My mood was so good that even during the evening training session, my tail couldn''t help but lightly sway.


    "Focus, you ignorant pups!" Master Qana, our swordsmanship instructor, shouted as usual, spitting as he spoke. "Half of you will serve in the Praetorian Guards in the future. If you can''t even hold a sword properly, don''t you dare say I taught you anything!" He slapped the back of the head of a wolf I didn''t know, then adjusted his stance.


    The training sessions were for the entire faction, so every Snow who hadn''t finished their basic education, would be present. I didn''t need to focus on disturbance of Piqsirpoq''s vibration to know that he was still in a bad mood.


    "You must master at least one ''real'' melee weapon. If all you can handle is a pulse spear, you''ll spend your life as wall decorations!" Master Qana walked past me, adjusting a few others'' stances. "Only real melee weapons can become an extension of your body. One day, this will make all the difference, so remember it!"


    Slash, thrust, parry, and block, we practiced these movements and stances over and over. Qana had said we must make these reactions instinctual, something we''d remember even in our dreams. I think I''ve actually dreamed about it a few times.


    "Feel the direction of the air, the shift in your center of gravity, and the vibration hidden in all living things." That last sentence made one of my ears perk up. Had he ever said that before? "Practicing basic stances cannot replace actual demonstrations, but if you can''t even hold your stance while standing still, how will you manage in a fight where there''s no room for error?" I heard a loud slap and a small whimper. "I''m talking about you, Trapper!"


    Still, only those of commander rank and above would be assigned swords, which meant most of us would spend our lives wielding pulse spears.


    And why would making a weapon an extension of your body be so crucial? I used to think it was just Master Qana''s interpretation, but after he mentioned the vibrations of living things, I started to reconsider his teachings.


    But this has little to do with me. I never planned to make a living swinging a sword. It might be odd for a wolf to think this way, but I''ve always been uncomfortable with rigid hierarchical structures. I''ve never adapted to them. If I knew I had to spend half my life in the Imperial Guard, I''d probably kill myself quickly--unless I accidentally killed someone else first from frustration--maybe I am an oddity after all, I thought.


    Thankfully, my future was clear, and it definitely wouldn''t be among the pack, not even within the Empire. Why waste any energy worrying about such trivial matters?


    Thinking about the opportunity Master Faurik mentioned, my tail wagged a bit more vigorously.


    "''Sea Ice,'' starting stance!" Qana''s command snapped me out of my thoughts, and I lowered the sword I had been holding, gripping the hilt with both hands naturally, letting the tip point to the ground.


    The training swords were standardized, not customized for the user, available in only a few lengths, and were almost identical to real swords except they weren''t sharpened. After several hours, every wolf was drenched in sweat, especially the younger ones.


    Having practiced since I was nine, these six years had ingrained some habits in me. I wasn''t particularly exhausted. But when we finally got a break, I, like everyone else, gratefully panted for air, though I kept my tongue in my mouth.


    Ten minutes later, Qana began pairing us for sparring demonstrations. As usual, no one wanted to be paired with me. I didn''t mind this at all because Qana would always spar with me personally.


    I don''t mind mastering a skill; I just hate being confined within a certain framework.


    A scream from nearby drew everyone''s attention, making all the gray wolves perk up their ears and look in the direction of the sound.


    I did the same, feeling somewhat awkward. I slowly lowered my ears, adjusting my stance uncomfortably.


    "Piqsirpoq!" Qana shouted angrily. "How many times have I told you this is practice? If you have so much energy, the dust in the storeroom won''t clean itself!"


    It seemed my brother had injured someone again. This was probably the only situation where we both ended up equally unwelcome.


    "Piqsirpoq seems to be getting angrier lately."


    "After all, there''s only a year left until the Selection. It''s normal to be nervous."


    "That guy with his tail always up gets nervous? That''s hilarious!"


    "Shh, if he hears you, someone''s going to get it again..."


    Whispers and murmurs of speculation and rumors spread around me.


    I actually had almost no interaction with Piqsirpoq. Most of what I knew about him came from overheard conversations.


    Brave, decisive, clever, though a bit hot-tempered, he was still an outstanding leader--essentially embodying all the qualities highly valued by the wolves.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    According to most rumors, it was certain that Piqsirpoq would be a candidate for the Elector next year from the Snow. Some even said he would not only become an Elector but also eventually sit on the Imperial throne.


    Oh, and there were some odd gossip pieces, more admiration or curiosity-driven. Like how he was incredibly disciplined, eating the same simple porridge for every meal, never changing for years, like some kind of ascetic monk. Or how he would sneak off to meditate in a mysterious posture late at night to rest his soul and train his body.


    But other than occasionally showing up to teach me a lesson when he thought I''d dishonored our "half" bloodline and these evening training sessions, we had no real interaction.


    I shook my head, trying to clear away the cluttered thoughts.


    As if I would care.


    "... Pair up with Richter." Hearing those fateful words, I felt like I''d been struck by lightning. My ears, tail, and fur all stood on end, and all the wolves turned to look at me.


    With an overly loud growl and grumbling, Piqsirpoq gripped his sword hilt in reverse, his face full of murderous intent as he approached me.


    The surrounding wolves all took a step back in unison, creating a small space around us.


    My ears flattened against my head, and I felt the tickling sensation of my curled-up tail touching my pants. In despair, I looked to Qana for help, but he was busy instructing others, clearly unable to spare any attention for me.


    "Are you trying to embarrass me in front of the pack?" Piqsirpoq growled through gritted teeth, his fur bristling, making him appear twice as big. I''d heard that frequent bristling was bad for the heart.


    I swallowed hard and picked up the practice sword.


    I could feel all the eyes on me, waiting for the drama to unfold. I really wished I knew how to turn off this sense of perception... the last thing I needed was more pressure.


    Piqsirpoq took the "Glacier" starting stance, holding the sword with both hands, raising it as if resting it on his shoulder, with the tip pointing back toward the ground, his body half-turned, his weight on his slightly bent back leg.


    I raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised. He was either extremely confident or even more irritable than usual--I thought that was impossible.


    I responded with the "Frost" stance, lowering my body forward, holding the sword parallel to my shoulder, with the hilt against the upper part of my arm.


    As soon as my stance was set, he attacked with incredible speed, rotating his body and swinging the sword horizontally at my head.


    Starting with the "Glacier" stance only had one purpose: an overwhelming powerful strike. Normally, such a large preparatory and swinging motion would expose one to risk.


    But oh my Rationalism, he was fast!


    All I saw was a white blur and a metallic glint. It was impossible to see his movements clearly.


    But since I had guessed his intention, I rotated my body, swinging my sword upward to deflect his attack.


    With a loud metallic clang, the force numbed my fingers, and Piqsirpoq''s strike was slightly different from what I had anticipated.


    The good news was, his hand probably hurt as much as mine, and I sensed a flicker of surprise.


    But he recovered quickly, the deflected force not stopping his motion. Instead, he stepped forward again, spinning his body to bring the airborne sword down from the same direction.


    Though slightly unexpected, I had enough time to follow through with my movement, bringing my sword down in a wide arc from my left side, scraping the ground to return to the "Ice Spike" stance, then using the momentum to swing upward, trying to disarm him.


    Another loud metallic clash, and Piqsirpoq was pushed back a step, but he maintained his balance, using the force to spin and thrust his sword at me with the "Icicle" stance.


    I switched to holding the sword with one hand, meeting his attack with the "Ice Storm" stance, deflecting his thrust and twisting the hilt to entangle our swords.


    Piqsirpoq stepped back, pulling his sword free from my hold. Though he showed no outward sign, I could feel his surprise and a lot of anger.


    Anger, but still calm, like a cold flame absorbing all the surrounding warmth. Piqsirpoq then used the "Hail" stance, delivering a relentless series of slashes. I could only assume the "Rime ice" defensive stance, raising my sword to chest height, the hilt positioned near my solar plexus, deflecting all incoming attacks.


    His movements were so fast that I could no longer see them clearly, but in the moments of critical urgency, I realized I could "feel" his actions. It wasn''t just an analysis of his movements; it was an understanding of... his thoughts.


    The pressure from the surrounding gazes, the focus on finding flaws, the determination to give his all, the anxiety from his faltering attacks, the pride that could only be satisfied by victory, and a slight... unwilling respect?


    Grasping where he intended to attack allowed me to better prepare my stance and promptly defend or evade.


    We were locked in a stalemate for quite some time until both of us began to pant. Piqsirpoq switched to the " Ice shove " stance, delivering powerful overhead strikes, occasionally interspersed with wide, sweeping cuts of the "Glacier" stance.


    I returned to the "Frost" stance, continuously deflecting and redirecting his attacks with the smallest possible movements.


    I wasn''t sure how long it had been--maybe just a few minutes, or perhaps hours--I couldn''t spare the distraction. However, it had been long enough for the difference in our stamina to start showing. I knew I was close to losing my grip on the hilt. Just before my numb fingers completely lost their sense, I managed to deflect Piqsirpoq''s attack one last time, which surprisingly caused my sword to break from the base, producing a sharp snapping sound.


    I wasn''t sure if Piqsirpoq was unable to pull back his momentum in time or if he simply wanted to kill me, but all I could do was watch as his sword came closer to my head. Even though it wasn''t sharpened, I was certain that the impact could crush my skull.


    Suddenly, time seemed to slow down. The sword''s swing felt like it was moving through thick honey, yet its trajectory remained unaltered, heading straight for my head.


    How interesting. Is this what they call seeing your life flash before your eyes?


    But I waited for a moment and didn''t see any past memories rushing by.


    So, I lifted my gaze and locked eyes with Piqsirpoq--my brother--seeing countless emotions of terror flash through his dilated pupils.


    Well, at least I knew he wasn''t really trying to kill me. That''s somewhat comforting.


    Amusingly, my body relaxed, and I even felt an urge to laugh if my physical form weren''t still bound by the constraints of normal time.


    In the next instant, a silver flash appeared, and I barely caught the afterimage of Qana''s upward slash, slicing through Piqsirpoq''s sword, sending it flying into the air.


    After the hilt slipped from Piqsirpoq''s hand, the broken sword piece quickly embedded itself into the ground nearby. My brother, still not comprehending what had happened, fell backward from the momentum, gripping his right hand, his expression frozen in a state of mild terror.


    "You two really want to clean the storeroom, don''t you?" For a moment, Qana''s exasperated question was the only sound in the training field.