The deep blue vertical pupils, icy blue fur, streamlined and agile body, and muscles knotted like old vines—this was a frost wolf lured away from its pack by Owen Clark's trap. It was tearing at the long-dead carcass of a wild beast, eating while vigilantly scanning its surroundings.

Yet it failed to notice the pair of bright eyes hidden beneath a nearby snowdrift.

Suddenly, a spear shot out from the snow, so swift that only a black blur remained.

The frost wolf was highly alert and quickly turned its head aside. The arrow that should have struck its eye instead lodged in its shoulder, splattering a burst of hot blood and leaving a streak of crimson on the snow.

The frost wolf’s skin and muscles were as hard as frozen stone, but under the full force of Owen Clark's thrown spear, it was pierced without resistance.

Owen Clark had spent two years learning hunting skills from Anthony. In addition to traps, tracking, beast language, and wilderness survival, he had also taken the initiative to learn a ranged attack technique from Anthony—a spear-throwing art.

(You read that right, I really am the legendary clickbaiter.)

===Chapter 5: The Ural White Bear===

Originally, Anthony wanted to teach him his best archery skills, but Owen Clark figured he hadn’t unlocked any archery talent when he crossed over. Summing up his own archery, Owen Clark found it was basically “three meters with the wind, shoot your own foot against the wind”—even a slingshot was better.

But how could a hunter lack a ranged combat technique? Anthony could only teach Owen Clark spear-throwing, which he claimed was the art of the trolls.

Troll hunters are fearsome predators, and their spear-throwing skills are renowned across the continents.

Owen Clark really liked the troll spear-throwing art. Just think, in the early game of the beast race, how could you do without that mohawk and those tusks... Ahem, off topic.

Now ten years old, Owen Clark leapt out from the woods. He was half a head taller than two years ago, with little other change in build. His cheeks were a bit gaunt from living outdoors, but the dangerous aura radiating from him made the frost wolf’s fur bristle.

Owen Clark charged forward, dragging a Hurricane Hammer. The frost wolf let out a low growl, pounced, and snapped its jaws at Owen Clark's head. Its fangs were like cold, sharp blades, and a foul stench blasted into Owen Clark's face.

Facing danger, Owen Clark remained expressionless. He struck out with a fist, faster than the wolf, landing squarely on its lower jaw and slamming its mouth shut. With his other hand, he swung the warhammer upward, smashing it into the wolf’s belly.

Suspended Hammer Combat Technique—Gut Punch!

The frost wolf arched in pain and suddenly spewed a misty, ice-blue halo—its innate ability, infused with the power of the ice element, capable of freezing objects.

Over the past two years, Owen Clark had hunted countless frost wolves and was thoroughly familiar with their abilities. He stomped hard, unleashing a powerful force that sent snow flying up, forming a curtain that blocked the ice-blue halo with a sizzling sound.

Sharp, hard wolf claws, hidden by the snow curtain, slashed swiftly at Owen Clark's abdomen.

Through the snow curtain, Owen Clark gripped his warhammer with both hands, spinning it into a blur that shielded his body like a dome. The wolf’s claws sparked against it but couldn’t harm Owen Clark.

Suspended Hammer defensive technique—Iron Hill Fortress!

Owen Clark pivoted, moved to the wolf’s side, and trapped its head under his arm, clamping its jaws shut. The frost wolf growled hoarsely, struggling and flailing its four paws, sending snow flying. Owen Clark was nearly thrown off, but he steadied himself, drew a beast rib dagger from his waist, and stabbed it into the back of the wolf’s head.

A killing blow! The frost wolf convulsed, lost all strength, and was kicked aside by Owen Clark, collapsing in the snow and staining the white with red.

Owen Clark was even more agile than two years ago. The more combat techniques he learned, the more nimble and powerful he became.

Anthony appeared with a sigh. “Ranged attacks are the elegant way to kill. Why do you always go for close combat?”

Owen Clark didn’t care at all. “Since I’ve become a warrior, only in life-and-death struggles can my physical abilities improve quickly.”

Over the past two years, Owen Clark had honed his combat skills. He was in a growth phase, his physical strength increasing rapidly—thirty percent stronger than two years ago, with room for more improvement. But he was still far from reaching his physical limits.

Only when his body could no longer improve would he have a chance to break through. The biggest gain for Owen Clark in these two years was mastering combat techniques in real battles.

The essence of a warrior lies in “combat.” Grappling with beasts is a very effective way for beginners to train.

Every advancement for a warrior is like a prisoner breaking his own shackles—extremely difficult.

Anthony stroked his chin. “You’re already ten. Your bloodline abilities have awakened. I can help you fuse with a race.”

Owen Clark wasn’t particularly excited, looking troubled. “I’m not mentally prepared to turn into a beast.”

“Hmph, this is the power bestowed by our ancestors. Are you going to refuse my help?”

Owen Clark immediately put on a flattering face. “No, no, I’ll listen to you. Let’s do the fusion.”

“To fuse a bloodline, there are two methods. First is devouring: the stronger the race you want to fuse with, the higher the failure rate. Each race only gives you one chance to attempt fusion. If you fail, you can never devour that race’s bloodline again.

Second is tribute: this requires an intelligent member of the target race to willingly offer their bloodline to you. This method is the safest—the more willing the donor, the higher the success rate of fusion.”