"Those of you who didn’t receive the blessing—don’t worry."
"If you’re willing to beco my soldiers, you can still train and have a chance to learn the Stag Knight Breathing Technique."
Ryan’s words brought a asure 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 co with , 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 Ryan’s description of the Frozen Soil Territory, the village—more accurately, the tribe—imdiately began preparing supplies.
"I believe every one of them will be a rare treasure for you," Brand said beside him.
"Oh?"
Ryan naturally wanted to strengthen his bond with this Guardian Knight—and the best way to do that was through stories.
"May I hear so of the stories from here?"
"As you wish."
Brand bowed, then brought forth an elderly man who walked with difficulty. Ryan noticed that below the man’s pant legs were wooden prosthetics.
Seeing that Ryan’s gaze held no trace of disdain, both the old man and Brand subconsciously grew more respectful.
"Old Arno lived through the War of the Spirits," Brand said.
"He’s the one who took in. He lost his legs because of ."
"Lord, he wants to share our story with you."
"Our story, huh..."
Old Arno’s cloudy eyes sparkled with mories.
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 Ryan stood silently, listening.
"Our world is called the Continent of Eikseniel.
Most humans revere the Spirit of the Stag."
"Because of our passion for the Stag Spirit, the people of Eikseniel 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 craftsn."
"Though not densely populated, Eikseniel 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."
"Eikseniel was drawn into the flas 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 ca the eternal winter.
Blizzards and biting winds ravaged our lands."
"Forests drowned in snow. Swamps beca 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 Eikseniel’s population perished."
"But that wasn’t the worst of it.
Deaths from battle were only the beginning."
"After the war ended, ca famine.
The hunger and cold of the first ten years claid the majority."
"Then ca chaos.
Over ti, the population dwindled further."
"To survive in such sudden, eternal winter... only the strong endured."
"But with the Stag Spirit gone, we remained re 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 outco was inevitable."
"The war ended. We lost everything.
And now, in this eternal cold, we’re losing the rest."
As he spoke, Old Arno eventually drifted into sleep. Before he did, he told Ryan that he would not be going to the Frozen Soil Territory, nor to any other world.
He had witnessed Eikseniel’s golden age, and now he would remain—to guard what was left of its silence and snow.
He gave Ryan a na, saying he had passed down all his woodworking skills to a young man.
"Old Arno won’t survive this winter," Brand said after settling him back into his cabin,
"But seeing his people gain a chance to live—that will make him happy."
Brand then brought another youth to Ryan.
"This is Arnol—also found by Old Arno in the snow."
"Arnol pledges his loyalty to you, my lord."
The young man knelt before Ryan. Ryan noticed he was not one of the thirty newly blessed trainee knights.
"He dreams of becoming a bard like in Old Arno’s stories.
And he’s not suited for combat," Brand explained.
Even though the two were close, Brand stuck to his responsibilities.
"Stand up," Ryan 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," Arnol replied respectfully.
If the lord said so, then it must be true.
Brand also had to prepare his belongings, and together with Arnol, left Ryan with only his two attendants once more.
"With these people, we can finally begin building the Frozen Soil Territory,"
Old Beard said, gratified.
He had not spoken throughout Ryan’s actions—because he believed every one of Ryan’s decisions had been the correct one.
As a steward, his duty was to remain silently supportive.
Beside him, Rosen wore a conflicted expression. Eventually, he couldn’t hold it in and looked toward Ryan.
"My lord... that Stag Spirit blessing—could I have one too?"
His face flushed. The truth was, he had co to realize sothing:
He was too weak.
Not just compared to Brand—even among the thirty newly blessed trainee knights, at least ten were already ahead of him, and likely more would soon surpass him.
As Ryan’s first knight squire, he couldn’t afford to be weak. It would bring sha to his lord.
"A blessing? Of course.
But after this, you’ll only be able to practice the Stag Knight Breathing Technique."
Ryan saw the determination in his eyes, then tapped his brow.
10 spirituality points vanished.
Unlike with Brand and the others, Ryan didn’t see traits like Loyalty or Passion on Rosen.
Instead, he saw:
[Unyielding]
Clearly, this ca from Rosen’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 Brand’s noble virtues.
Their ideals were shaped by legend. Their passion, nurtured in hardship and myth.
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