"Those of you who didn't receive the blessing—don't worry."
"If you're willing to become my soldiers, you can still train and have a chance to learn the Stag Knight Breathing Technique."
Ronan's words brought a measure of relief to those who had not been chosen.
His gaze then turned to the elders—the village's authority figures—as he continued:
"My territory is still underdeveloped. It lacks everything. If you choose to come with me, take everything you can carry."
"And make it quick—finish everything within a day."
The leading elder, who appeared to be the chieftain, gave a respectful bow.
"As you command."
After listening to Ronan's description of Frostholm Barony, the village—more accurately, the tribe—immediately began preparing supplies.
"I believe every one of them will be a rare treasure for you," Brandon said beside him.
"Oh?"
Ronan naturally wanted to strengthen his bond with this Guardian Knight—and the best way to do that was through stories.
"May I hear some of the stories from here?"
"As you wish."
Brandon bowed, then brought forth an elderly man who walked with difficulty. Ronan noticed that below the man's pant legs were wooden prosthetics.
Seeing that Ronan's gaze held no trace of disdain, both the old man and Brandon subconsciously grew more respectful.
"Arthur lived through the War of the Spirits," Brandon said.
"He's the one who took me in. He lost his legs because of me."
"Lord, he wants to share our story with you."
"Our story, huh..."
Arthur's cloudy eyes sparkled with memories.
The elderly often enjoyed speaking of the past.
"We've lived like this for eighty years now, my lord. So I'll start the story from what happened eighty years ago."
His voice drifted through the snowy wind as Ronan stood silently, listening.
"Our world is called the Elderion Continent.
Most humans revere the Spirit of the Stag."
"Because of our passion for the Stag Spirit, the people of Elderion are also full of passion."
"We emulate the stag's bravery, agility, and its experience of the world—so our land is filled with bards and craftsmen."
"Though not densely populated, Elderion was once prosperous—each person lived a life of wealth and joy."
"But over a hundred years ago, the Spirits started the Interplanar War.
It was the Twilight of the Spirits."
"Elderion was drawn into the flames of war. The heavens burned.
The Stag Spirit, too, took part in the conflict."
"As its people, we fought alongside the Stag Spirit.
The war lasted twenty-five years."
"In the end, the Stag Spirit fell.
Though we still believe it lives on, its traces disappeared from the continent."
"And with the Spirits' war came the eternal winter.
Blizzards and biting winds ravaged our lands."
"Forests drowned in snow. Swamps became frozen plains. Rivers were locked in ice.
Silence and cold engulfed everything—perhaps only the far south still clings to warmth."
"The Spirits' war turned faith into soldiers.
In just twenty-five years, much of Elderion's population perished."
"But that wasn't the worst of it.
Deaths from battle were only the beginning."
"After the war ended, came famine.
The hunger and cold of the first ten years claimed the majority."
"Then came chaos.
Over time, the population dwindled further."
"To survive in such sudden, eternal winter… only the strong endured."
"But with the Stag Spirit gone, we remained mere mortals.
Without supernatural strength, the freezing winds and struggle for survival continued to take their toll."
"Especially the children.
For decades, newborns rarely survived."
"Without the next generation, the outcome was inevitable."
"The war ended. We lost everything.
And now, in this eternal cold, we're losing the rest."
As he spoke, Arthur eventually drifted into sleep. Before he did, he told Ronan that he would not be going to Frostholm Barony, nor to any other world.
He had witnessed Elderion's golden age, and now he would remain—to guard what was left of its silence and snow.
He gave Ronan a name, saying he had passed down all his woodworking skills to a young man.
"Arthur won't survive this winter," Brandon said after settling him back into his cabin,
"But seeing his people gain a chance to live—that will make him happy."
Brandon then brought another youth to Ronan.
"This is Arnold—also found by Arthur in the snow."
"Arnold pledges his loyalty to you, my lord."
The young man knelt before Ronan. Ronan noticed he was not one of the thirty newly blessed trainee knights.
"He dreams of becoming a bard like in Arthur's stories.
And he's not suited for combat," Brandon explained. Even though the two were close, Brandon stuck to his responsibilities.
"Stand up," Ronan said, then added,
"Even if you're not suited for combat, you can still train in the breathing technique.
A strong body is the foundation of both a skilled carpenter and a bard."
"As you command," Arnold replied respectfully.
If the lord said so, then it must be true.
Brandon also had to prepare his belongings, and together with Arnold, left Ronan with only his two attendants once more.
"With these people, we can finally begin building Frostholm Barony,"
Bernard said, gratified.
He had not spoken throughout Ronan's actions—because he believed every one of Ronan's decisions had been the correct one.
As a steward, his duty was to remain silently supportive.
Beside him, Roland wore a conflicted expression. Eventually, he couldn't hold it in and looked toward Ronan.
"My lord… that Stag Spirit blessing—could I have one too?"
His face flushed. The truth was, he had come to realize something:
He was too weak.
Not just compared to Brandon—even among the thirty newly blessed trainee knights, at least ten were already ahead of him, and likely more would soon surpass him.
As Ronan's first knight squire, he couldn't afford to be weak. It would bring shame to his lord.
"A blessing? Of course.
But after this, you'll only be able to practice the Stag Knight Breathing Technique."
Ronan saw the determination in his eyes, then tapped his brow.
10 spirituality points vanished.
Unlike with Brandon and the others, Ronan didn't see traits like Loyalty or Passion on Roland.
Instead, he saw:
[Unyielding]
Clearly, this came from Roland's own life. He hadn't grown up hearing tales of the Stag Spirit. He hadn't been raised on songs, poems, and legends.
The stories, the bards, the wine, and the wider world—these were the roots of Brandon's noble virtues.
Their ideals were shaped by legend. Their passion, nurtured in hardship and myth.