The frozen mountain loomed ahead, a jagged expanse of white peaks and treacherous slopes. Eryndil pulled his cloak tighter around him, the biting wind clawing at his exposed skin. It had been two days since he set out from the safety of the forest, and the desolation of this place gnawed at his resolve. Snow crunched underfoot as he climbed higher, his sharp eyes scanning the landscape. The air was eerily quiet, save for the occasional whistle of the wind.

Then he saw them: skeletons half-buried in the snow, scattered haphazardly. Some belonged to beasts with curled horns and elongated fangs; others were unmistakably humanoid. Broken skulls grinned up at him, and ribcages lay cracked and splintered. A sense of foreboding settled over him. He tightened his grip on his spear, its familiar weight a comfort against the unknown.

As he neared a frozen lake, a disturbance caught his eye. From beneath the ice-capped surface, figures emerged—scaled and glistening in the pale sunlight. Lizardmen. Their yellow eyes glinted with malice, and each bore a weapon, crude yet deadly: spears, clubs, and jagged blades of stone. Around their necks hung necklaces of bones, a macabre mix of animal and humanoid remains. Eryndil's stomach churned at the sight. These trophies weren't just decorations; they were declarations of dominance over fallen foes.

The lizardmen hissed, their forked tongues flicking in the cold air. They raised their weapons, advancing with predatory precision. Eryndil stepped back, planting his feet firmly. He raised his spear, the polished steel tip gleaming. "I am not your prey," he muttered under his breath, his voice firm.

The first lizardman lunged. It moved with startling speed, but Eryndil was faster. He sidestepped the attack, driving his spear into the creature's chest with precise force. The lizardman gurgled, collapsing in a heap. Another charged, swinging a stone club, but Eryndil ducked low, sweeping his spear in a deadly arc. The creature fell, blood staining the snow. Yet, for every one that fell, two more emerged from the icy depths.

Eryndil braced himself, sweat trickling down his temple despite the cold.

"Enough." The word was guttural and fractured, but clear enough to freeze everyone in place. From the lake rose a larger figure, towering over the others. The leader. His scales were darker, marked with red tattoos that looked as though they had been carved into his flesh. Bone armor adorned his chest and shoulders, some pieces unmistakably human in origin. He carried a greatsword, its blade covered in frost, as if it had been forged from the lake's icy depths.

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The leader stepped forward, his hissing voice resonating with authority. "You... elf. They no attack you. I made them. I am Zareth. Zareth want duel. You... win, you pass. You lose..." He bared his sharp teeth in a menacing grin. "We eat you. Deal?"

Eryndil's heart pounded. There was no mistaking the gravity of this challenge. If he refused, the lizardmen would overwhelm him. If he accepted and lost, he'd meet a gruesome end. Steeling himself, he raised his spear and met Zareth's gaze. "I accept."

Zareth hissed approvingly and motioned for the others to step back. The lizardmen formed a loose circle around them, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. Zareth raised his frost-covered greatsword, the air around it shimmering with cold. Eryndil adjusted his grip on his spear, adopting a ready stance.

Zareth struck first, his blade whistling through the air in a deadly arc. Eryndil sidestepped, the sword slamming into the ground with a burst of frost. He countered with a thrust, his spear aimed at Zareth's exposed side. The lizardman twisted, the spear's tip grazing his bone armor. Zareth retaliated with a horizontal swing, forcing Eryndil to duck.

The fight became a dance of precision and power. Zareth's swings were ferocious, his strength undeniable, but Eryndil was faster. He darted around his opponent, searching for an opening. Finally, as Zareth raised his sword for an overhead strike, Eryndil lunged low, sweeping his spear across the lizardman's legs. Zareth roared as he toppled backward, crashing into the snow.

Before Zareth could rise, Eryndil's spear was at his throat. The elf's voice was steady, his breath visible in the frigid air. "I win."

For a moment, there was silence. Then, Zareth let out a deep, rumbling laugh. "You... strong. Clever. You win." He pushed the spear aside with a clawed hand and rose to his feet, towering over Eryndil. "Pass. None... touch winner. Or answer to me."

The surrounding lizardmen hissed and clicked in what seemed like protest, but Zareth silenced them with a sharp glare. He turned back to Eryndil and gave a slight nod. "Go. Fight... well."

Eryndil inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Thank you."

As he moved past the lizardmen, he felt their eyes on him, a mix of hostility and grudging respect. Zareth's voice echoed behind him, barking commands in their guttural tongue. Eryndil didn't need to understand the words to know their meaning: he had earned safe passage, and anyone who defied that would face Zareth's wrath.

He hurried onward, the mountain rising before him. Despite the chill in the air, a flicker of warmth bloomed in his chest. The duel had tested him, but it had also reminded him of his purpose. The demon sorcerer awaited, and Eryndil would not falter.

The frozen mountain held many dangers, but Eryndil's resolve was as unyielding as the ice beneath his feet.