The cold bit at my face the moment we crossed into Con territory. The air was sharper here, the kind of cold that seeps into your bones and stays there no matter how many layers you wear. The people matched the weather—hard, stoic, and unflinching. Men and women dressed in thick furs and hides moved about the streets with purpose, their faces set in grim determination. There was no idle chatter, no laughter in the air, just the sounds of life in a place where surviving the cold seemed to be a full-time job.
The buildings were different from anything I’d seen before. Made of dark oak and stacked logs, their exteriors were covered in thick moss. At first, I thought it was just neglect, but as I looked closer, I realized the moss was intentional—natural insulation. The structures seemed like they had grown out of the landscape rather than been built into it. Everything about this place was raw, practical, and purposeful.
“It’s not pretty, but it works,” Sid muttered beside me, pulling his fur-lined cloak tighter around his shoulders.
I still felt the weight of it, though—the faces of the fallen flashing through my mind every time the wagon hit a bump or the wind howled too loudly. I hadn’t known their names when they were alive, but I’d learned them after. It felt like the least I could do. I wasn’t going to let them be forgotten.
The representative, on the other hand, seemed to have forgotten them already. As soon as we arrived, he dismounted his horse, dusted off his coat, and immediately started schmoozing with the Con leaders. They met him with stony faces, their eyes cold and untrusting, but that didn’t seem to bother him. He moved between them with practiced grace, shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries, and handing over letters stamped with the Empire’s seal.
Me and Sid? We were assigned to the other half of the work—the part that didn’t involve shaking hands or making promises.
“Over here,” Sid said, gesturing to a spot near the edge of the settlement. A small clearing had been set aside for the bodies of our fallen, and the air here felt heavier, quieter.
The cold air bit at my face as Sid and I worked, the sound of our shovels breaking through frozen earth the only thing cutting through the silence. The graveyard was a small clearing just beyond the edge of the Con settlement, shielded slightly by a grove of tall, dark pines. It felt appropriate—the kind of place where even the wind seemed to respect the dead.
The bodies of the fallen lay nearby, covered in thick, woven shrouds to guard against the bitter chill. One by one, we dug their graves. The ground was hard as iron in some places, frozen deep by the northern cold, and every shovelful of dirt came at the cost of sore arms and aching backs. But neither of us stopped. Not once.
The others had left the work to us. The Con leaders were busy meeting with the Empire’s representative in one of the moss-covered halls, their negotiations punctuated by the occasional raised voice or sharp gesture. The surviving guards from our caravan had withdrawn to tend to their wounds—or their own guilt.
It was just me and Sid. And the dead.
When we finished the first grave, Sid stopped and leaned on his shovel, his breath misting in the cold air. He wiped his brow with his sleeve and nodded toward the shrouded body nearest him.
“Let’s do this right,” he said, his voice low but firm.
We lowered the body carefully into the grave, the weight of it dragging at my shoulders. I still didn’t know the man’s name, though I’d seen him fight beside Sid during the ambush. His sword arm had been strong, his strikes confident, until an arrow had found its mark and ended him.
Sid stood over the grave, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. His face was set in its usual stoic mask, but there was a tightness around his eyes that wasn’t usually there.
“I never knew your name,” Sid began, his voice rough but steady. “And I hate that I didn’t. But you fought like hell. You gave everything. And now, we’ll give you this—a place to rest, and the promise that you won’t be forgotten.”
I paused, standing beside him, unsure of what to say. I’d never been good at funerals, and I felt like an intruder here, burying men I hadn’t known.
“May the System guide you,” Sid said softly.
That caught my attention. I turned to him, frowning. “The System?”
He glanced at me, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve never heard anyone say that before?”
I shook my head. “Not as a… prayer.”
Sid smirked faintly, though there was no humor in it. “The System’s not a god,” he said, driving his shovel into the dirt. “Not the way you probably think of one, anyway. But it’s as close as we’ve got.”
“How do you mean?” I asked, genuinely curious.
He leaned on the shovel, looking at me like he was deciding how much to explain. “The System is logical. Systematic. It doesn’t care who you are, where you’re from, or what you want. It just is. It gives everyone a class, stats, skills—everything you need to survive. But it doesn’t hand anything out for free. You want to get stronger, smarter, faster? You have to work for it. The System rewards effort. Discipline. Grit. It’s the one thing in this world you can count on to be fair.”
I frowned, mulling that over. “So people… worship it?”
Sid shrugged. “Some do. Not the way you’d worship a god with temples and prayers, but there’s a kind of reverence for it. Respect. It doesn’t answer prayers or perform miracles, but it’s the foundation of everything. Without it, there’s no order. No purpose. Just chaos.”
I nodded slowly, turning the idea over in my head. The System wasn’t a deity—it didn’t care about the people who lived under it. But I could see why people would put their faith in it. In a world as brutal and unpredictable as this one, the System was the only constant.
We continued our work, burying the fallen one by one. Each time, Sid said a few words—short, simple, and to the point.
“Rest now. You’ve earned it.”
“You fought with honor. You won’t be forgotten.”
“May the System guide you.”
When the last grave was filled, we stood in silence for a long time, staring at the rows of freshly turned earth. My shoulders ached, my hands were raw from the cold, and my breath felt sharp in my chest. But none of that mattered.
I glanced at Sid, who was staring at the graves with an expression I hadn’t seen before. There was a weight in his eyes, something that went deeper than grief.
“We should get back,” he said finally, his voice quiet.
I nodded, my gaze lingering on the graves for just a moment longer before turning to follow him.
As we walked back toward the settlement, I couldn’t help but think about what he’d said. About the System, and the people who put their trust in it. It wasn’t a god—not really. But maybe it didn’t need to be. Maybe, in a world like this, just knowing there was something bigger than you—something fair, something predictable—was enough.
The walk back to the wagons was quieter than I expected. The air was still, the faint rustling of the trees muffled by the heavy snow that blanketed the edges of the clearing. The graves we’d just dug felt like they weighed on my chest, though Sid seemed strangely at ease. Not relaxed, but calm in a way that told me he’d been through this too many times to let it show anymore.
“About what you said earlier,” I started, breaking the silence. “About the System being the only thing people can rely on. Was it always like this? I mean… was there ever anything else?”
Sid glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, his breath misting in the cold air. “You mean before the System?”
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I nodded.
He adjusted the strap of his sword as we walked, his boots crunching softly against the frozen ground. “There used to be gods,” he said after a moment. “Old ones. A lot of them. People had their faiths, their religions, their ways of doing things. It wasn’t just one god or one belief—every kingdom, every race, every region had their own stories. Some worshipped the sun, some the earth, some their ancestors. Some prayed for crops to grow, some for their enemies to burn. And for a while, it worked.”
“What happened?” I asked.
Sid’s expression darkened. “What always happens when people can’t agree. Things got crazy. Factions rose up, wars broke out. Everyone claimed their god was the true god, and everyone else was a heretic. It wasn’t just swords and blood—it was chaos. Entire kingdoms burned to the ground, cities wiped out because someone prayed to the wrong altar.”
I frowned, trying to picture it. “And the System?”
“It wasn’t here,” Sid said. “Not at first. This was all before the Empire, before anyone even dreamed of uniting the kingdoms. People fought and prayed and died for years, maybe centuries. Then one day…” He paused, looking ahead as though searching for the words. “One day, the System just… appeared.”
“Appeared?” I echoed. “Like out of nowhere?”
Sid nodded. “No one knows where it came from. No gods claimed credit for it. No kings or scholars announced it. It was just there. People woke up, and it was part of them. Everyone over eighteen had a class, their points already spent. Farmers, bakers, soldiers—it didn’t matter what you were. The System looked at your life, your work, and gave you a class to match.”
I tried to wrap my head around that. “And what about kids?”
Sid gave a faint smirk. “That’s the weird part. Kids started seeing things—shapes, symbols, like the System was waiting for them. Once they learned to read, the shapes turned into words. The older they got, the more it adapted, guiding them toward a class. By the time they turned eighteen, it all locked in.”
“It just… adapts?” I asked, shaking my head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Sid agreed. “But that’s how it works. No one’s ever been able to explain it. Not the Empire’s scholars, not the Con’s elders, not even the mystics from the south. The System just is. And over time, people stopped asking why.”
We walked in silence for a moment, the crunch of snow beneath our boots the only sound.
“So the System gave people classes,” I said slowly. “But what did that change?”
Sid shrugged. “Everything. Once the System appeared, people stopped praying to gods for answers. The System didn’t need prayers—it just worked. Farmers had abilities to grow crops faster. Blacksmiths could forge better tools. Soldiers became warriors with skills and strength that could rival an entire army. For the first time, people had something they could rely on. Something consistent. Logical.”
I frowned. “But it still sounds like it’s not easy. There’s still fighting. People still die.”
“Of course they do,” Sid said, his tone matter-of-fact. “The System doesn’t solve your problems for you. It just gives you tools. If you want to survive, you have to use them.”
“That’s why there’s schools, right?” I asked, remembering what he’d said earlier about training classes.
He nodded. “Yeah. When the System first appeared, people floundered for a while. They didn’t understand how to use it, how to plan their stats, how to fight or work within their class. A lot of people died because of that. So schools were created—places to teach kids about their classes, their abilities, their roles. Especially the fighting classes. The goal was to make sure that anyone who picked up a sword or a bow had a baseline skill level. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than throwing kids into a fight blind.”
“And not everyone takes fighting classes, right?” I asked.
“Right,” Sid said. “Most people don’t. It’s safer to be a baker, a blacksmith, a leatherworker—any class that keeps you out of harm’s way. They still get skills and abilities, but they’re tailored to their jobs. A baker might have an ability to knead dough faster or regulate oven temperatures. A blacksmith might get a skill for crafting weapons more efficiently. It’s practical. Useful. And it keeps them alive.”
“But for people like us…” I trailed off, glancing at the sword on my hip.
“For people like us,” Sid said, “it’s a fight to the death more often than not. And the System doesn’t care if you win or lose—it just shows you the consequences.”
His words hung heavy in the cold air, and I let them sink in.
We reached the wagons a few minutes later, the Con settlement looming just beyond the tree line. The representatives and leaders were still talking, their voices muffled but sharp, cutting through the crisp northern air. Sid stopped and turned to me, his expression unreadable.
“That’s the world you’re in now, Sigvard,” he said. “The System doesn’t make it easier. It just makes it clearer. You fight, you learn, you grow—or you don’t.”
I nodded, gripping the hilt of my sword tightly. The weight of it felt heavier than before, but not in a bad way. It felt like a reminder. A challenge.
The System might not care about me. But I cared. And I wasn’t going to waste the tools it had given me.
Sid let out a heavy sigh, one that seemed to carry the weight of everything we’d just talked about. His sharp eyes softened slightly as he looked at me, the usual smirk replaced by something more serious.
“This is it,” he said, his voice lower than usual, as though he didn’t want anyone else to hear. “You saved my life. You’ve got my respect, and that’s not something I hand out lightly.” He paused, staring me down like he was trying to measure what kind of man I was. “If you want out of this life, say the word. You want to be a baker? I’ll buy you a bakery. Help you reset your class, rank up in something safer. Hell, I’ll tell the whole guild to buy their bread from you just to keep you afloat.”
I blinked at him, stunned. “You’d do that?”
He nodded. “You earned it. There’s no shame in walking away from this life. None at all. Fighting, killing, bleeding—it doesn’t have to be your future.” He leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. “But if you stick with the Ranger path, there’s no halfway. It’s power, Sigvard. And in this world, the only way to make sure people leave you alone is to have the biggest stick.”
He straightened up, waiting for my answer.
For a moment, I hesitated, his words rolling around in my head. I thought about the bakery he offered—about a peaceful life, warm bread, a steady routine. It sounded… nice. Too nice. But then I thought about the ambush, about the bandits, about the people we’d buried.
Sid was right. In this world, peace wasn’t given. It was taken. And the only way to keep it was to have the strength to hold onto it.
I tightened my grip on the hilt of my sword, giving him the hardest, most determined look I could manage. “I want power.”
For a moment, Sid stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a smile crept across his face—not the mocking smirk I was used to, but something more genuine.
“Good,” he said, nodding. “Then let’s get to work.”
Before either of us could say more, a figure approached from the direction of the Con settlement. He was a tall, broad man, wrapped in thick furs, his long dark hair braided and tied back. His face was rough, weathered by the cold, and his sharp blue eyes moved between Sid and me as though sizing us up.
“You’re the ones from the guild?” the man asked, his voice deep and heavily accented.
Sid turned to him, his casual demeanor snapping back into place. “Depends,” he said. “You hiring?”
The man nodded. “We need skilled fighters. A pack of wolves to the east has grown too large—nearly thirty strong. They’re killing off all the prey, starving out the hunters and their families. The den needs to be cleared.”
“Money for blood,” Sid said simply.
The man didn’t flinch. “One hundred gold pieces for the guild.”
Sid tilted his head slightly, considering. “A hundred gold is a good offer, but thirty wolves is no small problem. Half now, half when the job’s done.”
The Con man nodded. “Fair.”
Sid glanced at me, then back at the man. “We’ll take it.”
The man handed Sid a rolled piece of parchment—a crude map marking the location of the wolves’ den. Without another word, he turned and walked back toward the settlement, leaving us alone again.
“Well,” Sid said, turning the map over in his hands. “Looks like we’ve got our next job.”
The following morning, the six of us set out: me, Sid, and five other guild members. Sid had chosen the team himself—experienced fighters who knew how to handle themselves in a fight. There was Branna, a tall woman with a wicked-looking axe strapped across her back; Jory, a wiry man who preferred twin daggers; Ryn, a crossbowman who kept to himself; and two more whose names I hadn’t learned yet, but they carried themselves with the same confident ease as Sid.
We left the settlement before sunrise, the air biting and cold, our breath misting in the pale dawn light. The map led us east, through a forest so dense that the sunlight barely touched the ground.
Sid walked ahead, his sword resting on his shoulder, while I stayed close behind him. The others fanned out, their eyes scanning the trees, their hands resting on their weapons.
“You ever fought wolves before?” Branna asked, falling into step beside me.
“Not thirty at once,” I admitted, trying to hide the nervous edge in my voice.
She grinned, showing a row of straight, white teeth. “They’re nasty things, wolves. Fast, smart. They’ll try to split us up, force us into corners. Don’t let them.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, gripping the hilt of my sword a little tighter.
The day passed in relative silence, the only sounds the crunch of snow beneath our boots and the occasional rustle of branches overhead. By the time the sun was high, we’d reached the edge of a rocky hill, its base dotted with scattered bones and claw marks.
“The den’s up there,” Sid said, pointing with the tip of his sword. “Get ready.”
We fanned out, each of us checking our weapons and adjusting our gear. My heart was pounding in my chest, but I forced myself to focus, to remember everything Sid had taught me.
“Stick together,” Sid said, his voice low and commanding. “They’re going to come fast and hard. Don’t break formation.”
I nodded, drawing my sword. The cold steel felt heavier in my hand than usual, but I ignored the weight. This was what I’d chosen.
“Ready?” Sid asked, glancing at each of us.
We nodded.
“Good,” he said, turning toward the hill. “Let’s move.”
And with that, we climbed toward the den, the howls of the wolves echoing in the distance.