[Tutorial Quest #4 (out of 7): The duelist ââ Completed!]
[Complete the Quest Chain to Earn a Special Reward!]
[Reward Claimed: 5 Points in Strength]
[STRENGTH: 13 â 18]
[Reward Claimed: 5 Points in Agility]
[AGILITY: 3 â 8]
[Reward Claimed: 2,000 Mana Fragments]
[Reward Claimed: Skill Upgrade Crystal (Bronze)]
[Skill Upgrade Crystal (Bronze): Upgrade any skill of choice to D tier. Only usable for F-tier skills.]
[Reward Claimed: Identify]
[Identify: Ability. Must be equipped to Cast. ]
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[New Quest issued]
[Tutorial Quest #5 (out of 7): Leader of the Pack ]
[Quest Type: Martial]
[Objective: Rally a warband under your banner and crush an enemy force of 50 souls or more in a single battle. ]
[New Quest issued]
[Tutorial Quest #6 (out of 7): Skills Mastery ]
[Quest Type: Learning]
[Objective: Getting at least 1 skill to C- rating (0/1) and 3 other Skills to D rating. (1/3)]
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[Existing Quest]
[Tutorial Quest #3 (out of 7): Build A Warchest ]
[Quest Type: Stewardship]
[Objective: Amass 5,000 Silver (0/5000)]
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[Tutorial Quest #7 (out of 7): ???]
[Quest Currently Locked!]
[Complete All Previous Quests to Unlock!]
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Relief washed over him. It's done. Against a Snow Realm Rank Three opponent, hampered by idiot rules and crippling low agility.
But first, the spoils.
Power surged through him. The heavy practice sword felt light now. His balance was surer, grounded yet fluid. The agility upgrade transformed him from a tortoise to... passably average? Maybe better? Leif's last desperate feint would have been trivial to counter with this.
Being agile, albeit just averagely so, felt much better than heâd expected.
The mana fragments would be reserved for realm upgrades. Training had shown him that skill-specific fragments could be generated through practice. Swing the sword long enough, and the skill would naturally progress. Free mana fragments should only be spent on skills when absolutely necessary.
Skill Mastery was straightforward. Getting Swordsmanship to C- Rank was a no-brainer. Three more skills to D rank... maybe Alchemy for potions? Or Stealth for assassination builds? He'd think about it later.
The "Leader of the Pack" mission was more daunting. Rally a warband. Crush fifty enemies. He had legitimacy now, but legitimacy didn't fill bellies or forge loyalty. His coffers were empty. His "retinue" was just Harkin.
Recruiting, equipping, feeding fightersâit all required the one resource he lacked: money.
Now for what made him most curious.
[Identify: Ability. Must be equipped to Cast. ]
Equip.
He focused, visualizing the ability. Mentally, he reached for his only available Mana Slot. He imagined slotting [Identify] into it.
[Ability: Identify equipped to Slot One.]
[Equip Cost: 2 Mana.]
[Mana: 3/5]
Can I use this on myself? He scanned his hands, summoning mana. A faint chill radiated from his core, channeled into the spell.
[CASTING: IDENTIFY]
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[Cast Cost: 1 Mana. ]
[MANA: 2/5]
[TARGET: EIRIK STORMCROW (SELF)]
[REALM: SNOW (RANK 2)]
[STATS: STR 18, END 7, AGI 8, INT 12, CHA 6; Mana: 2/5]
[SKILLS: SWORDMANSHIP: (D); OTHERS (F)]
[TALENTS: (LOCKED)]
[ABILITIES: IDENTIFY (EQUIPPED)]
This would be useful on enemies or allies. He considered testing it on Cedric or Garrick. Maybe potential recruitment prospects.
"Uhngh!"
Leif groaned, being helped to his feet with his right arm cradled uselessly. Garrick Stormcrow threw a disappointed glance toward the fallen noble, face purple with fury.
"Eirik cheated! The duel must not count!" He whirled, jabbing a finger at Eirik. "You cheating filth!"
Marshal Gunnar moved swiftly, planting his massive frame between Garrick and Eirik. "Enough Lord Garrick! The duel is decided! Your brother won within the rules." He turned to Eirik. "You! Collect your prize."
Eirik nodded, gaze falling to the magnificent longsword where Leif had dropped it. He focused his will, pouring mana toward [Identify].
Blue text shimmered over the sword.
[CASTING: IDENTIFY]
[MANA: 1/5]
[ITEM: HOUSE FENRIR'S HEIRLOOM LONGSWORD]
[TYPE: LONGSWORD (MASTERWORK)]
[MATERIAL: PATTERN-WELDED ICE-STEEL CORE (PRIMARY), HIGH-CARBON STEEL (CLADDING), SILVER (POMMEL/GUARD]
[ENCHANTMENTS:]
[CHILLED EDGE (PASSIVE)]: Inflicts minor frost damage on successful strikes, slowing muscle reactions in the wound area.
[REINFORCED STRUCTURE (PASSIVE)]: Resistant to shattering and deformation. Maintains edge exceptionally well.
[HOUSE FENRIR BOND (PASSIVE)]: Attuned to the bloodline of House Fenrir. Grants minor proficiency bonus to wielders of Fenrir lineage.
[ENCHANTMENT TIER: FROST]
[ESTIMATED VALUE: 1,500 SILVER TALONS]
Magnificent.
The Chilled Edge explained the frost trails inherent in the blade. The Reinforced Structure meant durability. The House Fenrir Bond was a minor irritation he couldn't access, but irrelevant compared to the other perks.
And the value... 1,500 Silver Talons. A significant chunk of the Warchest quest. Selling it was an option if necessary, but holding onto this quality weapon was far more appealing.
This ability... is incredible.
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Pain screamed up Leif's arm and legs, but it was distant beneath the tsunami of humiliation. Lost. Lost to HIM. The bastard everyone spat on.
Two days ago, seeing Eirik sprawled in mud after Garrick tripped him was entertainment. Now LeifâLeif Fenrirâwas the one dragged through filth before his peers.
He's ruined me.
He felt nobles hauling him upright. Garrick's glare held no sympathy, only disgust at the inconvenience. Leif's vision swam. He saw his mother's tear-streaked face the day Brynn was dragged away.
Brynn wasn't just his grandfather; Brynn had raised him after his father died young in Cedric's service. Brynn had been his rock, his mentor. And I promised Mother I'd save him. The betrothal Brynn had been negotiatingâLady Astrid of Deepwoodâwas gone. All gone.
This duel was supposed to be redemption, proof of his strength. Now Brynn would die in the mines. His mother would weep forever. And Leif was the noble heir who lost everything to a bastard.
Then he saw it. Eirik turning toward his sword. House Fenrir's Heirloom. The symbol of their lineage, their honor, their loyalty. The beautiful blade with its ice-steel core and silver wolf's head pommel. His most prized possession.
More than prized. It was part of him.
Leif watched in numb horror as Eirik's hand descended toward the familiar leather-wrapped hiltâthe hilt Leif had polished a thousand times.
He's going to touch it. That filthy bastard's hands are going to soil Great Grandfather's blade.
He couldn't let it end like this.
"W-wait!" Leif's voice cracked.
He wrenched away from his supporters, staggering forward despite the agony. All eyes snapped to him. Eirik paused, hand hovering above the sword's grip.
"Stormcrow!" he rasped. "Duel me again!"
Stunned silence descended. Even Garrick was taken aback.
"Fenrir..." Gunnar's voice rumbled warning.
Leif's mind raced, fueled by panic. The betrothal was hanging by a thread. If word spread that he'd lost his heirloom sword to the Bastard... Astrid's father would formally withdraw.
He had to get the sword back.
"Listen!" Leif announced desperately. "The sword... it's yours. But I wager House Fenrir's Skyfrost Cloak! Passed down from the founding! Woven with wyvern down, enchanted for warmth and lightness! Worth twice that sword!"
He swayed. "Fight me again! Right now! First blood! Real swords! You win, you take the cloak as well! I win..." His voice hitched. "I win, I take my sword back!"
The Skyfrost Cloak. The most significant heirloom of his house. The only one they had left. The sheer audacity of the gamble was breathtaking. Nobles murmured, eyes wide.
Eirik straightened slowly. He hadn't touched the sword yet.
"No," Eirik said. "The terms were clear. The duel is over."
The rejection made Leif sway. He won't duel. Coward! He steals my sword, my honor, my future... and just walks away?
"No, Fenrir!" Marshal Gunnar's voice cracked like thunder. "You will stop. You are injured. You are not thinking clearly. You dishonor yourself and your house with this display."
He gestured to the nobles. "Take him to the infirmary. Now. If he resists, restrain him." He turned to Eirik. "Take your prize, Lord Eirik, and leave this yard."
Finish him. The thought crystallized in Eirik's mind. Leif was a loose end, a noble son simmering with hatred and shame. Letting him leave meant constant revenge plots.
He needed to push Leif over the edge.
Subtly.
Eirik turned his back on Leif's pleas. Slowly. He crouched, examining the gleaming pommel with deliberate appreciation. Look at it. It's already mine.
He let his fingers hover over the leather grip longer than necessary. Feel it, Leif. Feel me claiming what's yours.
Then, with possessive slowness, his fingers closed around the hilt. He lifted it, blade catching weak sunlight. Look at it in my hand. Your family's pride. Held by the bastard you despise. Eirik projected utter indifference. Like you and your House were already irrelevant, Leif.
Because they were.
A raw, animalistic scream tore from Leif's throat. He threw himself forward with adrenaline-fueled strength, wrenching violently from the startled nobles' grasp.
He didn't strategize. There was only the overwhelming need to destroy the source of his ruin. His left hand shot toward the dagger at his beltânot a noble dueling weapon, but for desperate moments like this.
He lunged forward like a rabid beast. Deep blue flashed at the dagger's point.
Frostbite Edge.
Recognition slammed into Eirik's mind. Leif was channeling mana, pouring his Rank Three core's power into a spell designed to shatter bone and freeze blood. Frost bloomed over the steel in jagged patterns.
Eirik acted.
Instead of drawing his sword or dodging fully, he committed forward. He dropped low, bending his knees deeply. He released the Fenrir sword's hilt, letting it slide back with a sharp SHINK.
His newly empowered strength propelled his free right hand toward the ground. He scooped up frost-slicked earth and pebbles.
Leif's dagger, wreathed in cold vapor, began its savage descent toward Eirik's head.
Eirik straightened explosively, using his legs like springs. His right arm whipped forward, hurling the dense clump of frozen mud and gravel directly into Leif's face.
SPLAT!
The impact was brutal and unexpected. The gritty mass smashed into Leif's eyes, nose, and snarling mouth. He choked, blinded instantly. The concentration needed for Frostbite Edge wavered. Icy patterns flickered as his mana flow was interrupted.
The dagger's descent faltered.
Eirik didn't pause. He whipped the sheathed Fenrir sword upward in a savage arc. Leif, unable to see, dove headlong into it.
CRACK-THUD!
The heavy silver wolf pommel slammed into Leif's forearm with bone-jarring force. Eirik felt a flash of cold from the contact. Leif screamed. The enchanted dagger flew from his spasming hand, clattering harmlessly away.
The whole sequence spanned less than ten heartbeats.
Marshal Gunnar's roar shattered the stillness.
"FENRIR! YOU FLAYED IDIOT!"
He moved like an avalanche, planting a heavy boot on Leif's forearm and pinning it to the ground. Leif screamed and struggled uselessly.
"You drew steel on a fellow trainee!" Gunnar thundered. "In MY yard! After a duel decided by the rules YOU demanded!" Spittle flew. "YOU spit on discipline! YOU spit on honor! YOU spit on House Fenrir's name!"
Leif writhed, face pale except for the livid bruise on his cheekbone. "He... he took it... my sword...!"
"He won it! Fairly! Under the rules YOU agreed to!" Gunnar leaned down, face inches from Leif's. "YOU drew steel outside the duel! YOU used mana with intent to kill! YOU have violated every law of this yard!"
He gestured at nearby guards. "You two! Bind his hands! NOW! Take him directly to the Ice Cells! He will face the Baron's judgment for attempting assault with lethal intent!"
The guards flinched and obeyed, roughly hauling Leif upright despite his cries and securing his wrists. He offered no resistance now, just shuddering sobs.
"Humph!" Gunnar grunted. "A fine mess. Fine mess indeed." He looked around the silent yard. "Dismissed! All of you! Training is over! Guards, clear the yard! NOW!"