> "The System has been a topic of debate and academic interest since Alexan’s Era, that even with centuries of studies and knowledge we have only scratched the upper layers behind this magnificent astral guide that paves the way for each earthwalker.
>
> What has been mostly agreed upon by academicians are that skills support each other, only able to progress and level in tandem with their complementary skills.
>
> For example, Main Professions (debates are still ongoing on what is considered “Main”) such as swordsman, carpenter, and even king, can only progress with their respective auxiliary skills. A swordsman, for example, will never reach intermediate level if one does not improve their Foundation Skills (again, concerns debate) of body endurance, muscle strength, and limb coordination."
>
> - Academician Zaltan
> Introduction to the System
> 546 AE, Month of the Sparrow
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Tomuir flexed his hands that wore mittens, feeling safe in the warmth of his furs and leathers. He tested the grip of his bag, and checked its contents and his tools for the hundredth time. Looking up at the high peaks of Mount Nurtkar, he could not help but gulp and feel an icy chill tingling his spine.
Once again, he summoned his stats. Transparent panels appeared before him, tinted dark blue like the celestial night and the font white like its stars.
Name Tomuir of Winter's Pass Race Human (Northern)
Professions [LV. 9] Apprentice Swordsman [LV. 6] Apprentice Smithing [LV. 1] Intermediate Embroidery Auxiliary Skills [LV. 5] Dexterous Hands [LV. 6] Muscle Strength [LV. 7] Body Endurance [LV. 6] Limb Coordination [LV. 5] Climbing
Stats [LOCKED]
Arcana Arts [LOCKED]
Status Deficient Core Hale Human Northerner Body
He frowned, his Core was deficient, denying him any access to arcana and even the opportunity to upgrade his stats. He gave no heed to arcana, as he looked down on professions that relied on its art, but stats were vital as they allowed his body to ascend beyond human standards.
No matter, he thought, I would find a way.
Behind him, the snow stirred, and dismissing his stats, he turned. The red eyes of Huntress Trikka stared at him behind thick white leather and furs, colored like the land around them.
Only the eyes stayed seen, and they stared like hunter to prey.
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"Come," she said, and passed by him, guiding him towards safer paths to the mountain.
He gulped once again, and scrambled to follow her, lest he lost her among the white snow that she blended in and the shadow of trees that she hid in.
Venturing on his own was ideal, so none would question him of the treasure he would obtain and hide. Yet his mother had a request he knew he could not refuse.
You are not to go alone.
The snow was deep, and he trudged through it like the mud of the warm south. Yet the huntress simply glided through the lands and trees, as if she slid rather than walked.
He heard howls in the distance, though found no wolves that came near, only their golden eyes prowling afar between slits of trees, watching, nothing more.
Tight-lipped, he gripped the handle of his sword, a weapon of steel gifted by Arkith on his 13th winter. He was wary, and found himself itching for battle or any kind of fight. Practical experience, he knew, could finally advance his Swordsman profession beyond apprentice.
Yet the predators of the northern taiga never advanced, as if they were in fear. Tomuir frowned, why?
His wonderings came to a stop as they finally came to the rock wall of Mount Nurtkar. It was a steep mountain face, and though it had many footholds for one to climb, he could not help but be amazed and terrified by the height of the great mountain, its peak hidden behind floating clouds.
He gulped once again.
Turning, he saw Huntress Trikka standing meters away, and realized she would not follow nor guide any further. He found himself wishing she would, for he suddenly felt this endeavor to be, well, stupid.
“Huntress,” he started with an undignified croak. His nervousness showed. “Thank you for guiding me.”
Only silence, and the red eyes stayed still.
He scratched his head awkwardly, “will be safe, I think,” he continued, “so tell my mother not to worry, if you could.”
The cold north wind whistled, and he shivered with it. “Bought meat from your husband Hurlo,” he knew he had said his thanks and should have moved on, but he was too anxious. “Good with the butcher knife. I never learned, but your son Rek seems to have been taught well.”
He was blathering on, but behind him stood a mountain wall that gave him a truth he never acknowledged until now.
He was afraid.
“Rek has grown up well, almost a strong northerner, reaching to my height now,” Tomuir’s vision seemed to darken, as if he was slipping to a void where shadows weakened the knees and weighed the heart. He chuckled, “I was there when-”
The huntress did something he never expected she’d do.
She spoke.
"The wolves come in packs, yet stranded and helpless when split from fellow kin," she started, and started walking towards him. "The deer runs of speed uncontested, yet grazes when exhausted and thinks itself unfollowed."
She stopped when they were only a hand away from each other, and he took a step back in unconscious discomfort.
She took her mask down, exposing a face of dark skin and a mouth of sharp fangs. "All of them are hunted," she whispered, icy mist coming out her lips, "by one who is slower, yet never stops. By one who is alone, yet patient."
"All of them, fellow northerner, think they know more, and will live longer."
Her crimson eyes stared at him, and he felt as if his heart was clutched by an unseen hand.
"They do not."
"Uhm," the boy began, realizing the glaring fact he was alone with a deadly hunter in the middle of nowhere, "cool."
Her gaze softened, and she shook his head, but stared at him still.
"You know more. Smart, sometimes," not now, she meant, "and do not lack strength. You hold the sword familiar, even when absent a teacher. Yet still, maybe your mother will outlast you." She backed off to where she stood before, wore the mask, and stared again.
He nodded shakily, not knowing what the cold hells he was supposed to do or say. Gulping for the umpteenth time, he simply replied, “thanks for the pep talk.”
There was a moment of silence, only the cold gale accompanying them, and then he laughed. Genuine laughter rang in the silence of the mountainside, shocking the huntress and even himself.
Northerners don’t know pep talk, or cheerful encouragement in general. They were straightforward and spoke only the truth. In showing support, they would point towards the front, and that gesture encapsulated everything a northerner should know;
Move forward.
It reminded him of what he had to do, and lightened his heart that he did not know was heavy. With a chuckle still trickling from his lips, he could not help but ask, “why Hurlo?”
She nodded slowly, not questioning the strange inquiry. “Our blades met in the Unending War of the south,” she said over the north wind, having to strain his ears to hear the huntress, “and he said my eyes were beautiful.”
“Aye,” he agreed with a smile, though personally, he found them terrifying, “I am off, fellow northerner.”
“Be off then, and I give thanks, for playing with Rek in my absence,” her gratitude surprised him, “safe travels.”
“Safe travels,” he replied back, though he knew she did not need it. He saw the golden eyes still observing from the trees, and realized some time ago the wolves did not even try to hunt the lone two, for they were wary and afraid.
They feared the southern huntress that made the north her home.
Taking a deep breath, he turned towards the mountain. He unslung the two iron picks he carried at his side, tied them to his hands with rope, and started to climb.