Arthur crouched low behind a jagged ice formation, his breath slow and controlled as he studied the Ice Elf camp from a distance. The sun had barely risen, casting a pale blue glow across the frozen wasteland. The cold still clung to him, but adrenaline dulled its bite.
The camp itself was modest but good structured. Built in a small trench made out of ice, it consisted of huts carved out of ice, each one sculpted with unnatural precision. These weren't simple makeshift shelters, this was a small settlement, a home for a long existing tribe of elves that roamed these lands. The few huts, that Arthur counted to five, were positioned in a circular formation around a central fire pit, which flickered weakly against the howling wind. Thin trails of smoke drifted into the sky, proof that warmth existed within.
A short wall of sharpened ice spikes surrounded the perimeter, acting as a defensive barrier. A single path led into the camp, its entrance guarded by two elves standing as still as statues. Their elongated bodies were wrapped in thin, ice-colored cloth, blending seamlessly with their surroundings. Their spears, tipped with glowing blue ice, pulsed faintly, a clear sign that they were enchanted.
Also inside the walls was a small watchtower of course also carved out of ice where a single frost elf was standing on.
Arthur's fingers tightened into fists. "Breaking in won't be easy," he muttered under his breath.
His gaze drifted over the camp, analyzing every detail. Small groups of Ice Elves moved about, tending to various tasks. Some sharpened weapons, others prepared food—large cuts of frozen meat, likely from creatures he had yet to encounter. The camp wasn't bustling, but it was active.
Arthur counted every elf, and he frightened at the number rising in his mind with every frost elf he noticed.
"22 Elves..."
Then he noticed something important.
Not all the elves were the same.
Now that he had time to observe, Arthur could see clear distinctions between them. The ones moving supplies, cooking, and performing menial tasks all shared common features: lean frames, duller ice-blue skin, and simple attire. They were smaller and less physically imposing, likely the lowest rank.
The warriors, however, were different. Taller, more muscular, and wrapped in layered armor crafted from enchanted ice, they carried weapons far more refined than the crude ones used by the lesser elves. These were the hunters, the ones who fought. Their movements were controlled, efficient, and precise. Even standing still, they radiated danger.
But it was the third type that caught Arthur's attention the most.
A single elf stood near the fire pit, its posture exuding authority. Unlike the others, its body was adorned with intricate icy carvings, almost like tattoos etched into its skin. Its armor shimmered with a faint silver glow, a clear sign of powerful enchantments. More importantly, the others moved around it with clear respect, some even bowing their heads as they passed.
"The leader," Arthur realized. "Or at least someone important."
If he wanted to take over this camp, that elf was the biggest obstacle.
The elves Arthur beat on his way through the endless expanse of ice and frost were mere workers... They were the weakest of the frost elves.
Arthur had no chance taking over this camp...
Under normal circumstances that is.
Arthur exhaled slowly, forcing himself to focus. He needed a plan, one that accounted for his limitations. He was strong, but not invincible. Not only that, but he couldn't take on an entire camp head-on, but he didn't need to.
Likewise, he would make them come to him.
First, he needed to create chaos. He had to thin their numbers before they even knew what was happening. If he could lure out the weaker ones or pick them off silently, his odds would improve. A direct attack would be suicide, but if he controlled the flow of the battle? He might just stand a chance.
His eyes flickered to his palm. He summoned the Ice Light again, the small orb appearing instantly. The blinding glow forced him to look away, but a smirk formed on his lips. This was a weapon. One they wouldn't expect.
If he could use it to disorient them…
Arthur's plan solidified in his mind. He would strike from the shadows, weaken their numbers, and bait the warriors into the ice formations where he controlled the battlefield. Then, when the time was right, he'd take down their leader.
His fingers twitched with anticipation.
This was going to be dangerous.
But if he pulled it off, he'd have warmth, supplies, and a base of operations.
And he will be a completely other kind of person than before, stronger, more replenished and overall in better form to survive.
Arthur took one last deep breath, then vanished into the ice, ready to set his plan into motion.