A valley encircled by cold, steep mountains. Within, a clearing bordered by dense forest. Snow gently falls. The fighters square up. One, weaponless. Standing tall, arms crossed. Weapons line racks behind her like rows of corn. The snow melts as it falls on her. The other enters his stance. One short, one long blade. Years of practice have sharpened his senses. The snow softly lands on him. He exhales, and the fight begins. Spinning and hurling, Spears and daggers fly at him. He deflects, and the barrage stops. The snow falls harder. She switches, and engages hand to hand. A brutal swipe from her claymore yields to a dagger thrust. His technique and precision find the attack, and respond. Dodging the claymore, he catches the thrust and sends her flying. Barely landing on her feet, sparks fly from her hair. She summons two broadswords and leaps at her opponent. He readies for the blows, but notices, too late, the kunai about to strike his ankle. He tries to dodge, but falters, and takes two blows from her onslaught. Backing up, he breathes. The snow gently lands on his blade. He returns to the fight, and reads her every move. The two clash. She draws a rapier, a bardiche, a war hammer and a scimitar. Her bizarre attacks fall short. He barely escapes, but lands a kick to her knee. Stumbling, she draws a morning star and shield. Flailing her weapon, she pushes him back. He notices the caltrops thrown behind him, and flips over her, landing a blow to her back. The score is tied 2-2. Match point. Enraged, sparks fly from her body as her eyes glow red. Her final assault uses daggers, bolts, axes, even a buckler, but he sees through them. Smoothly deflecting and dodging every blow, his skill triumphs over her strength. One perfect strike, and she falls like snowflake.