The wind blew cold through the trees as Damon followed Caerth along the trail.

The forest north of the mansion was ancient, almost primeval—the kind of place where sunlight entered in fragments, and the silence weighed heavier than sound.

The ground was covered with damp leaves, and each step produced a muffled crunch. There was the smell of moss, earth, and something else—something metallic, like dried blood. Damon held his new sword firmly. He still hadn't gotten used to the weight of real steel.

Caerth walked ahead, silent as always. His dark cloak moved in the wind, and Damon noticed that, even there, among roots and shadows, the man walked with an almost predatory confidence—as if the forest were merely an extension of his own body.

"Where exactly are we going?" Damon asked after a while, his voice breaking the oppressive silence.

Caerth didn't answer immediately. He simply pushed aside a low branch and continued walking. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, but there was a different weight to it.

"Today, you will learn something that no training in a courtyard can teach you."

"And what would that be?" Damon insisted.

"The difference between fighting... and surviving."

The words echoed among the trees, carried by a chilling wind. Damon felt a shiver run down his spine.

They stopped in a clearing. The ground there was covered with a carpet of dry leaves and dark stains—old burns or old blood, he couldn't tell. In the center, a fallen log served as a marker, and small claw marks scratched the nearby stones.

Caerth stood motionless for a moment, observing his surroundings as if listening to something distant. Then, he reached for his belt and took out a small silver object—a whistle.

"What is that?" Damon asked, suspiciously. Caerth looked at him with that half-smile that never boded well.

"A lesson."

He raised the whistle to his lips and blew.

The sound that came out wasn't something Damon could actually hear—it was something he felt. A sharp vibration shot through the air, piercing his ears like needles. He cried out, instinctively bringing his hands to his head.

The sound was unbearable, and even when it stopped, the ringing continued in his mind.

"What the hell was that?!" he snarled, trying to compose himself.

Caerth didn't answer. He just looked at the horizon.

The wind ceased. The forest became completely silent.

And then… the sound came.

A snap. Then another. Branches breaking, leaves rustling. The sound of paws. Of wings. Of claws.

Damon looked around and noticed shadows moving among the trees. Eyes—dozens of them—reflecting the little light like bluish embers.

The air began to vibrate. The mana within seemed alive, dense, pulsating as if the forest itself breathed.

Caerth put away the whistle. His gaze returned to Damon—cold, serene, almost… satisfied.

And then he smiled.

"Survive."

Before Damon could say anything, the man simply disappeared. A blink of an eye—and he was no longer there.

The silence lasted for a single second.

And then hell began.

A sharp roar echoed through the forest, followed by the sound of claws tearing wood. From the darkness, a creature leaped—a beast with a body covered in gray fur and light blue eyes. It looked like a wolf, but the air around its body vibrated with energy.

Damon instinctively raised his sword. The creature's blow came fast, heavy. He blocked it, but the force made him recoil, his feet sliding on the ground. The impact vibrated all the way to his shoulder.

Another roar. Another shadow. This time, something reptilian, with black scales and sharp teeth.

Damon twisted his body and narrowly dodged, the claw passing close to his face.

Instinct took over. He didn't think. He reacted.

He delivered a side blow and struck the creature's flank. Dark blood splattered, and it recoiled with a furious roar.

But the sound attracted more.

Many more.

In seconds, the clearing was overrun.

Shadows moving among the tree trunks, eyes gleaming in all directions. Damon took a deep breath, his heart pounding.

He knew what they were.

Mana beasts. Creatures formed from the world's own wild energy, shaped by instinct and hunger.

And they were all looking at him.

The first wolf leaped again, Damon spun his sword and cut it down in mid-air. The body dissolved into blue particles. Another came right after—he spun, parried, and the next blow grazed his shoulder. Warm blood trickled down, and he smelled the metallic scent spreading.

The smell of blood.

It made them more aggressive.

"Think… no, feel." Caerth's voice echoed in his mind.

Damon closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and channeled mana—the same cold he had felt in the courtyard.

The temperature dropped, and small bluish sparks formed on the blade.

When he opened his eyes, the world seemed slower.

The sound of the creatures, the flapping of wings, the rustling of leaves—everything seemed to be at a different pace.

He moved.

The first blow was precise, cutting one of the creatures in half. The blade glowed blue, the blood freezing before it touched the ground.

He spun, parried another attack, and countered with a brutal counterattack.

The cold enveloped him. With each movement, the ice spread.

Parts of the ground began to freeze. Trees, roots, even the air seemed brittle.

But there were too many.

Two, three, four creatures fell—and five more came next.

One of them hit him from behind, throwing him to the ground. Damon rolled, raising his sword in time to block another bite, the impact almost tearing the weapon from his hands.

He kicked the beast, staggered to his feet, blood dripping down his arm.

The cold was starting to fail.

The mana was draining him too quickly.

"Damn..." he murmured, panting.

But when another shadow leaped at him, Damon screamed and spun his body, releasing all the energy he still had.

An explosion of ice spread in all directions.

The ground cracked. The nearby trees were covered in frost.

For a moment, everything was silent.

The creatures retreated, their eyes blinking in confusion. Some hesitated, sniffing the air—and then fled, as if something invisible had frightened them away.

Damon knelt, leaning on his sword. His breathing was shallow, his body covered in sweat and blood.

The cold still enveloped him, but now it was internal. It burned from within.

"Are you alive?" Caerth's voice sounded behind him.

Damon spun around quickly, sword raised—but the veteran was just standing there, leaning against a tree, arms crossed.

He smiled slightly.

"Son of a… " Damon choked, breathless. "You almost killed me!"

"Almost," Caerth replied calmly. "That means I didn't."

Damon glared at him, furious. "You left me alone with… that!"

"And you survived." Caerth approached, his gaze steady. "That was the point."

Damon gasped, trying to control his anger. "What would have happened if I hadn't made it?"

"Then I would have learned where the limit of your talent was." Caerth's voice showed no cruelty, only cold logic.

"You're a bastard."

"Probably." The veteran shrugged. "But tell me, Damon… what did you learn?"

Damon looked around—at the frozen bodies, the ground covered in ice, the steam rising from the air.

His breath was visible, and the blood that had previously flowed from his wound was now frozen.

He looked up, his voice still hoarse. "That… overthinking kills. That hesitation kills. And that fear…" he clenched his fist "also kills."

Caerth smiled wryly. "So you learned."

The veteran approached and picked up the whistle again, twirling it between his fingers.

"The beasts respond to mana, Damon. They are attracted by the presence of those who don't know how to control it. You released more energy than you should have, and they came. But…" he looked at the frozen battlefield "you mastered them."

"And I almost died."

"Yes." Caerth nodded. "But now you know what it's like to fight when the whole world is against you."

Silence fell over the forest again. Damon slumped to the ground, his body trembling with exhaustion. The distant sound of rustling leaves seemed lighter now.

Caerth knelt beside him. "Don't forget this feeling. The cold, the fear, the exhaustion. One day, all of this will come back. And if you don't remember how you survived today… you'll die when it matters most."

Damon looked at him, still breathing heavily. "Was… was that training?"

Caerth gave a slight smile. "That was the beginning."

The veteran stood up, looked around, and then extended his hand. Damon hesitated, but took it. Caerth's strength lifted him easily.

"Tomorrow, we come back here," he said, turning towards the path back.

"Tomorrow?!" Damon exclaimed. "You're kidding!"

"Survival is a habit, boy," Caerth replied, without turning around. "And I intend to make you the man the world won't be able to kill."

As they walked back to the mansion, the sun began to break through the treetops, tinging the ice and leaves with gold.

Damon looked back at the clearing covered in crystals, and realized that, despite the pain, something inside him had changed.

The fear was still there.

But now… he knew how to face it.

And Caerth, without looking back, murmured to himself:

"Yes… maybe you really will survive all of this."

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