Arthur looked down at the remaining pack of Wargs.
Though they were currently trembling and kneeling beneath the lingering dominance of his aura, the sharp battle instincts of his *Peak Swordsmanship* delivered a crystal-clear warning: ‘Wargs in Middle-earth were inherently malicious, corrupted beasts that could never truly be tamed.’
Their submission was merely a temporary illusion born of terror and the loss of their alpha.
The moment Arthur turned his back or lowered his guard, their savage instincts would drive them to hunt for blood once more.
“A King does not leave threats lurking behind his back,” Arthur murmured coldly.
*Shat!*
For the second time, *Ester* was drawn from its scabbard.
Extreme arctic cold swept across the courtyard of Amon Sûl once more, instantly freezing the moisture in the air into fine snowflakes.
This time, Arthur wasn’t testing his abilities.
He was executing them.
*Swoosh—!*
His footsteps were practically silent, yet his movement speed far surpassed what the naked eye could track.
Before the Wargs could even sense the looming danger, Arthur was already standing in the very center of their pack.
His first strike was a precise, sweeping circular motion—the *Full Moon Cut*.
Ester’s crystalline blue blade sliced through the air, leaving behind a glowing, arc-shaped trail of frost.
The three nearest Wargs didn’t even have time to let out a growl before their heads were cleanly severed from their necks.
The fatal wounds bled not a single drop, as their blood vessels and flesh were instantly flash-frozen by Ester’s intense chill.
*Gaggh!*
Two remaining Wargs on his left attempted to leap backward by pure instinct.
But Arthur tapped the stone floor with his heel, sending a thin wave of ice rapidly rippling across the ground—*Frost Ground*.
The Wargs’ paws froze solid and stuck fast to the courtyard stones, locking their movements instantly.
Arthur spun gracefully, leveraging his rotation momentum to launch two rapid thrusts forward—the *Dual Frost Thrust*.
The tip of Ester pierced through the chests of both Wargs, striking straight into their hearts.
Arctic frost surged rapidly from the blade into their internal organs, snuffing out their lives from the inside in a split second.
*Shatter!*
In less than five seconds, the entire pack of Wargs that had threatened him was dead.
Some lay as rigid ice statues, while others crumbled into grey frozen shards upon the ancient floor of Amon Sûl.
Arthur casually flicked his sword, clearing the thin layer of frost clinging to Ester’s blade.
The ambient temperature around Amon Sûl gradually returned to normal, leaving behind the quiet silence of the night.
Arthur looked at his Sword.
There was no heavy breathing, no trembling from fear, and no hesitation.
The combat experience from his Peak Swordsmanship had fused seamlessly with his soul.
“Purge complete,” Arthur said softly, turning away.
*Clang.*
The sharp, metallic click as Ester locked perfectly back into its scabbard signaled the end of the brief slaughter.
Frozen, rigid Warg carcasses and crimson-tinted ice shards coated the cold stone floor of Amon Sûl.
Silence once again blanketed the courtyard in a tense grip.
And then, the shard slowly vanished, followed by the ice melting on Amon Sûl.
Arthur exhaled a long breath.
A thick plume of white vapor rolled from his mouth—a natural consequence of high-intensity, close-quarters combat under extreme sub-zero conditions, bringing a sudden wave of fatigue that trickled through his stamina.
“Ughhhhh…”
Arthur glanced down at his left fingers clutching the scabbard.
A stiff, numb sensation crept across his joints, the effect of *ice backlash*, caused by his mortal body being forced to endure the rapid propagation of sub-zero temperatures over a short duration.
Through the instant combat knowledge of *Peak Swordsmanship*, Arthur analyzed the true limits of his high-tier weapon.
The frost energy within Ester was seemingly limitless, ready to detonate at his command, yet *his own physical endurance* served as the true gauge.
Every sub-zero vacuum wave demanded a tangible toll in stamina and muscular strength.
Yet, this physical fatigue did not make him look fragile in the slightest.
On the contrary, Arthur’s posture remained impeccably upright, without a hint of a slouch.
His gaze was sharp and as cold as Ester’s crystalline ice.
If anything, the physical exertion only sharpened his aura: he was no longer an ordinary young man thrown into an unfamiliar world, but a apex predator who had just wiped out a threat without spilling a single drop of his own blood.
Should another enemy dare to strike at this moment, Arthur was more than capable of severing their head in the blink of an eye, only with calculations far colder and more lethal than before.
“Its power is infinite, but my body determines its limit,” Arthur murmured softly.
His voice was flat, calm, and utterly in control.
A faint smile touched his lips.
The stiffness in his fingers gradually receded as his blood circulation normalized.
Discovering his physical stamina limits didn’t shake his resolve; instead, it granted him perfect clarity: Ester was not a weapon to be swung recklessly, but an instrument of death that demanded the precision and efficiency of a King.
With steady, deliberate, and unwavering steps, Arthur turned away.
He wait in the now-silent ruins of Amon Sûl.