Name: Cheese

Age: 29

Soul Coins (SC): 1

Faith Coins (FC): 242

Displayed Title: Branded Heretic (Locked)

Displayed Skill: Journeyman [Axework 35] (Locked)

Claimable Rewards: None

Quests:

* Clear Out the Riffraff – 3,324 / 30,126 invaders remaining

* Closest invader is 523 kilometers to the north-northeast.

* Clear out the trash (Optional) – Kill the incursion leaders to end the quest early. Nearest leader is 12,234 kilometers to the east. 3/6 leaders remain.

Skills:

* [Axework 35 Common]

* [Spiritual Manipulation 25 Rare]

* [Spiritual Resistance 13 Legendary]

* [Cooking 11 Common]

* [Climbing 10 Common]

* ...

Abilities:

* [Cleave 11 Rare]

* [Spiritual Binding 7 Unique]

* [Axe Throw 5 Common]

"Hummmmmm, what the fuck's a Soul Coin? Or a Faith Coin?" The Master at Arms’s voice rumbled in the quiet space, his brow furrowing as he eyed the strange menu floating before Cheese.

Cheese blinked, caught off guard by the question, but he quickly recovered. "Honestly? I’m not sure. They’re tied to whatever the gods did with their system boon. I haven’t been able to puzzle it out myself." He shifted uncomfortably, eyeing the symbols as if they might reveal something new. "They’ve been… a part of this new system ever since the gods made their grand entrance. Also there are only three incursion leaders left? When did that happen?”

The Master at Arms snorted, crossing his arms with a shrug “Well, ain't that a fine mess. The incursion leaders fell the day before we arrived . Likely while you were passed out. Now about your boon, is there anything weird connected to it?

Cheese hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "It’s... complicated. All I know is that they allowed me access to a new tab, but it's mostly locked. I can spend the coins at a shop, but it doesn't have anything useful in it." Cheese looked down at his brands and said "Also I`ve got these, and I keep seeing my skills raise on their own. I got Axework to 32 in battle, but it’s higher now."

The Master at Arms didn't react to the story—he just listened, his eyes narrowing as he took it all in. Finally, after a long beat, he said, "Thats normal for us now, everyone's skills are adjusting and they are raising passively with time, but what about the spiritual skills?" He gestured vaguely at Cheese’s stats. "Seems you’ve got a fair bit of Spiritual Resistance, and that Spiritual manipulation of yours. But what the hell are you doing with 'em? Those are generally seen on mages and wizards who use mana to protect themselves."

Cheese felt confused by the question, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure how to answer. he had never usedd mana like that, had he? "I got those after my fight with the Nekomata, it.... well, it invaded my soul, that's the best way I can explain it." Cheese went on to explain teh interactions with the force in his core, and how he had managed to fight it off. As he got to the end of his story the Master at Arms raised a hand, cutting him off.

“Thats magic boy, and you didn't even realize you were using it. Magic’s all well and good, and it appears you have an affinity for it. But you're an axeman, boy. You rely on your body, your strength, your stance. You can’t just keep throwing your mana around like it’s a free pass while ignoring the basics. If you’re neglecting your physical form, you’ll suffer for it. I don’t care how strong your mana is—if you can’t hold the line, you’ll fall. And when you fall, that’s when you’re gonna end up with more than just a bruised ego.”

Cheese’s fists clenched, the words stinging. He didn’t want to admit it, but the Master at Arms was right. He had been so focused on finding a shortcut that he neglected the basics. He’d let his body grow weak while he leaned too heavily on the magic. Part of him had known this, his athletics was stuck at 14, it had stopped raising when this whole thing began.

“I... I get it,” Cheese muttered, his voice low. “But how do I stop using something I don't even know I'm using.”

“No,” the Master at Arms said firmly, his tone resolute. “You haven’t. I’m not telling you to stop using magic, boy. I’m saying you can’t rely on it. Just like you can’t rely on your body alone. You need to learn to train your other skills. But until you do I have a trick.”

As he spoke, the small man pulled out a leather strap attached to two ropes. He moved around Cheese, slipping the leather loop over his neck like a necklace.

“This is a tool made by our people,” the Master explained. “An inhibiting collar. We use them on mages in the capital who are imprisoned, or like in this case on young warriors who lack proper mana control. It blocks the flow of energy between the brain and the heart, suppressing their abilities. It’ll do the same for you while we train.”

The effect was immediate. A weakness surged from his neck to his toes, and sapped the energy away in a flash. Cheese's bad leg gave out, and he crumpled to the cold ground with a grunt.

"Now we are ready for the Glíma," said the smaller man as Cheese rolled onto his back. "This training will build your muscles, but first, we must address your injury." As he spoke, he knelt over Cheese and began manipulating his limbs, folding legs, twisting arms, and bending his body into strange positions.

"These are the forms of beginning—you will memorize them," the smaller man instructed, paying no mind to Cheese’s grunts and complaints. Cheese felt weaker than ever before, straining to hold each position that the small man moved him into. “You will do this every morning and every evening. It will strengthen you."

After thirty grueling minutes of stretching, for that’s all it was, Cheese was allowed to stand. His clothes and breastplate were filthy from the ground. Around them, the sparring men had rotated out, replaced by a new group as Gelrock worked to stretch Cheese.

"How does the leg feel?" Gelrock asked as Cheese tested his weight on it.

"I can still feel the injury, but it’s no longer too painful to stand on," Cheese replied, surprised.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

The master-at-arms nodded. "As I suspected. I believe your magic is hurting you. That’s something I can’t fix—not completely. Your magic is invasive; it pushes, separates, and harms. For someone like you, healing is difficult. Your injury wasn’t as bad as it seemed—yes, a dislocation and some damage—but at the journeyman level, such wounds would almost heal overnight. Your mana is stopping that, Cheese."

The words shocked Cheese. “What!” he exclaimed.

Gelrock nodded. "Yes. I only know this because of my skill. I’m no sage, just a master-at-arms, but a skill at this level offers insight into one’s students. Your biggest challenge is that your mana and your path as an axeman are at odds with each other."

Cheese absorbed the explanation as Gelrock motioned toward the edge of the training pit. "Strip your plate and return. Then I’ll show you the next part of the Glíma. You’ll perform the exercises I’ve shown you on your own every morning and evening. The next part requires a partner."

Cheese limped to the edge of the ring but noticed his hobble was fading. The pain lingered, but his leg was holding his weight. Nold and Torv were there to assist him, and Torv’s purple shirt earned an approving nod from Cheese. Together, they stripped off his armor, and Cheese reentered the training grounds.

Gelrock waited, bare to the waist. Cheese followed suit, tossing his shirt to his page. "What now, master?" he asked.

"Stay off the ground," came the curt reply.

Gelrock crouched into a strange stance, his chest low over his knees, arms outstretched like he was about to snatch a fish from a stream. Cheese hesitated but adopted a stance the militia had taught him—similar to chopping a tree.

"No striking," Gelrock warned. "Your goal is to put me on my back. I’ll do the same to you." He crept closer.

Cheese had never done anything like this before, and it showed. When Gelrock reached forward tentatively, Cheese swatted at his hand, then pulled back, remembering the rules. Too late. Gelrock seized his wrist with startling strength, yanking him forward. Cheese lowered his body to counterbalance, but the smaller man was already behind him. A foot pressed against his knee, buckling it and sending Cheese stumbling forward. He ran into the fall, trying to regain his footing, but failed. A notification appeared:

[Athletics 15].

Cheese stood facing Gelrock, who smirked, still crouched in that strange stance. "Do not let your opponent grab you—wrists, head, legs. If I get a hold, you go down. In a fight, going down means death."

The lesson continued for an hour. They paused only for sips of water and short explanations. Gelrock taught Cheese to control his balance by throwing him off it. He demonstrated how to protect his legs by grabbing them. When Cheese hit the ground, Gelrock showed him how to keep moving to avoid being pinned. They didn’t progress to the finer points of sparring—not yet. By the end, both were sweating heavily.

Cheese glanced at his skill list:

[Athletics 23].

He grinned at the absurd rise. Gelrock, however, remained focused. "We’ve done all we can for your body today. Come," he said, removing Cheese’s suppression collar. "Where’s your axe?"

Cheese summoned his weapon with a thought. Gelrock extended a hand, and Cheese handed it to him. "Markaðr," the master murmured, inspecting the runes etched into the blade.

"You can read it?" Cheese asked, astonished.

Gelrock nodded. "The name is in the runes. Now take your blade and show me a strike—show me how you earned this axe and your position. Strike the post as if it were a man."

Cheese took back the axe, savoring how its name, Markaðr, rolled off his tongue. He faced the post—thick and embedded firmly in the ground. Imagining an opponent before him, Cheese stepped forward and swung with all his might. The blade cleaved cleanly through, offering only slight resistance. Momentum carried him forward, nearly sending him tumbling.

Gelrock frowned, arms crossed. "I asked you to cut as if striking a man, but you swing as though chopping firewood." He gestured for the axe. Cheese handed it over.

"Hold it like this," Gelrock instructed, gripping the weapon at its midpoint. "An axe is versatile. Swinging from the back is powerful, yes, but if your opponent catches the blade, you’ll lose it."

He adjusted his stance, pulling his front leg back slightly to reduce exposure. "Your stance is fine, but presenting your front leg leaves it vulnerable. Keep your weight balanced. Your axe provides force enough—you don’t need to overdo it."

Gelrock demonstrated, bouncing lightly on his feet, then struck the post with less power than Cheese but with controlled precision. The wood split cleanly, and he remained steady.

Cheese stared, awed. This was a level of mastery he had never imagined, he kept his eyes glued to the man as he moved and struck the wood. Then suddenly Cheese was met with a notification as his skill ticked up [Axework: 36] he gawked at this for a moment before his masters words tore him back to reality.

"You have skill, that much is apparent, but you need to incorporate that skill with your bodies power. That will be what we work on tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?' asked Cheese.

"Yes" said the smaller man. "You will wash, and then lunch. Then we will meet with the baron. We cannot spare the entire day in fun" the words were said with a longing smile.

Cheese nodded saying "yes master" he then stood and walked to the edge of the pit, Walkling up to his men as he did.

Cheese, Nold, and Torv then made their way back inside the main building, stepping through the bustling camp with its clatter of activity. Soldiers and camp workers moved in a constant flow around them, going about their duties with swift purpose. Some women carried crates of supplies, others prepared meals, while groups of men gathered in small circles around the men of the baron, discussing watches or repairing gear. The air was thick with the sounds of busy labor.

The hall loomed ahead, its great wooden doors welcoming them as they entered. Inside, the noise shifted—voices echoed off the thick stone walls. The first floor was alive with the heat of conversation. The long table stretched across the room, men and women sharing mead, bread, and hearty laughter. The smell of cooked meat mixed with the wood smoke and salt of the sea. Men and women paused as Cheese passed, nodding in respect or offering small bows, their gazes momentarily lingering on him. Cheeses` first thought was how clean everyone seemed compared to the previous day. There was a hint of the tragedy, yet everyone looked at him hopefully, and Cheese found this strange, yet he welcomed it. Cheesae followed his two men up the stairs to the side of the hall as they ascended.

Once on the second floor they made their way to the washroom cheese had used this morning. it smelled of steam and soap. In the center of the room was the tub, Cheese was surprised at this, the water seemed clean and still warm. Nold interrupted his thoughts "We had some of the women from the village fill it. The baron told us you would need a wash."

Cheese hesitated, the strangeness of it all still sitting heavy on him. "Ahhh" said Cheese "just feels a bit weird is all. Having people do things for me"

Nold nodded, laughing as he said "Yeah, and two baths in a day. not really what were used to I guess"

Torv approached, unclasping the breastplate from one side as Nold did the other, for a moment he fumbled with a grunt.

“Don’t worry” Torv said with a grin, catching Cheese’s eye, “I’ll get it right eventually.”

Cheese smiled; his discomfort momentarily forgotten. But his thoughts soon returned to the bath. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being an outsider in this strange routine. Still, as they finished taking his clothes off, he sank into the tub with a deep breath, the warmth of the water easing the tension in his muscles.

His thoughts were interrupted when two women entered the room. They were younger, wearing the deep purple of his house. The sudden intrusion startled him, and he yelped in surprise. Nold and Torv, too, looked taken aback.

One of the women quickly spoke, cutting through the silence. "Oh, shut it. The baron sent us to care for you. Said this morning you smelled like a Cassian whore and needed a proper woman’s touch." Before Cheese could respond, they ushered the men out of the room, and Cheese reflexively sunk lower into the tub, exposing only his face. His heart raced. This wasn’t just a bath—it was becoming a hassle, a complicated reminder of how little control he seemed to have over his own life now. The door closed behind Nold and Torv with a soft thud, and Cheese was left alone with the women, the sound of water lapping against the sides of the tub filling the silence.

He swallowed, the discomfort now a sharp, lingering sensation. The tension in his chest wouldn’t ease, but as the steam from the water curled around him, he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the unease. This was something he would have to endure.