[Settlement Progress: Tutorial Quest #7]

  [Time Remaining: 2 days, 12 hours]

  [Goals:]

  [- Defined Borders - COMPLETE]

  [- Habitable Structures - 58.5% Complete]

  [- Population 1,000 - COMPLETE]

  [- Income Source - 75.3%]

  [- Basic Defenses - COMPLETE]

  [Mana Fragments: 9200/10,000]

  [Daily Absorb Limit: 0/2000 MF - Reset in 2 hours]

  Absorb resets soon. He'd saved enough MF for an upgrade of the Kingdom Core, potentially giving him a new power and some sort of leverage here. He had hoped the order would arrive after both the tutorial quest was done and the kingdom core upgraded to level 3.

  However, that seemed all but a distant hope now. Whatever happened in the next hours would likely decide the fate of him and pretty much everyone else here.

  His hand flexed slightly at his side as the tingling warmth from Mara’s power still unsettling him. Where is she? He needed that answer too, urgently.

  Before he could voice this, Leif pointed sharply. "Rider! Signaling!"

  A Talon scout crested the rise half a mile down the pass, waving a blue pennant frantically. The signal.

  They’re here.

  "Positions," Eirik commanded.

  The wait felt like an eternity. The distant rumble of hooves grew, shaking the frozen ground beneath their feet. Then, emerging from the swirling snow, came the delegation.

  First came the templars. A dozen knights in plate armor with pristine white tabards, emblazoned with a complex sigil: a silver snowflake superimposed over a jagged blue mountain peak.

  The Order of the Everwinter.

  Behind them, borne by four immensely strong bearers on a platform shielded from the wind by sheer curtains, was a chair. No, a palanquin.

  Seated within, visible through a gap in the curtains, was a woman.

  The Chantress.

  She was younger than Eirik expected, perhaps in her late twenties. Hair the color of moonlight fell straight past her shoulders. Her features were perfectly sculpted, flawless, yet utterly devoid of warmth.

  Flanking the palanquin rode two figures Eirik recognized all too well.

  One was massive, filling a warhorse built for his bulk. Earl Borin Ironhelm. His face was red-cheeked from the cold, framed by a thick, graying beard, and he wore a jovial expression. But his eyes darted everywhere.

  Beside Borin was Rurik Stormcrow. His handsome face broke into a wide, utterly charming smile as soon as he spotted Eirik.

  "Brother!" he called out. "By the Frost Mother's grace! Look at this!”

  He gestured expansively at the soaring ice walls as the procession drew to a halt before the gate.

  Borin boomed a laugh. "Aye, lad! A sight indeed! Rurik here hasn't stopped talking about your walls since he returned! Said you conjured them from the breath of winter itself! Seeing it…" He shook his head. "Well, it beggars belief!"

  Rurik swung down from his horse with ease and strode forward, ignoring the templars who shifted subtly to cover him. He bypassed the others completely and wrapped Eirik in a firm embrace.

  Eirik forced himself not to stiffen.

  "It truly is magnificent, Eirik,” Rurik’s voice dropped slightly, pitched for the welcoming party to hear clearly. "But it's not just the walls, is it? Look around you!”

  He turned, beaming, taking in Leif, Yorick, Harkin.

  "Look at these men! Yorick! Once just a humble scribe scratching records, if I recall true, now overseeing the… complexities… of a reborn fortress? And Harkin! Who should be warming his bones by a fire, now leading caravans across Skarl-infested passes?" He chuckled. “Forgive me, but I have yet seen a more loyal man like you. Keep my brother safe, would you?”

  He gave Harkin a hug also.

  "An Leif Fenrir… of course! Commanding men, facing the Skarls at such a young age! How truly remarkable! Even that man on the walls!" He pointed up to where Olaf stood scowling over the chaos below. “That man was a prisoner, if I am not mistaken, a prisoner who gained freedom after slaying a troll against impossible odds! And now look where he is!"

  He turned back to Eirik.

  "That's the real miracle, brother. Not just elevating yourself from obscurity… but finding and elevating others! Giving lost souls a place and purpose! Remarkable! Truly, Earl Borin, does it not speak to an uncommon… vision?"

  Neatly done, Eirik thought, grinding his teeth internally. Praising my 'elevation' while subtly reminding everyone of my bastard 'obscurity'. Highlighting my men's humble origins to undermine them. Framing Olaf as a dangerous brute. All wrapped in admiration.

  As the Earl was opening his mouth, likely with another booming comment – a disturbance erupted nearby.

  A knot of pilgrims broke through.

  "He healed the boy!" a woman shrieked. "The Frost Mother touched him!"

  "Let us near him! We need blessing!" a man yelled, pushing forward.

  "Please, Lord Stormcrow! My daughter! She wastes away!" another cried, trying to surge past a Talon.

  The chaos threatened to spill towards the delegation. The Order templars shifted, hands going to sword hilts.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Eirik braced himself to shout an order, but he never got the chance.

  The Chantress moved.

  She took one step forward towards the surging crowd as her lips parted.

  "Gelu... silentium..."

  Eirik felt an intense cold that had nothing to do with the winter chill, emanating from her.

  The desperate woman in the lead froze mid-stride. The man shoving beside her stumbled. The entire front rank of the advancing pilgrims simply… stopped. Hundreds of people stood motionless, breathing shallowly, staring blankly ahead, like statues carved from flesh and bone.

  The Chantess’s face as impassive as before, as if she’d done nothing more than shoo away a fly.

  Earl Borin let out a low whistle.

  "Well then!" He boomed. "Seems the Mother’s Chosen know how to keep the faithful… respectful!" He laughed, a sound that seemed jarringly loud in the stillness. "Impressive display, Chantress Varina. Most impressive.”

  He turned back to Eirik.

  "Now then, Eirik my boy! Enough standing about freezing our noble arses off! How about we get inside? Proper introductions, a warm fire, maybe something to take the chill off?" He winked broadly. "Rurik tells me you’ve made some… interesting structures. Wouldn’t mind a peek at those!"

  The Chantress's pale eyes finally focused directly on Eirik, who felt an intense shudder crawling up his spine.

  "Of course, Earl Borin. Chantress." Eirik forced his voice to stay level. "Welcome to Fort Abercrombie. Please, follow me."

  The silence left by the Chantress’s freezing spell reached the courtyard. Hundreds of pilgrims stood like ice sculptures, breath misting in shallow puffs, eyes fixed on nothing. The eerie calm was more unnerving than the earlier chaos.

  A demonstration, Eirik thought grimly. She shows me her power is much beyond those ice walls I made.

  Borin Ironhelm’s booming laugh shattered the tension.

  “Ha! Always liked a woman who knows how to command a room, eh Eirik?” He clapped Eirik heartily on the shoulder. Eirik forced himself not to flinch.

  Borin sees the power, he wants it, but he’s also letting the Order take the first swing. And whether the woman wants him elevated or executed, Borin will probably obey without objection. Smart coward.

  “Now then, boy! Tour! Show us these wonders Rurik’s been prattling on about! Starting with these famous walls of yours! Built ’em yourself, they say? Conjured ’em from thin air?”

  Eirik forced a neutral expression.

  “Something like that, Earl Borin.” He said. “But not from thin air. The raw material was here. I just… gave it purpose again.”

  “Purpose!” Borin echoed. “Damn fine purpose! Look at the thickness! The sheer scale! Must have taken an army of workers months, eh?” He thumped the ice with a gauntleted fist. It didn’t even chip. “Solid! Solid as Stormkeep’s foundations! How’d you manage it, boy?”

  The probing.

  “It’s difficult to explain, my lord,” Eirik began, choosing his words carefully. “It requires… channeling the cold itself. Shaping it. Sustaining it.” He glanced back at the Chantress. Her pale eyes held his.

  “Channeling the cold!” Borin roared another laugh. “Like that trick with the little fire bottles! Frostfire flasks, am I correct? Genius! Utter genius!” He slapped his thigh. “Toss a little bottle, whoosh! Instant Skarl bonfire! Saved my cousin Harlen’s hide near Flint’s Hold, he swears! Never thought he’d see the day! Always took you for quiet, Eirik. Didn’t know you had such… inventive spark!” He winked broadly. “Or such spine, beating Cedric’s pet martial at Stormkeep! And now the Skarls!”

  He looked impressed, Eirik realized with a flicker of surprise. Genuinely. Borin liked strength and clever solutions. Maybe he could use that.

  Rurik smoothly interjected. “My brother's ingenuity knows no bounds, Earl. Though I must confess that many in our early years, myself especially, had never seen the potential he now demonstrates. Breathtaking potential.”

  He gestured grandly at the courtyard, slowly coming back to life as the Chantress’s spell faded. People moved again, but much more fearfully, casting glances at the delegation.

  “Refugees. Miners. Broken men and desperate women. He saw strength where others saw only chaff. Found purpose for the purposeless. Quite… remarkable. Who would have thought it possible, brother? Only time before thousands would flood this place! Tens of thousands! This place will become a beacon, not just for the earldom, but the entire North!”

  The compliment was again double-edged. He’s reminding everyone Eirik’s potentially world-turning agenda, one that would bring the established order upside down.

  They neared the central keep.

  The crowd instinctively parted before the Chantress. The statue of the Frost Mother dominated the space, bathed in the weak afternoon light. Its serene visage glowed faintly, radiating an aura of profound calm.

  Borin stopped dead, his jaw slackening. He stared up, his usual bombast replaced by genuine awe.

  “By all the frozen hells…” he breathed, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “You… you made that? Rurik said, but… gods above, lad. That’s… that’s not possible.”

  He took a few hesitant steps closer, looking utterly dwarfed and insignificant before the towering ice. “Looks… looks like Her. Truly. From the old tapestries in the High Temple. The curve of the brow… the set of the lips…”

  He shook his head, unable to fully articulate his shock.

  But the Chantress, Varina, had stopped listening.

  She glided forward, past Borin, her white robes whispering on the frozen ground. She approached the base of the statue, her gaze fixed upwards, utterly ignoring the murmurs and bows of the nearby pilgrims.

  Eirik felt it immediately – a pressure, a probing tendril of power different from his own Frost Mana. Hers felt deeper and infinitely more controlled, and utterly alien. He could shape ice, but she commands it.

  She stopped a few paces from the statue’s base. She lifted one slender hand, palm facing the ice. Her fingertips didn't quite brush the surface.

  Nothing visible happened.

  No flash of light, no visible ripple in the ice. But Eirik felt it.

  It was like a sledgehammer slamming into his solar plexus. An invisible wave of force, bone-chilling and vast, struck the statue. More importantly, it struck the core of the magic Eirik had poured into it.

  A notification flashed behind Eirik’s eyes:

  [External Force Detected!]

  [Analyzing Resonance...]

  [Affinity: High-Order Blizzard Realm]

  [Intensity: Extreme]

  [Effect: Passive Disruption/Mana Drain]

  [WARNING: Sustained exposure may destabilize Kingdom Core!]

  [MANA FRAGMENTS: 9200/10,000 > 8200/10,000]

  [MANA FRAGMENTS: 8200/10,000 > 7200/10,000]

  [MANA FRAGMENTS: 7200/10,000 > 6200/10,000]

  …

  Eirik gasped, staggering back half a step. It felt like someone had plunged a frozen dagger into his gut and twisted. The color drained from his face, leaving him pale as the snow underfoot. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cold.

  She’s siphoning Eirik's power just by being near one of his creations. And doing so quietly and effortlessly. He could feel the Mana Fragments – his lifeblood, his fortress’s foundation – pulled towards that slender, outstretched hand.

  Borin, oblivious to the assault, was still staring at the statue’s face, shaking hishead in wonder.

  “Incredible… just incredible…”

  Rurik, however, saw Eirik’s reaction. A sharp curiosity replacing the practiced warmth. He said nothing, but his gaze darted between Eirik’s pallor and the Chantress’s unwavering focus.

  Eirik clenched his jaw, fighting the wave of weakness and nausea. He couldn't show panic. He couldn’t interrupt her. He needed every scrap of Mana Fragment he had. The Level 3 upgrade was within reach, a potential lifeline against this very power. But at this rate, she’d drain it dry before the absorption limit reset in… he mentally calculated… less than two hours.

  Frostbite. He had to stop the drain, but how?

  He forced air into his lungs, straightening his posture with an effort that sent fresh pain lancing through his core. He had to act.

  “Chantress Varina.” He walked forward, positioning himself subtly between her and the statue, not blocking her view entirely but imposing his presence.

  “The faithful find immense comfort in Her presence here. A beacon in the north.” He gestured towards the recovering pilgrims, some of whom were daring to creep closer again, drawn by the spectacle. “A symbol of hope made tangible for men who longed for it. Do you… feel it?”

  He threw the question directly at her forcing her to acknowledge – or deny – the divine connection.

  Varina’s pale eyes finally shifted from the statue’s face to meet Eirik’s. She lowered her hand. The draining pressure relented.

  The Chantress studied him for a long moment, and finally spoke.

  "I tire from the journey."

  "Oh yes, yes!" Borin boomed, snapping out of his reverence. "Lodging! By the Mother, I'm famished! Haven't had a proper meal since we broke camp this morning!" He clapped his hands together. "Boy, do you have anything for us? I'm hungry as a bull now!"

  Eirik fought off another wave of dizziness. The mana drain had left him feeling hollow, like someone had scooped out his insides with a rusty spoon.

  "Ah... yes," he managed. "It's underground."

  Borin's bushy eyebrows shot up. "Underground?" He looked around the courtyard as if expecting to see obvious entrances he'd missed. "You mean like... cellars? Root cellars?"

  "I'll lead the way," Eirik said, taking a careful step forward and doing his absolute best not to collapse.