Chapter 5: Chapter 5 - Everything I Am

Cedric straightened, voice hardening into a decree.

“Garrick Stormcrow. As my son and heir, you have brought shame upon this house.”

“For conspiring against kin, squandering our resources, and tarnishing this house’s honor, you will surrender six moons of stipend to replenish Eirik’s coffers.”

“You’ll also spend thirty days in the training yard under Marshal Sila’s supervision—dawn till dusk drills. Use this time to reflect.”

Garrick’s bandaged face flushed. “F-Father, that’s—”

“Silence.” Cedric’s glare froze his son’s protest. “If I hear one more complaint, it’ll be sixty days.”

Garrick’s jaw snapped shut.

Eirik’s mind churned.

Three months’ stipend? That’s nothing since Ingrid’s coffers would keep Garrick fat and happy with wine and whores. As for training? This had Eirik convinced that Cedric wasn’t so much offended by the fact that Garrick had bullied others, but rather he failed at bullying others.

Cedric turned to Lady Ingrid, who dabbed fake tears with a silk handkerchief. “You, my lady, will attend at the Frostmother’s temple daily for prayer and penance. Reflect on your… motherly instincts.”

Lady Ingrid’s lips twitched into a ghost of a smirk before she bowed her head.

“Your wisdom humbles me, my lord.”

Prayer and penance? Eirik stifled a snort and kept his face neutral.

Cedric’s gaze swept the hall.

“Let this be a lesson. Treachery against kin is a rot I will not tolerate.”

Everyone bowed in silence. Steward Brynn’s temporary exile at least sounded harsh, but the lord’s family received only symbolic scoldings. The council knew better than to question it.

Cedric's eyes looked around the hall, and finally lingered on Eirik.

“Eirik, you appeared quite resourceful today, and, dare I say, surprisingly so.” Cedric said slowly. “But violence between brothers is equally vile, and will not go unpunished.”

Here it comes.

Sure enough, Cedric’s glacier-blue eyes locked onto Eirik.

“You. Kneel.”

The command crackled with authority, but Eirik did not move an inch.

“Well?” Cedric growled.

“No.”

Gasps rippled through the hall. None had dared to openly defy the Baron of Stormcrow because he ruled with absolute power. Those who crossed him faced brutal punishments—exile, flogging, or death.

And now—the spineless bastard just did that right in front of their eyes?

Cedric’s voice turned lethal.

“You dare disobey me again?”

“I dare,” Eirik cut in. “Because kneeling won’t change the rot festering here. Cutting stipends? Training yard? Prayers? We both know the judgments you carried out meant nothing.”

He gestured to the cowering servants.

“They’ve confessed. Your heir is a liar, a schemer, and a coward. Yet you still choose to protect him. Because to you, appearances matter more than honor.”

Lady Ingrid lunged forward, jewels clattering.

“You ungrateful vermin! Garrick is trueborn! You’re just a—”

“A bastard.” Eirik laughed. “A word you—and everyone—wielded against me since my first breath. But tonight, Lady”—he spat the title like poison—“the bastard outshone your precious son.”

Garrick snarled, lunging despite his injuries.

“I’LL KILL YOU FOR SPEAKING TO MY MOTH——”

Whoosh.

Eirik’s fist was inches from Garrick’s jaw before stopping. The swing carried so much weight that had Garrick already cowering away.

Since when did this bastard had so much strength?

To Ingrid, this almost seemed surreal. She’s not unaware of how Eirik had reacted to Garrick since he grew up——always shivering, a good-for-nothing pushover, a worm she never cared to think about even for more than three seconds, and now…

“Stay down,” Eirik said softly. “Or I’ll break more than your nose.”

Garrick’s body froze mid-lunge.

Anger made him want to scream, but fear choked the words in his throat. He took a shaky step back instead, clutching his swollen face, too scared to risk another beating.

Ingrid watched everything unfold in sheer shock.

Her son used to dominate Eirik like a cat toying with a mouse. Now just a look from Eirik was enough to make Garrick cower in a way that she never saw him before.

How… how can this be?

Cedric’s roar split the air.

“ENOUGH!”

Frost exploded outward from the Warden’s feet, encasing the nearest guards in ice up to their knees. The hall plunged into sub zero silence.

Cedric’s eyes now blazed with a cold blue light.

“You,” he growled, pointing at Eirik, “You are in a world of trouble now.”

Eirik looked at him calmly.

“And, so are you, my Lord Cedric.” Eirik drew a big breath. “You’ve allowed Garrick’s cruelty, and in turn, made him a weak heir. Everyone calls me ‘bastard,’ yet it was he who truly stains the ‘Stormcrow’ name.”

The hall plunged into stunned silence—so deeply they could hear the crackle of hearth ice. Everyone—counselors, servants, and guards gaped, knowing that what Eirik just did was practically begging for execution.

First, Eirik accused Cedric of being a poor father, then refused to kneel. Now, he’d crossed an unthinkable line, daring to blame Lord Cedric himself. Three acts of defiance, each worse than the last, and this did not even take into consideration breaking Garrick’s nose.

“Eirik.”

Cedric slowly rose from his throne, frost creeping down the stone steps.

“All here witness my patience. I gave you mercy, yet you spat on it.” His armored boots clanked as he stepped down, frost spreading with every word.

“But your insolence ends now. You attack your brother, shame your family, and spit on my mercy. For nineteen years, I tolerated your weakness. Now your first taste of strength is used against your own blood? You leave me no choice.”

He raised a hand, frost swirling around his fingertips.

“Eirik. You will serve three moons in the Ice Cells, then labor in the quarries until summer’s end. Let the cold—”

“Just exile me to the Northern Wastes.” Eirik’s interruption stunned the room.

“W-what?”

Lady Ingrid croaked through split lips as gasps rippled through the hall.

Lord Cedric Stormcrow stared at his bastard son as if knowing him for the first time.

“The Northern Wastes?!” Cedric repeated slowly, as though tasting poison. “You’d march into that hell to die?”

“Yes. Lord Cedric.” Eirik didn’t flinch. “I have already made up my mind before coming here. Before teaching my brother a lesson in decency by breaking his nose. I am tired of living as Eirik the spiness bastard. I want to live a warrior’s life by dying a warrior’s death.”

The hall held its breath. Even Harkin and Yorick exchanged uneasy glances.

The Northern Wastes weren’t just dangerous—they truly were death.

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The cold itself kills—blizzards freeze flesh in minutes, and icy winds in some parts can cut through muscle tendons like knives. Monstrous breasts roam there: giant ice wolves with teeth like swords, hairy mammoths that crush whole villages, and frost trolls that heal even if one chops them apart. Bloodthirsty warriors who ride chariots made of bones, worship dark gods, and burn—or eat—anyone who isn’t one of them.

It’s common knowledge that the land itself is cursed, and even the strongest warriors from the entire Northern Kingdom rarely come back alive.

Not even the most desperate people would venture to the Northern Wastes.

“The Northern Wastes?!”

Garrick’s voice cracked with a mix of disbelief and relief. Yes! Let the frost take him! Let the tribes skin him alive! Lady Ingrid’s lips curled, though her eyes flickered with suspicion. Though she was also initially pleased by the prospect of Eirik being crushed to pieces by the frost trolls, she knew better than to trust Eirik’s sudden death wish.

Lord Cedric’s icy gaze bored into his bastard son.

“The Wastes are no place for the weak. To survive even a day there, one must reach at least Snow Realm.” His voice dripped with scorn. “You’ve stayed in the Uninitiated for the past nineteen years and show no sign whatsoever of ever improving. You are asking for suicide.”

“Lord Cedric, do you truly think I am still Uninitiated?”

Cedric froze.

Eirik stepped forward. “Lord Cedric. Do you truly not see it?” Eirik’s voice was low but carrying through the entire hall. “How do you think I survived Garrick’s beatings? The ‘training accidents’? The starvation?” He spread his arms, the threadbare sleeves of the tunic sliding back to reveal lean muscle. “I trained. In secret. While your trueborn heir gorged himself and bullied servants, I reached the Snow Realm.”

The hall exploded into chaos again.

Gasps, curses, and the clatter of armor filled the air as servants and nobles alike struggled to process Eirik’s words.

Snow Realm? The spineless bastard? At nineteen?

It was absolutely unthinkable.

In the Northern Kingdom, power was measured in realms: Uninitiated, Snow, Frost, Hail, Glacier, Blizzard, Everwinter.

Most never left Uninitiated—farmers, cooks, low-ranking soldiers. Reaching the Snow Realm meant joining the elite. But it would take years, even more than a decade, of brutal training. Lord Cedric’s best warriors—his personal guards, veteran commanders—had only reached Snow Realm in their late twenties or thirties.

Even Marshal Gunnar and Spymaster Yelena, the strongest in the barony after Cedric, were just Frost Realm. Cedric, a fearless warrior and a ruthless ruler revered by many, had only reached Frost Ream’s late stages after decades of battle.

The records were clear. Cedric’s second son, Rurik, had been the youngest to hit Snow Realm at twenty winters old—a feat celebrated not just across the barony, but also across the earldom. Garrick, at twenty-one winters old, was still Uninitiated, though he’d constantly bragged about how he'd reached Snow Realm and obtained the second best record “very soon.” For Eirik, the joke of Stormkeep, to claim Snow Realm at nineteen? It’d shatter every expectation—if true.

“Lies!” Lady Ingrid spat. “If this runt had reached the Snow Realm, how come no one had ever noticed it?!”

“Test me.” Eirik did not bother to even argue with her.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

Test him? Cedric’s fist tightened.

The boy bore no visible frost-magic swirling around him like elite Snow Realm warriors. Yet for those who just entered the Snow Realm, it is also normal if these visible cues weren’t immediately showing.

In any case, Cedric had noticed that there was a sharpness in Eirik’s stance—a predator’s tillness—not just moments ago, but from the very beginning of this trial. And that was enough to make him curious.

“Summon the Eye of Snow,” Cedric ordered.

The Eye of Snow was a crystal orb used to determine someone’s realm.

To use it, one simply puts their hand on it, if they were Uninitiated, the orb would stay clear and cold. If they’d reached the Snow Realm, the runes would glow bright blue, and frost swirled inside the crystal like a miniature storm.

The orb couldn’t measure higher realms like Frost or Hail—those require something much more rarer. Still, it was a key tool for judging warriors’ worth in the North.

A guard hurried out, returning with a fist-sized crystal orb etched with runes.

The crowd recoiled.

Cedrick nodded at the guard, who thrust the orb toward Eirik.

“Place your hand on it.”

The room held its breath. Eirik’s hand rested on the crystal orb.

Seconds ticked by.

The runes remained dark. No frost swirled inside.

Murmurs spread through the crowd. Servants exchanged glances. Lady Ingrid’s smirk sharpened like a knife. Pathetic liar. Just as I thought.

Garrick snorted, pointing at the lifeless orb.

“See? He’s still Unini—”

CRACK.

The orb shattered.

Shards of crystal exploded outward, glittering like frozen tears. Gasps erupted as frost crawled across the floor from Eirik’s feet, spider webbing toward the dais.

The hall fell silent.

Everyone stared at the broken crystal shards scattered at Eirik’s feet. No one had ever seen the Eye of Snow shatter before. It wasn’t supposed to break—it either stayed clear for the Uninitiated or glowed blue for Snow Realm. The outcome had always been binary.

This made no sense.

Garrick was the first to snap.

“Impossible!” he screeched, pointing at Eirik. “He cheated! That orb’s broken! He must’ve rigged it!”

Lady Ingrid rose sharply, her voice cutting through the noise.

“My son isn’t wrong. I’ve heard tales of the Eye shatter before.” Her eyes narrowed at Eirik. “Certain dark magic from the Wastes can fake power for a short time. This is an indication of forbidden spells being used. The orb shattered because it exposed his lies!”

Murmurs spread like wildfire.

“That makes sense! How else could the spineless runt suddenly act so tough?”

“But dark magic’s a crime! Punishable by death!”

“This explains everything. The sudden strength. The defiance. He sold his soul to the tribes!”

Others nodded.

Garrick seized the moment. “Arrest him! He’s a traitor!”

Cedric’s face darkened as the crowd’s shouts grew louder. When people noticed his grim expression, the hall fell silent again.

Cedric stood up, frost crackled under his boots as he turned to Spymaster Yelena.

“Yelena,” he said coldly, “is Lady Ingrid correct? Does the Eye shatter only when dark magic is used?”

Yelena stepped forward.

“Not entirely, my lord.” Her eyes glanced at Eirik, then back to Cedric. “The crystal breaks in two cases. First, if someone uses forbidden magic to fake their strength. Second…”

The crowd started murmuring again.

“Second, if their mana core—the source of their power—is far purer and stronger than normal. The Eye of Snow was an entry-level crystal that isn’t built to handle such pure energy… so it breaks.”

Silence followed.

Lord Cedric stepped closer to Eirik.

“Answer me truthfully. Did you use dark magic to fake your power?”

Eirik met his stare without blinking.

“No. ”

Cedric’s eyes glowed faint blue. “Then you won’t object if I check your mana core myself. My magic will flow into your body to inspect it.”

The crowd sucked in a sharp breath. Everyone knew what this meant. Mana cores were the source of a warrior’s power. If Eirik was lying and had no real core, Cedric’s magic would tear through his body like a sword through paper—crippling or killing him instantly.

Even if he had a core, letting someone else’s mana invade you was risky.

“My lord, maybe there’s another way to—”Yelena stepped forward.

Cedric silenced her with a raised hand. His gaze never left Eirik. “Well? If you’re telling the truth, this won’t harm you. But if you’re lying… you’ll die here. Last chance to confess.”

Lady Ingrid clenched her silk gloves. She didn’t care if Eirik died, but a public execution would stain the family’s honor. Garrick, though, grinned wildly, blood still crusting his broken nose.

Do it, Father! Expose the cheat!

“Do it.” Eirik shrugged.

Lord Cedric stepped right in front of Eirik. The air grew colder with each step. Frost crackled under his boots, leaving icy footprints on the stone floor.

His breath turned to mist as he raised his right hand.

Ice crystals formed on Cedric’s fingertips. He placed his palm on Eirik’s forehead. A sharp hiss filled the air as frost spread from Cedric’s hand, covering Eirik’s face in a thin, glittering layer of ice.

Eirik’s breath slowed, turning visible in the freezing air.

Cedric’s magic poured into Eirik’s body like a blizzard. The frost crept down Eirik’s neck and arms, trying to freeze him from the inside. But then—

Something pushed back.

A bright blue light burst under Eirik’s skin, glowing through the ice. The frost on his body began to melt. Steam rose where Cedric’s magic met Eirik’s power. Cracks spread through the ice covering Eirik’s face like shattered glass.

Cedric’s eyes widened.

His frost magic was being absorbed—exactly like when he had tested the mana core of Rurik.

The ice on Eirik’s skin dissolved completely. Now Cedric’s hand started shaking—not from cold, but from the raw energy pulsing under Eirik’s skull.

“Impossible…” Cedric growled through gritted teeth. Fearing that he might have killed Eirik on the spot, He had secretly limited himself to Snow Realm—and this should still be stronger than Eirik in every means possible. Yet Eirik’s mana burned colder, sharper, cutting through Cedric’ power like a hot knife through now.

This only had one explanation: which was that Eirik mana core must be even purer than his.

The hall was silent. Everyone stared at the steam still rising from Eirik’s shoulders.

“Convinced?” Eirik wiped melted ice from his brow.

Cedric couldn’t bring himself to answer.

His jaw clenched as frost regrew over his burned fingers, healing them. The truth was undeniable—Eirik hadn’t just reached Snow Realm, and his core was of rare purity.

And Cedric couldn’t believe he’d never noticed.

He’d spent years molding Garrick into a proper heir, only to watch the boy grow into a petty tyrant. Meanwhile, the bastard son he’d written off had clawed his way to power in silence.

How many nights had he toasted Rurik’s achievements and Garrick’s potential? Yet here stood this bastard, this ghost he’d willed into irrelevance—his son—burning brighter than any flame Cedric’s pride had ever kindled.

Memories ambushed him.

He remembered Eirik flinching as Garrick lobbed stones——cowardly, Cedric had then thought, since the boy wasn’t even courageous to at least throw them back at Garrick. He remembered Eirik shivering in threadbare furs while stewards “miscounted” firewood——but why hadn’t the boy said something or even protested to servants below his status? He remembered Eirik collapsed in the training yard after Garrick’s “accidental” spear thrust—a man unable to stand up for himself in a fight isn’t worthy to bear the Stormcrow name. The only word Cedric remembered Eirik by was “cowardice,” and it was rightly so, he thought. But now—gods—the shame coiled hot in his gut.

How blind I’ve been.

Nineteen winters. Nineteen winters of him letting Garrick’s cruelties fester, of dismissing Eirik’s silence as cowardice. Yet he must have trained in secret. Survived poison, starvation, betrayal—while I turned my back.

Cedric’s throat felt tight. He wanted to roar—to shatter the vault of his pride and drag Eirik into an embrace, to rasp Forgive me into his son’s unyielding shoulder. But his pride prevented him from doing so in front of the public. Weakness, Cedric had preached for decades, is the only sin. And here stood Eirik, a sin unmasked as salvation.

You are everything I demanded of Garrick. Everything I am.

The frost patterns on Cedric’s armor writhed, betraying him. His voice, when it came, was glacial gravel.

“Eirik had indeed reached Snow Realm… with a very pure mana core. At nineteen winters of age.”

The admission hung like a death knell.