Finn Adler was still learning to breathe inside his new power.
The Aegis of the Unbreakable Vow was no outward burst of Aura meant to dazzle or intimidate. It was something inward, drawn deep into his marrow, his blood, his bones—an armor of spirit fused with flesh. His body felt like tempered steel, reforged a thousand times in the furnace of divine will. With every inhale, his Inner Force coursed through him, flowing like molten metal through unseen veins, polishing and strengthening the vessel that held it.
For the first time in weeks, Finn felt something close to serenity—a quiet, relentless ascent toward mastery.
Then the heavy oak doors of the hall swung open. A gust of mountain air swept in, carrying the scent of pine and dust.
Cassian Vex had returned.
He looked as immaculate as ever—no blood on his clothes, no sign of fatigue, as though he had merely gone for an evening stroll. Yet the men behind him, a band of grim mountain raiders, were hauling several heavy chests. Their faces glowed with barely contained awe and excitement.
"Master." Cassian approached, bowing slightly. He offered several envelopes sealed with crimson wax. "These, I believe, are worth far more than gold."
Finn took the letters. The parchment was fine and cool beneath his fingers—real papyrus, not the coarse bark paper common in the highlands. Before opening them, he unlatched the nearest chest.
Gold coins gleamed like captured sunlight. Jewels and silks were piled high, dazzling even his hardened eyes. The loot was beyond anything he had expected from a mere punitive raid.
But the letters… those were what truly mattered.
Each was addressed to the same recipient—Silas Crowe. Yet the senders were different, representing various mountain factions. One wax seal caught Finn's attention immediately: a snarling wolf's head.
The Direwolf Clan.
His fingertips drummed softly on the table. The Direwolves were one of the top five clans among the Eighteen Strongholds, infamous for their aggression and ruthlessness.
"These," Cassian murmured, eyes glinting coldly, "detail the Direwolves' conspiracy with Silas. They planned to strike at the upcoming Tribute Assembly—an uprising meant to topple the rule of the Gilded Saber. Once 'the eagle of the Gilded Saber falls,' the Direwolves intended to claim dominion over the Gryphon's Roost Mountains."
Finn broke the seal of another letter, this one unmarked and written in hurried, slanted script.
"Our friends in the south have promised us a shipment of fine Blacksteel armor once it's done. Don't worry about the old man of the Gilded Saber—he won't live much longer…"
"Friends in the south…" Finn whispered. "Blacksteel armor?"
His frown deepened. This wasn't merely bandit politics anymore. Something larger was moving beneath the surface—an unseen hand weaving chaos across the mountains. The Gryphon's Roost was about to drown in a storm far beyond the reach of small keeps like his.
If Blackwind Keep stayed as it was, it would be nothing but driftwood in that flood.
He needed power—faster than ever before.
"Inventory everything we've brought back," Finn ordered. "Set aside a thousand gold coins as tribute for the Gilded Saber. The rest… bring it to me."
Cassian gave a short nod. He didn't question.
The wealth poured into the invisible interface of the Warlord's Legacy System—five thousand gold coins, swallowed like sparks into a furnace. Finn felt a hum in his mind as the system awakened, its golden wheel of chance shimmering before him.
He was ready to gamble.
He had planned to spin the intermediate pool. But as his gaze swept across the display, something in the beginner's pool caught his eye—a single icon, simple and unadorned: a stone tablet glowing with a deep, ancient blue. The color pulsed softly, like the heartbeat of a world before time.
[Item: The Codex of Primal Force (Blue)]
Finn's breath caught. A blue-tier Aura technique—in the beginner pool? Impossible! The odds had to be astronomical, but there it was, defying every law of probability.
The beginner's pool now held six items in total, including the Codex.
A mad, crystalline idea took shape in his mind.
Why chase an uncertain higher draw… when he could claim them all?
"System," he said aloud, his voice steady. "Beginner Draw—six times. Consecutively."
The wheel spun. Six flashes of light, faster than heartbeat.
[Received: Healing Potion ×5 (White)]
[Received: "Wind-Chaser Swordplay" (Green)]
[Received: Refined Steel Ingot ×10 (White)]
[Received: Scout's Leather Boots (White)]
[Received: Warhorse (White)]
[Congratulations! Received: The Codex of Primal Force (Blue)]
He exhaled slowly. "Got it."
Without hesitation, he extracted the Codex of Primal Force.
The moment he did, reality seemed to fracture.
If his previous powers had been rivers—strong, vibrant, but contained—then this was an ocean bursting through its limits, a cosmic detonation tearing through flesh and spirit alike.
That formless, ancient energy—pure and attribute-less—surged through him like the will of a primordial god. It didn't blend; it conquered. The Codex unmade him, shattering every Aura he had ever cultivated—Steel-Skin Technique, Paladin's Divine Might, Aegis of the Unbreakable Vow, Thirteen Warlords' Iron Form—ripping them apart before reforging them into something seamless and transcendent.
The roar within him was like the birth of a universe.
Energy channels flared open, one after another—one, two, three… six. His entire body became a forge.
Mortal Rank Three… Four… Five… Six!
When the tide finally ebbed, he stood at the very peak of Mortal Rank Six, his strength roaring like a volcano under skin. If this power could be refined once more, he would stand among the Champions—those who commanded armies with a glance.
He clenched his fist. The air itself cracked with a thunderclap.
Never before had he felt such overwhelming vitality. Every heartbeat was a war drum. Every breath was a storm.
Finn glanced at the new skill book materializing before him—The Wind-Chaser Swordplay, glowing faintly green. He pulled it from the system and handed it to Cassian Vex, who had stood silently at his side, as sharp and unmoving as a drawn blade.
"Take this," Finn said. "Learn it."
For the first time, Cassian's eyes flickered—not with doubt, but with something dangerously close to emotion. He dropped to one knee, his voice low but steady. "Thank you, my lord."
Finn gave a slight nod. He knew the truth all leaders eventually learned—strength alone was not power. Power was trust. It was the ability to raise others who could stand beside you. Cassian was an investment, one worth every coin.
He was about to close his eyes and steady the surge of energy roaring within him when the heavy footsteps of another man echoed down the corridor.
Halvar Bearhand burst into the chamber, breathing hard. His massive frame still bore traces of bandages from the last battle, but his face carried something stranger than pain—unease.
"Lord Finn!" he blurted out. "The men down the mountain just returned. They… they brought two women with them."
Finn raised an eyebrow. "Women?"
Halvar swallowed. "From their clothes and bearing, I'd say they're nobles. Or close enough. Big fish, my lord. Very big fish."
The hall fell silent for a heartbeat. The candlelight flickered, throwing shadows like claws across the stone walls.
Finn's gaze darkened slightly. The winds of change, it seemed, were not done blowing through Blackwind Keep.