Blue light enveloped him.
[REWARD CLAIMED: 5 Points in Intellect]
[INTELLECT: 3 → 8]
[REWARD CLAIMED: 1,000 Mana Fragments]
To Eirik's great marvel, one thousand small glow worm-like energy cubs gathered around him.
These must be the mana fragments.
[STATUS]
[REALM: UNINITIATED]
[UPGRADE TO NEXT REALM (SNOW)?]
[COST: 1,000 MANA FRAGMENTS.]
[Y/N?]
Eirik frowned.
Wait, the system asked me before upgrading, does it mean that Mana Fragments could be used in other places as well?
He focused his mind on the mana fragments, which prompted the system to show his full range of choices.
[MANA FRAGMENTS: 1,000]
[USE FOR: REALM UPGRADE / SKILLS UPGRADE / STATS POINTS PURCHASE / OTHERS (LOCKED)]
Eirik opened his Skills list.
[SKILLS]
[STRENGTH AFFECTED SKILLS: ]
[MELEE WEAPON PROFICIENCY: ALL TYPES (F)]
[SHIELDS PROFICIENCY: ALL TYPES (F)]
…
[AGILITY AFFECTED SKILLS: ]
[DODGE (F)]
[SNEAK (F)]
[LOCKPICK (F)]
[HORSE RIDING (F)]
…
[ENDURANCE AFFECTED SKILLS: ]
[ARMOR PROFICIENCY: ALL TYPES (F)]
[CARRYING CAPACITY (F)]
…
[INTELLIGENCE AFFECTED SKILLS]
[ALCHEMY (F)]
…
[CHARM AFFECTED SKILLS]
[FIRST IMPRESSION (F)]
As basically all his skills were F-tier, there's really not much to look at.
His best bet is probably to specialize in one school first, then concentrate resources on that school, in order to have a secure foundation in the beginning.
Strength seems to be a great choice for beginning, maybe agility as well?
Hmm…
He focused on the [MELEE WEAPON PROFICIENCY: ALL TYPES (F)], which instantly breaks into more sub-categories.
[MELEE WEAPON PROFICIENCY: SWORDSMANSHIP (F)]
[MELEE WEAPON PROFICIENCY: AXE MASTERY (F)]
[MELEE WEAPON PROFICIENCY: POLEARMS (F)]
[MELEE WEAPON PROFICIENCY: BLUNT WEAPONS (F)]
…
His mind focused on [MELEE WEAPON PROFICIENCY: SWORDSMANSHIP (F)]
One could never go wrong with swords.
[MELEE WEAPON PROFICIENCY: SWORDSMANSHIP (F→E): AVAILABLE FOR UPGRADE!]
[UPGRADE COST: 500 MANA FRAGMENTS]
[UPGRADE?]
[Y/N]
Hmm…
Erirk hesitated.
Having one weapon efficiency skill go up is definitely a top priority now, but doing this would prevent him from having a realm upgrade.
In a world where weaklings get crushed, raw power is king.
[UPGRADE TO SNOW REALM?]
[Y/N]
He's gotta go with the realm upgrade first.
[Yes.]
The world around Eirik dropped away.
Cold. He saw snow falling, then felt a bite of frost, then a cleansing rush of a blizzard. The staff gasped. To them, Eirik stood frozen, eyes glazed with a blue hue. Frost spiraled around his feet—and then retracted, as if nothing happened.
[REALM ASCENDED: SNOW (RANK 1 of 5)]
[STAT LIMIT INCREASED TO 20]
[10 STAT POINTS AWARDED!]
[MANA FRAGMENTS NEEDED FOR SNOW (RANK 2): 0/2000]
The servants stumbled back as icy light erupted from Eirik's body. Frost crackled across the floor in jagged patterns — the undeniable mark of a warrior awakening to the Snow Realm.
CLAANG—
Harkin's rusted sword clattered the ground.
"By the Frost Mother's tears… Snow Realm?" His cracked lips trembled, half in fear, half in awe. Two servants collapsed to their knees, completely in shock.
They were in complete disbelief regarding what just happened, not just because nobody under the age twenty had ever reached Snow Realm within the barony, but also it was Eirik who broke this record.
Even given what Eirik just did to them… this still feels like a miracle.
Eirik exhaled.
He felt his every sense—sight, hearing, touch, taste and smell—sharpened. He counts the flecks of soot in the rafters, and smells the rancid grease in Yorick's hair. And he could certainly see how the servants looked at him with a sense of awe they'd never thought possible to be associated with him.
He still had to allocate the stat points.
[STATS]
[STRENGTH: 3+]
[ENDURANCE: 2+]
[AGILITY: 3+]
[INTELLECT: 8+]
[CHARM: 1+]
Rationally speaking, he could allocate 2 points into each category, and make him appear to be more of an average person and less of a pathetic weakling.
However, in a world where raw power is revered as almost divine, his first priority is to reinvent himself as an able warrior, before he needs to worry about other things.
After all, his strength of 3 and F-ranked weapon efficiency in all types meant anyone with half-decent fighting skills could slaughter him with ease on a level battlefield.
All into Strength.
Eirik's mind informed the system.
[10 STAT POINTS ALLOCATED TO STRENGTH!]
[STRENGTH: 3 → 13]
Power burned through him.
Eirik clenched his fist, feeling the tight coils of muscle shift under his skin. He now almost had triple the strength of an average uninitiated adult man. He grabbed the dented iron washbasin Harkin had brought earlier. Before, just lifting it would've strained his arms. Now he lifted it one-handed like it was just a bread loaf.
"Wha—"
Servants gaped as he gripped the basin's edge—and crushed it. It screeched, folding like parchment under his fingers. Eirik hurled the crumpled basin across the yard. It smashed through a barrel, splintering wood and spilling frozen potatoes.
His chest swelled—for the first time, this body did not feel like a prison.
Eirik turned to the servants. He needed their loyalty—and fast. Garrick would come back with their father soon, and Eirik couldn't afford letting them be swayed to join the enemy's side.
"Listen carefully," Eirik said, "I am offering you a choice."
Silence.
"Swear loyalty to me, and I'll make sure you are well-compensated from this moment on."
He looked at Yorick, Jens, and others, who huddled together, shaking like leaves in a storm, and continued.
"Or you are free to leave this household. But if you dare speak one word of today—even to your family—I'll make sure you'd end up like that basin over there."
Everyone gulped.
"Nobody wants to leave? Then swear." His eyes suddenly became icy cold.
The servants were silent, then pledged with voices stumbled over each other:
"I swear! We pledge our loyalty to Lord Eirik!"
"Good." Eirik said, "As you are not my loyal servants, I order that from now on, no one leaves until further instruction. You will stay in your quarters and await orders."
The servants nodded like hungry pigeons pecking grain.
Eirik pointed to Harkin. "Harkin is in charge from now on. Disobey him, and I'll peel your tongues like frostbitten bark."
Harkin straightened, pride flashing in his eyes. "Yes! Lord Eirik!"
The servants shuffled backward, heads bobbing. The yard became empty in a matter of a few moments as the system's blue text flickered, interrupting Eirik's thoughts:
[TUTORIAL QUEST CHAIN CONTINUES!]
[Complete the Quest Chain to Earn a Special Reward!]
[Tutorial Quest #2 (out of 5): The Baron's Wrath]
[Quest type: Diplomacy]
[Objective: Survive the trial that awaits you. ]
[Reward: Talent Upgrade Crystal (Bronze)]
[Reward: 2,000 Mana Fragments]
[Reward: 5 Points in Intellect]
[Reward: 5 Points in Charm]
———
Eirik took a deep breath of the icy air.
Yes. The baron's wrath. The inevitable fallout likely will result in his run that awaited him. Just saying he was framed would not be enough to spare a severe punishment. What he had done to Garrick was much more brutal. He'd learned from Blackridge that the best negotiating tactic, more often than not, comes from understanding the person in charge, the one who will hand out judgments.
Lord Cedric…What kind of man was he?
Eirik again searched for memories, regarding this much bigger test than what he just experienced with Garrick.
Cedric Stormcrow isn't a spoiled noble.
The Baron hadn't inherited a peaceful, prosperous domain; he'd built it alongside his grandfather. He'd fought barbarian raids, crushed minor rebellions, and dragged Stormkeep back from the brink of ruin through sheer force of will and martial prowess.
A self-made ruler, Cedric prized what he'd used to succeed: strength, resilience, results.
It suddenly made sense to Eirik that if there's one cardinal sin in Cedric's eyes, that would be weakness. Why waste resources on a son who couldn't even muster the spirit to fight back? To him, spinelessness is worse than malice.
Eirik stopped pacing, staring at the frost-rimed window slit.
So, how do I present myself? Playing the cowering victim was dead. He needed another way to frame the humiliation of Garrick not as rebellion, but as the necessary consequence of Garrick's own weakness and Cedric's inadvertent neglect of duty to all his sons.
But to figure this out, he needed context.
He was still a stranger in this brutal, bronze world. Where did Stormkeep Barony fit in the larger scheme? What opportunities existed beyond its borders? Knowledge was power, and right now, he was blind.
"Harkin!" Eirik's voice cut through the chill air. It wasn't loud, but it carried a new authority that made the old guard, who'd been hovering anxiously near the door, jump.
"Y-Yes, Young Master?"
Harkin shuffled forward. Fear warred with his ingrained, weather loyalty. The sudden shift in Eirik — from Spineless to… whatever terrifying force had just dismantled Garrick — was profoundly unsettling.
"Tell me about our world," Eirik commanded, "Start with Stormkeep Barony. What lies beyond it? How is this land governed? Be thorough."
Harkin blinked, confused.
Geography lessons should've been common sense for noble sons with tutors. Yet now that he thought about it, Eirik hadn't actually been treated as a noble son. Harkin swallowed nervously. Where do I even start?
"Well, Young Master," Harkin began hesitantly. "Our Barony, Stormkeep… it's Lord Cedric's domain. We are pretty much at the northernmost of civilizations. We answer to the Ironhelm Earldom, ruled by Earl Borin from his fortress south of here, past the Icefang Peaks."
Eirik nodded. "And the Earldom?"
"Huh? Oh, right," Harkin fumbled. "The Ironhelm Earldom is part of the larger Frostgrip Duchy. The Duke… uh… Thorgrim Frostgrip, rules from his ice palace way down south, near the coast where the sea doesn't freeze solid, least not all year. Never been there myself."
"And above the Duchy?"
"The Northern Kingdom, Young Master!" Harkin said, puffing his chest out slightly. "Ruled by King Vandar the Unbending from his throne in Icestone Citadel. Holds the whole north together. Or tries to."
Brony, Earldom, Duchy, Kingdom. Climbing the ladder within the established system would be a slog measured in decades that was designed to keep those ambitious firmly in their place. It was Cedric's path, forty years of struggle and still just a baron.
"What lies north of us?" Was Eirik's question.
Harkin's expression instantly sobered. He pointed to a shaky finger towards the drafty window, towards the howling wind and perpetual grey. "North? That's the end of things, Young Master. Beyond our borders… that's the Northern Wastes."
The name hung heavy in the frigid air.
"The Wastes?" Eirik prompted.
"Aye," Harkin whispered. "Nothing but endless ice and death. Blizzards that freeze a man solid in minutes. Monsters with teeth like swords. And the tribes…" He shuddered violently. "Take captives… or worse." He leaned in, eyes wide. "Stormkeep Barony… we're the last bit of real kingdom out here. The frontier. Past our walls and watchtowers, it's the Wastes. Pure wilderness. No laws, no lords, just… survival. Only fools, madmen, or the desperate go there. And most don't come back." He finished with another emphatic shudder.
Frontier. The word ignited something fierce within Eirik, until it was disrupted by a sudden burst of PAT! PAT! PAT—
BAM!
Someone banged on the door, then slammed it open before Eirik barely finished working out his strategies.
A red-faced house-guard skidded into the yard, panting.
"L-Lord Cedric Stormcorw—!" He gulped air. "Summons you! Now!"
This feels much more severe than he had thought. Eirik half expected Garrick to come in with Cedric, or maybe also his mom, to settle it as a family would. Instead, what awaits him might be something that assembles a more formal trial than an informal in-house dispute settlement.
"Eirik. Now."
The guard was still panting from running. He got the order from a furious Lord Cedric, and did not dare to delay even for one minute. He'd never seen the man being so angry like this time. Yet more surprising to him was seeing how Eirik reacted. Eirik the Spineless was a "legendary" name that everyone in the barony was very familiar with. He expected Eirik to tremble, to plead while stammering, or even begging for mercy.
But all he got was an icy cold stare.