mumbled in a low voice.

"You know that Gray's bloodline makes your physical functions relatively weaker, right?" Qana asked, placing his large hand on mine, which was still holding my ears.

"I know..." It's so... warm. I could slowly start to feel my ears again, and they didn't hurt as much. "I've thought that might be why my cold tolerance is obviously worse than others..."

"Interestingly, your hybrid version actually has a superior reflex arc, but your endurance, which requires aerobic metabolism, is noticeably poor," Qana said, as if evaluating the performance of a weapon, which made me feel a bit strange. "But I believe that practice is always the only path to perfection, no matter what."

The swordsmanship master repeated his maxim, then removed his hand from my head and knocked on it again.

"Yes, Master..." I began to say, but sensing a threat, I leaned back just in time to dodge.

A flash of silver sliced through the air, severing some of my fur, which floated slowly in the air.

"Ukayok," Qana commanded, his voice steady. A shockwave rushed at me, reverberating through the enclosed space.

I flipped backward and landed on my toes, spreading out my consciousness, alert for the next attack.

Qana swung the Winter's Chill, assuming the "Snow" stance, with both hands on the hilt, the sword's tip raised to his ear. A powerful resonance emanated from the broadsword, even causing the air to vibrate, and the harmonized field began to form.

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"Are you serious?" I questioned. "You've awakened the Winter Chill, and I don't even have a weapon?" I glanced at the smooth black wall. "At least give me something, anything?"

"This is a test," Qana replied, his movements slow as he raised the broadsword high before slashing diagonally.

The blade of the Winter Chill gleamed with a cold light, looking extremely dangerous, but I knew it wasn't the weapon itself that I should be concerned about.

Here it comes.

Seven slashes tore through the air, the trajectories and ripples they created, along with the sound of the wind being split, churned within the harmonized field.

I twisted my body and lowered my center of gravity, dodging the attacks, though a few cuts appeared on my clothing.

"Do you know what the other masters do?" I protested, resetting my stance. "'Next week's focus will be on last month's lessons,' or 'Please memorize the key points.'"

I was certain I saw Qana grin as he raised the Winter Chill again, drawing a cross-shaped sword path.

Too many! Way too many!

A dense barrage of slashes materialized within my consciousness field.

It's impossible to dodge them all!

I opted for the only viable strategy.

I gathered my consciousness, using my willpower to intercept the attacks, neutralizing their impact in the physical space.

This was difficult without a weapon, especially against a powerful psychic and swordsmanship master, but I managed to do it.

Qana laughed heartily, withdrawing his sword technique, and once more raised the Winter Chill overhead, delivering a heavy downward strike.

A brilliant silver flash etched itself into the physical space, forming a massive slash that barreled toward me, accompanied by countless small arc-shaped cuts, sealing off my escape routes.

Damn, he wants me to take this hit.

I extended my right palm toward the slash that was carving through the ground toward me, focused my mind, felt the waveforms pulsing in sync with my heartbeat, and released a shockwave.

The air in front of me exploded, a mist forming instantly, but it was quickly blown away. When my shockwave collided with the silver slash, a stinging sensation shot through my right palm, then spread throughout my body. I gritted my teeth and held on, reinforcing my will to maintain the strength of my shockwave.

The slash shattered, and from the cracks in the black fragments of the floor, the path of my shockwave was evident. As it struck Qana, the sensation of hitting an impenetrable barrier caused me to stumble.

Once I regained my focus, I saw Qana, slightly disheveled, using the Winter Chill to support himself as he rose from a half-kneeling position.

That must have stung him good.

Our shockwaves continued to press against each other, and I once again gathered my consciousness, increasing the frequency of my output. Qana was pushed back slightly, sliding a short distance, but as soon as he regained his balance, he assumed the "Frost" stance, raising the Winter Chill and pointing the tip toward me. A strong resonance emanated from the broadsword.

The swordsmanship master increased the density of the waveform at the tip of the broadsword, shaping the shockwave into a cone as if trying to pierce a hole through my shockwave.

This wasn't our first time clashing wills, but never before with this intensity. Qana believed I was stronger, but with the resonance from an awakened adamantine weapon, I didn't have any advantage.

Though it seemed Qana was being pushed back, there wasn't a trace of tension on his face--he just smiled wider.

Perhaps... I should... up the ante?

I gathered all my strength and delved deeper into my mind.

I sought power, but I didn't know what its source was. Qana never directly explained to me what exactly the power of a psychic depends on. The concept of "self" was incredibly abstract.

Does "self" have a deeper meaning? With this question in mind, I continued to dig deeper.

This aimless search clearly wasn't going to lead me to anything useful.

So, I broke away from my thoughts, intending to adopt a different strategy. At that moment, I noticed that the ground between Qana and me began to slightly bulge. The black gravel vibrated and crumbled, turning into tiny specks that floated like dust in a zero-gravity zone. But I paid it no mind and started to explore a new direction.

What does strength mean to me?

I wasn't sure.

Then, why did I want strength?

I wanted to protect those who couldn't protect themselves.

Why protect those who couldn't protect themselves?

Because it is the duty of those with strength.

So, do I lack a true motivation for what I seek?

No, the choices I make are the true justification for my actions.

Then, specifically, what have I done?

I hoped to help Momus. But do I really know what help he needs? Or is this just a projection of my own frustrations, just an excuse to make myself feel better?

I feel like I successfully helped Piqsirpoq, allowing him to understand himself and this nonsensical world a little bit better, so he could master the stance of a psychic. But was it really my doing?

If I don't know what strength is, and I don't know why I need it, how am I supposed to use it?

Protect those who cannot protect themselves... For some reason, Piqsirpoq's back appeared in my mind--he was facing away from me, catching the fruit that was thrown at me.

So, this is the difference...

Then let's step back for a moment, and ask: What is "strength"?

I lifted my gaze and met Qana's deep blue eyes.

The sword master's figure, his gaze, his back, his posture--each flashed through my memory, and finally, his outstretched hand.

"Stand up, kid." That's what he said at the time, right? Somehow, I couldn't stop the corners of my mouth from lifting into a smile.

I think when you know nothing, imitation is a good place to start. Imitation, and the attempt to understand.

I found something.

It seemed entirely unfamiliar, yet so familiar.

A clear pulse surged, roaring powerfully.

I summoned a new wave, resonating with me, and then unleashed it with full force at the boundary where Qana and I were deadlocked.

Brilliant silver and blue light flashed, followed by a tremendous boom. A large amount of debris flew, raising dust that obscured the entire space.

I lowered my body, sneaking into the smoke, crouching and slowing my movements. I formed a small bubble-like space around my head to protect my eyes and nose, and I set up a mirrors circle around me, silently moving toward the wall.

Qana loosened his grip on the field of consciousness--perhaps that last strike had some effect. I wasn't sure what exactly had happened, but if the structure of the entire room had been damaged, the weapons stored inside the walls might fall out, or at least allow me to reach them. Either way, it was worth a try.

Twisting the field of consciousness, I extended a few probing tendrils, searching for my target.

There it was--a longsword that had fallen to the ground! It was a bit far, but I managed to reach it, gently pulling the sword toward me.

While pulling the longsword with Dominion, I kept a low profile, moving as stealthily as possible. Just as I was about to reach the wall, I caught sight of something unusual out of the corner of my eye.

There was no sound, not even a change in the trajectory of the dust ahead. It was purely instinct that allowed me to sense the incoming attack from that familiar pressure.

Winter Chill's advance exceeded the speed of the wave it generated, compressing all the waveforms at the edge of the blade.

This should have been impossible.

But I didn't try to break Qana's union of consciousness; I was pretty sure that before I could succeed, I would have been cut in half. So I expanded my field, instantly completing the erosion, directly blocking the slash with consciousness. This was the first time I had used this method to catch a adamantine weapon's itself. Qana had said that resonance would severely disrupt Dominion, but I had no other choice.

I gathered all my strength, making a gripping motion with my right hand to aid concentration, and pushed back the broadsword with my consciousness. As I feared, the resonance from Winter Chill disturbed my consciousness field, and I couldn't generate enough effective output in such a short time to suppress the resonance and affect the weapon.

So I abandoned this strategy, instead focusing all my energy on drawing the longsword I had just found to my hand as quickly as possible.

My passive defense circle, like my consciousness field, was disrupted by the resonance, becoming as loose as smoke, as if it didn't exist at all, offering no resistance to the broadsword's movement. The only benefit was that I didn't have to endure the shock that would have been caused if the defense circle had been shattered.

As the blade drew closer and closer, I knew I wouldn't make it in time, so I looked inward, trying to slow my blood flow and reduce nerve sensitivity within allowable limits, hoping to lessen the impact of what was to come.

But when Winter Chill sliced into my right shoulder, the instant pain almost made me pass out. I gritted my teeth and held on. The next moment was the most critical.

Winter Chill was stained with my blood, cutting through my bone, and embedding itself in my flesh.

With my collarbone severed, my right hand lost its function and hung limp, so I used my left hand to form a command gesture to assist. Taking advantage of the compression of Winter Chill's domain caused by contact with my existence circle, I output consciousness to counter the shockwave, sparing me from being blasted to pieces, while successfully grabbing the blade and stopping the slash from cutting deeper.

Amid the swirling smoke, I couldn't see Qana's expression, nor did I sense any emotional fluctuation. But I think he had anticipated this outcome, so there wasn't much time left.

As soon as my left palm felt the cold, hard metal, I gripped the hilt and thrust the sword toward Qana.

By the time I noticed the disturbance in the dust, it was too late. The swordmaster's boot struck my wrist, forcing me to drop the longsword. I didn't even have time to prepare a backup move. The next thing that filled my vision was the sole of Qana's boot.