Snow fell in slow spirals, each flake catching the dull red of a dying fire before melting into the biting wind. Qin Mo knelt beside the embers, palm hovering over the fading heat, as if he could wring one last breath of warmth from the mountain's frozen heart. His breath smoked, the cold sinking into his bones, a chill that mirrored the betrayal three nights prior. The Azure Flame Sect, his home for a decade, had turned on him—elders' cold smiles, a blade slicing his chest to claim the wolf king's core. He could still hear the head elder's low hiss: "The core belongs to the sect." The knife had bitten deep, but as blood pooled, the core fused with him in a surge of fire and pain, awakening the FFD System—a mechanism born from the wolf king's fall, binding him to its hunger. That night, he became hunted, a lone spark in the frost, the sect's hunters dogging his trail.
Above, the ridge jutted like broken stone teeth, etched with faint wolf-shaped runes that glowed faintly under the snow's caress, as if watching his every step. The wind whistled through them, carrying an echo like distant speech—until it answered with a sound that wasn't wind.
Bells.
Faint, bone-pale chimes rolled down the slope, sharp as a blade's edge, cutting through the storm. The shard under his ribs—the wolf king's core—burned, a hound scenting prey. Those bells had haunted his dreams for three nights, always out of reach, pulling him toward a truth he wasn't sure he wanted to face. They carried intent, a summons tied to the core's pulse, whispering of debts older than the mountain itself.
[FFD System: Activated in the wolf king's fall, bound by blood to devour strength, skills, bloodlines. Trace match — 41%. Lead: Northeast approach, altitude +300m. Binding risk: Low.]
A grim smile tugged at his lips. Forty-one was better than nothing, but the bells' call felt like a noose tightening.
The ascent was a narrow goat's path, forcing him sideways against icy rock. Twice, the ice under his boots went hollow, creaking under his weight. He shifted just before the crust gave way to a drop that would've sent him crashing to the valley floor, where jagged stones waited like hungry jaws. His fingers, numb from cold, clung to the rock, guided by instincts honed through years of survival. The shard pulsed, urging him upward, its heat a faint shield against the frost.
At the third turn, the air shifted—cold now laced with dry, metallic heat, like a forge's breath stirring embers. The bells grew clearer, each note weaving into the next, a rhythm meant to be followed, pulling at his core like a leash. The runes on the ridge seemed to hum, their edges glowing brighter, as if alive.
He followed, blade ready, steps silent on the ice.
The path opened into a basin carved from the mountain's heart. No snow fell here—only frost rimmed a stone grid that stretched wall to wall, its lines pulsing faintly red. Monoliths leaned inward, their surfaces scarred with wolf runes that mirrored the ridge's, their shadows pooling at a slab altar like a black tooth. Nine robed figures paced the grid in a slow spiral, staffs tapping in unison, each strike summoning a red line of light from the stone—an ancient array, draining life to feed an unseen power, its hum vibrating in Qin Mo's bones.
[FFD System: Frostflame array active. Siphoning life force to empower a hidden will. Lock progression: 8%… 12%…]
At the altar's base stood a figure—not human. A wolf pelt draped its too-broad shoulders, its fur tips glinting like copper needles, as if woven with molten light. Hair the color of hammered copper framed skin pale as death, almost translucent. Its eyes, threaded with molten copper, fixed on him, unblinking, predatory, a gaze that saw through flesh to the shard within.
The shard burned in his chest, a warning and a call.
"You came," it said, voice almost human, low and resonant, carrying the weight of a hunter sizing prey. "Good. It saves me the hunt."
Qin Mo drew his blade without a word, the steel catching the red light and throwing silver arcs across the frost. Words were for the living, and this thing felt like it had left life behind long ago. His heart pounded, not with fear, but with defiance—he was no one's prey.
The first clash was brutal. His steel met bare hand—the creature caught the blade's edge like gripping a spine, knuckles unscathed where armor should've split. Sparks crawled over its fingers and died, swallowed by the pelt's living hunger, its fur rippling as if breathing. The force shoved him back, cracking stone underfoot, frost dust rising like a shroud.
"Better than expected," it murmured, its copper eyes glinting with amusement.
Cold chains of light climbed his boots from the grid, icy tendrils seeking his veins, trying to bind his strength. [FFD System: Lock progression: 16%… 22%… Frostflame attunement suppressed: 15%.]
Flame Step roared underfoot, heat snapping the glyphs like brittle glass, flames licking up to scorch the air. The spiral stuttered; the robed figures didn't flinch, their faces hidden in shadow, staffs tapping relentlessly, their rhythm unbroken.
The copper-eyed thing stepped through the haze, pelt shimmering as if alive, copper threads in its eyes glinting with malice. "I should take your heart before the crown drives you mad."
It struck low, shoulder to ribs, claws raking for his belly, each movement precise, wasting nothing. Qin Mo twisted—cloth tore, not flesh, the sound sharp in the basin's silence. His pommel hit the pelt, which hardened like iron scales, deflecting the blow. Pain buzzed up his arm, sharp and cold, as if the pelt itself fought back.
[FFD System: Frostflame siphon: 37%. Endurance loss accelerating. Balance: Heat 60% / Cold 40%.]
He shifted to the grid's weak point—sixth pace left, two forward, cut the seventh. Lines dimmed underfoot, their red glow fading like a dying pulse. The creature's head twitched, copper eyes narrowing, sensing the break.
"Your patterns are ugly," Qin Mo said, voice steady despite the pain, a taunt to keep it off balance. "Who taught you to weave?"
It grinned, teeth too many, sharp as frost, glinting in the altar's light. "Your elders drew the first lines. The Silent Tax remembers, and it never forgets a debt. That shard is owed."
Two robed figures lunged from the flank, staves gleaming with red light. Qin Mo crushed one's toes with his heel, the crack of bone echoing, and flung him into the other. Their lines tangled; the basin's light faltered, red glow flickering like a candle in the wind.
One clean cut turned the nearest glowing path to ash, the stone hissing as it died. The creature snarled, a sound like steam on ice, its pelt flaring with heat, as if fueled by the array's collapse.
[FFD System: Frostflame array disrupted. Link strength reduced: 19%.]
It came faster, hand to his throat, claws like ice needles piercing skin. Cold stabbed, vision narrowing to a cup's rim, the world shrinking to the creature's copper gaze.
King's Howl burned in his lungs, a coal forged from the wolf's wrath. He unleashed it, a primal roar that shook the basin, echoing off stone and shattering the spiral's rhythm. The grip loosened, the creature staggering a step. Frost Thread hissed along his blade—winter-sharp, scoring the creature's knuckles just enough to break the siphon, bloodless but marked, a thin line of frost blooming on its skin.
[FFD System: Frostflame shift: Heat 55% / Cold 45%. Siphon severed.]
The draw snapped, the cold retreating from his veins.
He fell back onto a cold seam in the stone, heat bleeding slower there, his breath steadying. The copper-eyed thing flexed its hand, copper eyes glinting with something like respect. "You found a vent. I like prey that learns."
"Not prey," Qin Mo said, lunging, blade arcing for its chest, steel singing through the frost—
A chime cut through, not from the robed figures, but from the bone-white bells in his pouch, their sound piercing his core.
[FFD System: Trace mark integrity: 43%… 57%… Binding risk: Leash potential detected. Source: Silent Tax alignment.]
His gut chilled, a cold deeper than the mountain's. The bells weren't a trophy—they were a summons, tying him to something older than the creature before him, something tied to the Silent Tax's ancient debts. His mind raced—kill the creature, or silence the bells before they claimed him?