Köinzell ventured north under moonlight, far past where any patrols dared go. Riding a borrowed horse and cloaked in silence, he approached the foothills near the Ghost Keep—an abandoned outpost of the Night's Watch.
He had heard tales from returning rangers. Of cold shadows walking. Of corpses missing their eyes. Of whispers in languages never spoken by men.
He reached the broken tower just before midnight.
> "The winds here feel wrong," he muttered, drawing the Aetherbane Fang.
The shortsword pulsed faintly.
> "Null Eclipse."
A soft hum radiated from the blade as a small radius of anti-magic spread around him, snuffing out the ambient chill.
That's when he saw it.
A figure—twenty feet away.
Pale. Hollow-eyed. Armor like ancient ice. A sword of frost.
> White Walker.
Köinzell narrowed his eyes.
> "They're already this far south...?"
The creature stepped forward, not attacking, simply staring. Its aura was immense—frozen death. Any normal man would tremble. But Köinzell was not a man. Not anymore.
With a flick of his wrist, he vanished from sight—then reappeared above the creature, descending in a silent arc.
> "Soulbreak Pulse."
The blade struck the icy figure's arm. The shockwave didn't just break its sword—it shattered the creature's entire arm at a molecular level.
The White Walker recoiled, screeching soundlessly.
> "You're no god," Köinzell whispered.
He landed, spinning once, and activated Phantom Laceration.
Five delayed slashes carved the walker to pieces from five angles all at once.
It collapsed into shards of frost and smoke.
Köinzell stood there silently.
> There will be more… Many more.
As he turned to leave, the Aetherbane Fang glowed faintly again—its indigo veins pulsing faster.
> "They fear this blade," Köinzell said. "Good."