PROLOGUE

Cortland stared at his scarred hands. His knuckles were calloused and white from his clenched fingers. The handle of his sword stood gripped before his chest, the mighty blade buried deep in the lifeless ground. He searched his surroundings for movement. Nothing but churned ground and dismembered bodies remained in his vision. Mages in fancy robes stained with gore and mud lay in groups, many with missing heads or limbs. Their guards and defenders were further afield. Armor, shields, and weapons shone in the sun. Most of them were crumpled scrap or had massive rents in them.

Alone in a sea of blood, Cort began to reminisce. One of his first memories was of pain, fear, and sorrow. Flashes of lightning wider than trees that shook the earth with thunder. Roaring flames that consumed large swathes of his home and left ash behind. The deep moaning cry of the very land moving like tidal waves and buried trees. 

He was just a child when the mages warred with each other. He remembered the screams of fear echoing from the mountains to either side of their small valley. His father’s face aged visibly as their family, their home, and their very way of life was obliterated by uncaring nobles. Magic had allowed them to reach the pinnacle of humanity, controlling massive swathes of the human empire. It was these very lands that the mages fought over, simple territory disputes with no care for the people who lived there.

It was on that day that the embers of rage and hatred were lit within the chests of Cortland and his father. An all consuming desire to snuff out the cause of their pain. 

Mana.

It was a staple of human life in this world. Their crops were grown with it, their homes provided with light and warmth. It was a miracle from the Great System to provide life and power to humanity. It was also a weapon that mishandled could bring about calamity. Cortland despised mana. There was not a single drop of mana in his powerful body. 

His goal… he would wipe out all those who abused mana to indiscriminately kill and claim power. He would be the judge, jury, and executioner. And he would show the whole world that Mages were not the apex of power. His path was one of blood, sweat, and steel.

Cortland pulled his sword from the ground. It was stained with gore and blood, a fitting representation of his path. With a flex Cort’s aura exploded out of his body, clearing away the dust in the air. He looked to the north where he could see smoke in the distance. Turning his back to the slaughter, he walked toward the horizon and the next battle.

CHAPTER 1

No Pain No Gain

Cortland’s childhood was a trial of endurance. He spent almost every waking hour training under his father’s direction. They moved farther east after their home was destroyed, to a village in need of his father’s skills. 

Dalen, Cort’s father, was not a warrior. Dalen had been the local blacksmith of their home. When the mages came, Cort had been searching the forest with his father to find suitable wood for some projects that week. That was the only reason they survived that day.

The battle only lasted minutes. In that short amount of time, their homes were leveled, their crops shredded, and their people murdered. After scavenging for food and supplies, Dalen led Cort to the next village over. The journey was rough for Cort, at the tender age of 5. Dalen, in his rage and grief, pushed a grueling pace. Every night, Cort would sob himself to sleep in pain and sorrow.

They had been in Roanfel for over a decade now. Those years felt like an eternity to Cort while also blurring together in his mind. Every morning, his father would rise before the sun to give Cort instructions on his training for that day. 

Some days, Cort would be tasked with running miles upon miles around the village. The other children thought that Cort was dense, like the baker’s son, who had a terrible head injury as a child. They couldn’t understand why Cort would push himself to the point of collapse day in and day out.

But Cort understood. His father had explained everything in detail to him when he was young. Dalen had a vision for what his son needed to accomplish. A plan had been set in place and every night Cort was reminded by his father. At the end of each day, they would eat their supper in silence. Then his father would interrogate Cort on his progress and accomplishments for the day. 

Each report Cort made would be followed by praise if he worked hard. On the days that Cort slacked or fell short, it was far less pleasant. His father was not a cruel man. He would punish Cort, not out of malice, but because he was passionate about Cort’s future. He would explain in detail how Cort was letting his dead siblings and mother down. The anguish in Dalen’s voice and desperation in his eyes was almost harder to bear than the caning or lashes.

The following day would start the cycle anew. Cort learned to push himself to the breaking point and beyond. 

This harsh upbringing was not without its benefits. Cort was the strongest and fastest child in the village. When a group of the older village children decided they were going to torment Cort for entertainment during one of his runs, they got a rude wake-up call. Even the boys that were older than him found themselves overpowered and on the ground in a flash. Cort didn’t even bother gloating, he continued his run, determined to make his father proud.

The Great System did not provide levels or classes to those under the age of 16. It was at this age that they were deemed adults and ready to join the world at large. That was not to say that you couldn’t increase your stats before you came of age. Your talents, physical, and mental abilities could be trained from the time of your birth. 

Every human at the time of their Initiation could have stats that matched their accomplishments up to that point. Newly initiated adults could have stats ranging from anywhere from 0 to 25. It was considered a great accomplishment to have 15 in a stat. Reaching higher meant either having the epitome of talent and genetics, or that you had accomplished great feats before gaining access to the system.

Cort’s father had hopes for him to achieve greatness. This was the reason for this harsh way of life. The difference between having a Strength of 15 or 25 could mean two or more levels worth of power. The fact that he and his father rejected the idea that Cort train in mana strengthening or manipulation meant that Cort being as strong physically as possible was crucial. Without mana there would be no skills to utilize to destroy his enemies from afar.

The Great System interacted with all sentient beings on their world when they reached adulthood. Orcs, Elves, Dwarves, Gnomes, Goblins, and even monsters were touched by the power of the system. That is not to say power was divided equally. Humans were one of the weakest of the sentient races. Other races had more limited paths to power, but in return received powerful racial bonuses. Even the repulsive and diminutive Goblin race had branching paths that could massively enhance either their magical abilities or their dexterity. Hobgoblin assassins or warlocks were feared for their lethality and cunning. 

Cortland’s 16th birthday was fast approaching, and his training had only increased in intensity to prepare for it. Today, his father had enlisted the help of some boys in the village that were nearing their awakening to help train his Vitality stat. There was only one sure fire way to increase your vitality.

Ethan grunted while chopping into the side of Cort’s leg like it was a tree he was attempting to fell. At the same time, John swung a vertical slice toward his head. Cortland didn’t attempt to counter, he simply raised his arm to block the blow. Matthew stepped forward and stabbed his practice sword at his chest. Cort simply flexed and grunted as the blunt weapon abruptly chipped on his abs. 

Cortland had not moved an inch since the training had started, only blocking blows to his head and neck. The boys were breathing heavily, the hardwood practice swords hanging loosely from their grips. He was a little disappointed that they had only lasted around 20 minutes. He had some bruising and a few small nicks to his skin, but this most likely wouldn’t result in much progress on his stats.

“Are you too tired to continue?” Cortland asked in a neutral tone. 

“What kind of freak are you?” Ethan spluttered. “It felt like I was hitting a brick wall!”

“The tip of my sword literally broke off!” Matthew added.

“Bastard, you think you are better than us because you are a little tough!” John spat on the ground next to Cort’s foot. “When I get my class, I’ll be able to blast you into next week!”

“So you are too weak to keep going?” Cortland replied lazily.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“You know what, screw this! I have better things to do than stand around beating up a retard with more muscles than brains.” John exclaimed. “I’m going to be a mage, you’ll just end up a front line meat shield with your talents!”

Ethan and Matthew nodded their heads in agreement. “Come on, let's get out of here, helping this guy is a waste of time.” Ethan threw his practice sword at Cort’s feet, with Matthew following suit a moment later.

“You are most likely as untalented as you are pathetically weak, but good luck with that.” Cort retorted while bending down to pick up the dropped practice weapons.

“Bastard!” Cort heard a soft whistling sound and turned his head. John was swinging his sword with both hands toward Cort’s face. A sharp cracking sound rang out and splinters exploded off the broken sword. He had closed his eyes in time to prevent a splinter to the eye, but the blow had struck him across his head and sliced his ear. 

Through the ringing in his head, he could feel a heat rising out of him. He lunged toward John faster than the boy could react, snatching the broken weapon out of his hand. Cort tackled the boy to the ground while tossing the scrap wood aside. He rained blows down into John’s torso, causing the boy to gasp like a fish and lower his hands to defend his midsection. Cort’s fist flashed out, bludgeoning John directly in his nose. The force of the blow broke John’s nose and his head snapped back into the hard ground, knocking him out. 

At the same time, Ethan and Matthew ran in to try to defend their friend. They tried to grab one of his arms each to haul him away. With a flex of his chest and biceps, he smashed the two boys together. They fell to the ground as well, gasping for air and holding their heads.

The haze faded from his eyes and he stood up. He retrieved the unbroken practice swords from the ground. Looking at Matthew and Ethan, he said, “Thanks for the help with my training.” Then Cort turned and walked back toward his home.

With the failure of his vitality training he decided he should focus on strengthening himself. Cort and his father lived on the outskirts of the village. They had set up various training tools to help in their mission to forge his body. In the open area near the forest was a large log with a rope harness tied to it. Cort wasn’t sure how much the tree weighed but it was 12 feet long and almost 3 feet across. This was the newest log they had created that pushed the very limits of what he could move. 

Cort could also train his endurance stat if he continued training until he collapsed. Strapping himself into the harness they had created, he leaned forward until he was at a 45 degree angle and pumped his legs as hard as he could. He gripped the ropes over his shoulders and flexed his core, putting his whole body into the pull to get the massive tree moving. Slow at first, until he got up to a walking speed, he dragged the ponderous weight in the large circle of worn ground that was his track.

Hours passed as Cort strained himself with a single minded focus. Sweat soaked through his clothes and flowed down his face watering the barren ground under his feet. He felt hot and flush, almost feverish from the effort. His heart pounded like a bass drum at double the speed of his steps. Corts lungs heaved like a bellows as he counted each exhale. His whole body began to spasm and shake as he started to reach his limits. Each step was agonizing and the burning sensation of his tired muscles drowned out all his other senses. 

He had been to this point many times in the past. The feeling of dizziness and flashing spots in his vision were old friends that he knew well. He eventually collapsed to the ground unable to move at all. He ensured his head was turned to the side so he could breathe properly. It took several minutes for him to recover enough to crawl out of the harness. While he waited to regain some energy he sat and meditated. 

Unawakened humans did not have mana and they could not touch on the Dao, but it was widely believed that talents achieved Dao visions early by having insights before they gained their system. The Dao touched on everything in existence and sentients could gain enlightenment from the universe. By gaining Dao achievements you could touch on pieces of the cornerstones that made up reality. 

Dao was limitless and could touch on any aspect of the world. One of the few boons of being human was that they were closest to the universe. Humans were like a blank canvas that could easily have any truth painted upon it. Many other races were limited in the Daos they could touch on and had less affinity for them. For instance Dark Elves almost exclusively had affinity for concepts touching on the night sky. Whether it be the stars, moon, or space itself. Despite this limitation, Humans could achieve far greater connection to those and more.

Cort had spent the last few years before his awakening contemplating what he would use for himself. He knew of a few examples from the people in his village. Farmers mostly had concepts dealing with nature, water, or the sun. Guards often had more martial concepts like a Dao of the sword or shield. Cort wanted to pursue something more centered around his body. He had worked hard for many years on his physical abilities. A Dao that could bolster his hard work and effort would be ideal.

“Cort! Enough for today, let’s eat.” He was startled back into awareness by his father. Cortland hadn’t even noticed Dalen arriving back home.

“Yes sir.” Cort groaned as he struggled to his feet and limped toward the open door of their home.

Dalen strode into their home and sat in his regular spot at the single table in their small home. Cort gazed across his home. They lived in a single room of moderate size. Two beds were in the corners of the right side of the house with chests at their feet for clothes. They had a small wood burning stove in the center that served as both their cooking station and a way to keep their home warm in winter. To the left, the simple wooden table with two rough chairs sat with plates already prepared. 

Cort took his place across from his father. He began shoveling his food into his mouth barely noticing what he was eating. They ate in silence as was their custom. Cort’s thoughts were on the day’s progress and what he would report soon to his father. He was disappointed that the boys his father hired ended up being so worthless. He was sure his father would be disappointed at his lack of progress. Cort would need to find a new way to train his defenses.

“You have blood on your face.” Dalen stated simply once his son finished eating. Cort touched the left side of his face, his hand coming away with flaky dried blood. “I’m assuming training went well today?”

Cort sighed, “Not really. They were too weak to train with seriously. One of them snuck a hit to my face when I wasn’t paying attention. Almost got splinters in my eye when it shattered.”

“I should have known better than to trust those ingrates to take anything seriously. Tomorrow I’ll see if I can convince one of the guards to spend their day off training with you.” Dalen clicked his tongue. “I don’t know if they will be willing. Most of our neighbors think what we are doing is insane.”

“I know, father.” Cort agreed while placing his chin in his folded hands. “I don’t bother trying to explain myself any more. They all seem to be content being mediocre.”

In a rare moment of doubt my father lowered his head into his hands. “As your birthday gets closer I’ve started wondering if they are right…” He paused, Cort was too surprised to respond. “I just hope I’m not crippling your future.” A single tear dropped to the table from his face. 

“I swear father. I will make this work! No matter what it takes…” There was steel in Cort’s voice. His whole life had been dedicated to this dream. Cortland’s bones and skin were etched with the history of his struggle. “Besides… there's no way I would be able to live with myself as some filthy stuck up mage.”

Dalen chuckled darkly. “Look at this old man getting soft. You’re right, we need to stay the course, your mother and sisters deserve no less.”

They both bowed their heads in silence for a few moments remembering those they lost.

“In all honesty Father, I feel as though my progress has stopped altogether. No matter how hard I push myself I feel like I have reached a point where nothing is improving.” Cort was nervous that he would fail before his journey even began.

“I suspect that you have reached the limits of what is possible for most of your stats son.” Dalen shook his head and gave Cort a rare smile. “Those practice swords I gave you… do you know what I made them out of?”

Cort looked at his father and quirked an eyebrow in confusion, “I would assume they were made of wood?”

Dalen chuckled, “Maybe I really should have sent you to school a little more often! Not all woods are made equal, boy. I crafted those things out of iron oak!” His father looked at him expectantly.

“And? It's still just wood…” Cort responded.

Dalen covered his face with his hand, “Okay make that a lot more often. Nine hells boy it is in the name! Iron oak is only a little softer than actual iron. I could probably bend a piece of steel across your dense skull at this point!”

Cort decided not to justify that comment with a response. “So what? Should I focus on something else? I haven’t gotten any faster or stronger in over a year. I know gains slow down as you reach the limit but I’m not sure what I should work on now.”

“In all honesty we only have a month before you turn 16. I think we should turn your attention towards your skills rather than your stats at this point. I’ll talk to Magnus and see if he is willing to take you out on a patrol and get you some experience.” His father was staring into space as he contemplated their next steps. 

Their plans for the future had really only gone as far as his awakening. There was little talk of what would happen after he awakened because everything depended on what the Great System granted him. You can’t plan for something you have no control over. When an adult sentient awakened the system would provide various choices that would determine your path. 

Your talents, your body, and your life would be evaluated, the Great System was said to be able to detect things about a person that they couldn’t see in themselves. Mages had children who would become farmers, alchemists could have children that would become spellwords, and any combination you can think of. It was thought that by training in certain ways or completing certain tasks could influence your choices. There did seem to be some truth to this because noble families only rarely had children that weren’t Mages.

Dalen had been afraid Cortland would awaken as a blacksmith like his father so Cort was forbidden from touching smithy tools or even spending much time at the forge. Their hope was that he would be able to unlock a rare combat class with his training. Their empire had legends of legendary berserkers and swordsmen from the days before the Mages Circle came to power. It was commonly thought that these stories were fiction due to the disparity in physicality between humans and other races.

If you asked any human today what the most powerful class was they would say Elementalist, Space Mage, or some other casting class. Cort’s life goal was to change that very view, and to punish the mage’s who destroyed his home.

Dalen took his silent contemplation as hesitance and gave his son a hard look, “I told you a long time ago that the path we were putting you on was one of bloodshed. Are you having doubts, Cort?”

Cortland’s gaze shifted from the table up to his father’s eyes, “Not at all! I’m ready, eager even!” Cort gave his father a fierce grin. “It’ll be a nice change of pace.” 

His father bared his teeth like a feral animal, “That’s my boy.”

If a villager had seen their expressions at this moment they would have shuddered from the bloodlust the boy and his father emitted.