Gail continued his path in the direction that the sword was pulsating and guiding him. On the path ahead was a steep, icy slope that stretched out before him, a seemingly insurmountable barrier between Gail and the Sacred Temple. was a steep, icy slope that stretched out before him, a seemingly insurmountable barrier between Gail and the Sacred Temple. The ground was slick with ice, making every step treacherous. Gail's boots slipped repeatedly, and he had to use his sword as a makeshift ice pick to steady himself. The climb was exhausting, his muscles burning with effort, each movement a test of his resolve. The wind howled like a living entity, whipping snow and ice against his face, blurring his vision, and numbing his exposed skin.
Gail faced a moral dilemma: push through the pain and risk injuring himself or find a safer but longer route. The thought of turning back never crossed his mind; the urgency of his mission drove him forward. He decided to push onward, driven by the knowledge that time was not on his side. Every second lost could mean the difference between success and failure. The climb tested his endurance and resilience, his fingers and toes growing numb from the cold.
After what felt like an eternity, Gail reached the top, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but his spirit unbroken. At the peak, a biting wind howled around him, carrying with it the sting of frost and ice. The sky was a pale, wintry gray, and the landscape stretched out in a desolate expanse of white and blue. Gail paused to catch his breath, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of the Sacred Temple. The cold gnawed at his exposed skin, threatening to sap his strength.
As he stood there, the path before him became clearer. The only way forward was across a narrow ridge, flanked on either side by sheer drops that disappeared into the mist below. The ridge was barely wide enough for him to walk, and the ice made it even more precarious. He tightened his grip on the sword, feeling its comforting weight in his hand.
Gail took a deep breath and stepped onto the ridge. Each step was a calculated risk, his movements slow and deliberate. The wind buffeted him, trying to knock him off balance. He leaned into it, using his sword to steady himself. The ridge seemed to stretch on forever, the end always just out of sight. His senses were on high alert, every sound amplified by the silence that surrounded him.
Halfway across, the wind intensified, whipping snow and ice into his face. His visibility dropped to almost nothing, and he had to rely on his instincts to guide him. The cold bit into his flesh, seeping through his clothes and chilling him to the bone. Gail's muscles ached from the effort, but he pushed on, determined to reach the other side.
Suddenly, the ice beneath him cracked with a sharp, echoing sound. Gail's heart leaped into his throat as he felt the ground shift beneath his feet. He scrambled for purchase, his fingers digging into the icy surface. The ridge trembled, and he knew he had to move quickly. Ignoring the pain and exhaustion, he dashed forward, each step a desperate gamble.
The ridge continued to crumble behind him, chunks of ice breaking away and plummeting into the abyss. Gail's breath came in ragged gasps, his lungs burning from the cold air. He could see the end of the ridge now, a small, rocky outcrop jutting out from the mountainside. Summoning the last of his strength, he leaped the final few feet, landing on solid ground just as the ridge collapsed into the void.
He lay there for a moment, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. The wind still howled around him, but the immediate danger had passed. Gail pushed himself up, his limbs trembling with exhaustion. The biting cold still gnawed at him, but the worst was over.
As he steadied himself, he realized the enormity of what he had just accomplished. The treacherous climb and the crumbling ridge had tested him to his limits, but he had persevered. His body ached, and his mind was weary, but his spirit remained unbroken. The mountain had tried to claim him, but he had emerged victorious.
Ahead of him, the path wound upward, disappearing into the clouds. He knew the Sacred Temple was close, and the thought renewed his determination. Gail adjusted his grip on the sword, feeling its weight anchor him to his purpose. With one last glance at the chasm he had crossed, he pressed on.
The climb became steeper, and the air grew thinner, making every breath a struggle. Gail could feel the altitude taking its toll, but he refused to slow down. He focused on each step, placing his feet carefully to avoid slipping. The wind howled around him, carrying with it the scent of ice and snow.
Hours passed, the sun dipping lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the mountainside. Gail's progress was slow but steady.
Gail continued on the path. The system suddenly appeared before him
[You are more than halfway to the temple]
Gail's eyes sparkled with joy upon hearing this. Then he said to the system: "Finally heard from you. Where were you when I was going through tough challenges?"
But he did not receive an answer. He decided to finish the road anyway. On this way, he had to pass through a tunnel. There was a narrow tunnel carved into the mountainside. The air was thick and stale, and the walls seemed to close in on him. Gail moved carefully, his steps echoing in the confined space.
As Gail continued through the narrow tunnel, the air grew colder and the darkness deeper. His breath came out in visible puffs, and his fingers felt stiff and clumsy on the hilt of his sword. The sword's glow was faint now, just enough to illuminate a few steps ahead. The walls of the tunnel were rough and jagged, and he had to be cautious to avoid scraping his skin against them.
The tunnel seemed to stretch endlessly, a claustrophobic passage through the heart of the mountain. Gail's footsteps echoed back at him, creating a disorienting chorus of sound. He strained his ears, listening for any indication that he was nearing the end, but the oppressive silence was unbroken.
Then, just as he was beginning to think the tunnel might never end, he heard a faint, rhythmic sound. It was a soft, steady tapping, like the beat of a distant drum. Gail paused, trying to pinpoint the direction from which the sound was coming. It seemed to be coming from deeper within the tunnel, ahead of him. Intrigued and wary, he pressed on, his senses alert.
As he ventured further, the tapping grew louder, more distinct. It had an almost hypnotic quality, drawing him forward. The tunnel began to widen, and the air grew colder still. Gail's breath misted in front of him, and he could feel a prickling sensation on the back of his neck as if he were being watched.
The glow of his sword reflected off something in the darkness ahead. Gail slowed his pace, gripping the sword tightly. The tunnel opened up into a small chamber, its walls glistening with ice. In the center of the chamber was an old, wooden table, and seated at the table was a figure.
The figure was cloaked in shadow, but as Gail approached, he could make out more details. It was an elderly man, his hair and beard long and white, his skin pale as the surrounding ice. He wore tattered robes that looked ancient, and his eyes were closed as he tapped rhythmically on the table with one long, bony finger.