The march had stopped. The Vanguard had set up a temporary staging ground in a depression between two frozen hills, shielding them from the biting wind but not from the dread.
They were hours away from the enemy line.
Kael sat alone on a frost-covered rock, away from the huddled groups of veterans. He held the rusted spear the Sergeant had given him across his knees.
He looked at his hands gripping the wood. They were small, pale, and rough, the skin split and hardened from years of work. The wrists were thin, the fingers old beyond their age.
Although Kael had spent the last two days eating heavily and training alongside the older soldiers, the time was far too short. His strength, his speed—nothing in him had undergone any real change.
He looked up at the other men. They were giants compared to him—thick-necked, scarred, wearing armor that actually fit. Even the smallest among them outweighed Kael by fifty pounds.
And the enemy? The Barbarians were worse. Legends said they were bred in the ice, wild men who could cleave a horse in two.
Kael analyzed the battlefield logic coldly.I am already dead.
In a shield wall, he would be crushed. In a spear clash, he would be overpowered. The enemy would see him—a small, unarmored boy—and they would do one of two things:
Ignore him to focus on the bigger threats. Or target him instantly as the easiest way to break the line.
Either way, this spear was useless. He didn't belong in this kind of fight. He didn't have the strength to block a greataxe or the reach to pierce thick furs.
He needed to change the rules.
The chatter of the soldiers faded as Kael sank into the darkness of his own mind.
The text appeared before his eyes.
[Aether: 5.9]
[Abilities Available for Exchange:]
Close Combat — Dagger (Mastery) | Cost: 1 Aether
Marksmanship — Firearms (Grandmaster) | Cost: 3 Aether
Horsemanship — Horse (Mastery) | Cost: 1 Aether
Other — Knowledge | Cost: 1 Aether
[Items Available for Exchange:]
Revolver — Colt | Cost: 0.5 Aether
Ammunition — .45 (10 rounds) | Cost: 0.5 Aether
Knife — Standard | Cost: 0.5 Aether
Shotgun — Double-barrel | Cost: 1 Aether
Ammunition — Buckshot (10 shells) | Cost: 0.5 Aether
Kael assessed the options without illusion.
He did not have the body for close combat. Exchanging for dagger mastery would only mean dying faster. This was a battlefield, and he would be facing the first enemy charge head-on.
Skill meant nothing without a body that could sustain it.
That left only one option: a weapon.
For the past two days, he had considered every way to conceal something that did not belong to this world—something beyond its common sense, its understanding. Every path ended the same way. There was no place to hide it, no way to explain it.
He abandoned the idea.
If survival was possible at all, it would not come from subtlety.It would come from firepower.
Revolver? Precision was good, but a .45 round made a small hole. Against barbarians blessed by their priests—madmen who ignored pain and knew only how to attack—it was insufficient.
He needed stopping power. He needed something that could halt a charging enemy on impact. Even a mortally wounded body could keep moving under its own momentum long enough to reach him—and that was more than enough to kill him.
His eyes settled on the shotgun.
Double-barrel. Buckshot.
At close range, its spread covered a wide area. Against a dense charging formation, one shot could kill multiple enemies. Fur and flesh offered no real protection.
But a shotgun kicked. It was heavy. And reloading it under pressure with clumsy, frozen fingers meant death.
He looked at the skill list again. Marksmanship — Firearms (Grandmaster).
Cost: 2.0 Aether. Expensive.
"Grandmaster" meant a level of marksmanship he had possessed before—briefly, but completely. Even with his body shattered and death closing in, he had still been able to place a round precisely where it mattered.
It wasn't just marksmanship, but vision, prediction, spatial awareness—the ability to read movement, distance, and timing as one.
That is the path, Kael decided.
He focused his will.
[Exchange: Marksmanship — Firearms (Grandmaster). Cost: 3.0]
The sensation hit him instantly. A sharp, precise clarity settled into his mind, like a lens locking into focus.
Calluses formed along his palms and fingers where a gun was meant to rest. Subtle changes ran through the muscles of his hands and forearms, tightening, aligning, reshaping themselves for recoil and control. He felt the difference immediately.
His breathing fell into a steady rhythm. His fingers moved with exact purpose. He judged the distance to the ridge line and accounted for the wind without conscious thought. The motions were already there—clearing a jam, fanning a hammer, snapping a breach closed—etched into his body as instinct.
He was ready for the tool.
[Exchange: Shotgun — Double-barrel. Cost: 1.0]
A weight materialized in his lap, hidden beneath the folds of his oversized, bloodstained gambeson.
Kael slid his hand under the cloth. His fingers closed around cold, oiled steel and smooth wood.
It was the same shotgun. The same weight, the same balance—identical to the one he had used in the saloon. Nothing about it was unfamiliar.
[Remaining Aether: 1.9]
[Exchange: Ammunition — Buckshot (10 shells) x 3. Cost: 1.5]
[Remaining Aether: 0.4]
Heavy cardboard boxes materialized in his deep pockets. He tore them open by feel, dumping the loose shells into the pouches of his tunic. Thirty shells. More than enough for a first charge.
Kael worked silently under the cover of his coat.
He broke the shotgun open. Click. He slid two red shells into the breach. Thunk. Thunk. He snapped it closed. Clack.
He hooked the weapon onto the rough rope belt tied around his waist, letting the loose fabric of the gambeson drape over it. It was invisible. To anyone watching, he was just a skinny boy clutching his stomach.
"Hey! Runt!"
A shadow fell over him.
Kael held his position, lifting his chin with deliberate calm.
It was Griggs, the flat-nosed veteran. He paced, his spear tapping against his boot. His face was pale. The bravado from the barracks was gone, replaced by tight breathing and a clenched jaw as he waited for the slaughter to start.
"Stop staring at your crotch," Griggs spat, though his voice lacked heat. "You're making me nervous. You praying?"
Kael looked at Griggs.
With the Grandmaster instinct now active, Kael saw things he hadn't before.
He saw the tremor in Griggs' trigger finger—or rather, spear hand. He saw the poor maintenance of the weapon's tip. He saw the way Griggs shifted his weight to his left leg, a sign of an old injury.
"I'm done praying," Kael said softly.
Griggs frowned. He squinted at the boy.
There was something different about him. The boy sitting on the rock looked... anchored. Still.
"Suit yourself," Griggs muttered, turning his gaze toward the ground they would soon have to cross. "Just… when the horn blows, stay behind me. Don't trip."
Griggs turned to walk away, his hand shaking as he adjusted his helmet.
Kael watched him go.
They would see a small body and a cheap spear. That was fine. No one planned around someone like him.
Kael kept his eyes on the grey sky. His breath caught for a moment, then settled into a forced rhythm. He slipped his hand under his coat, resting his palm on the wooden grip of the shotgun. It was cold, solid, and ready.