Three years later, Training Grounds, morning.
Erik had muscled up along the years. At just seven years old, he'd finally developed the Cold Resistance body type that provided resistance against lower temperatures.
Measuring around 135 centimeters tall, his shoulders were more sculpted, biceps toned, belly flat and muscular, thighs thick, a few scars littered his body from the harsh years of training.
That wasn't the body of a seven years old child, but he was content with the results as he stared intently at his Fate Status.
——
[Erik Basara]
???
Core Shape: None.
Ascension rank: Early-stage Foundation Realm (Rank 1)
Saga: [Last Shaman]
Wyrd Accumulation: 150/100
Strength: (+) mid-Mortal Tier. // Agility: (+) mid-Mortal Tier.
Stamina: (+) mid-Mortal Tier. // Physique: (+) late-Wood Tier
Body Types: Wild Blessed / ??? / Cold Resistance
Elemental Affinity: Earth
Cultivation Arts: Shamanic Art (2) / Martial Art (4) / Basara secret Art (2)
——
Thanks to all the beating he had let his older brother give him recently, he broke through to the late-Wood tier.
'The pain paid off.'
When he closed his Fate Status and was about to hit the wooden dummy to wait for the fateful moment, Erik heard footsteps nearing his location, familiar steps he'd recognize amongst a thousand others, it was the sound of his older brother coming to perpetuate the family's tradition: filial rivalry.
Filial rivalry, a tradition hailed, praised, and encouraged by the Basara family, for only the strong were allowed a say so, only the strong deserved a place in this clan, and only the strongest could become the clan leader, earning themselves the position of Patriarch or Matriarch.
For that very purpose, Basara children were taught violence at a young age by their butlers.
'So it is finally time,' Erik thought, turning to his brother. He's been expecting him earlier than usual today and hadn't trained yet to be in top shape for that occasion.
"Ninth!" Exclaimed a young man sharing Erik's hair color and similar attires. Round face, big eyes, hair braided the traditional Basara way.
Ogram was two heads taller than him. At barely nine years old he looked like twelve, had some fairly toned muscles for his age and surpassed the strength of a normal grown man.
He was the eighth child of this generation, a bully like no others, a stutterer, a child who engaged fervently in filial rivalry, the bane of Erik's childhood.
His older brother has kept his filial rivalry to throwing snowballs at Erik while he was training, cursing him of bear shit, jostling, beating, etc. Ogram's harassment would worsen with time, ranging from animal shit mixed with Erik's food to torture.
Erik had let him do as he pleases until now, bidding for time, using his older brother's as a training partner to strengthen his physique, awaiting the day he'd finally pay back the humiliation ten fold.
"Still no axes t, t, today?" Ogram said, "W, w, what are you doing you, hum… bear poop! Even though you're, hum, t, t, talentless, you should at least try! Yes, t, t, try!"
Erik almost chuckled. He who had the mentality of a thirty-seven years old man hardly could take him seriously. He hated his brother's guts, but also pitied him for his foolishness.
After his Trial of the Beast, Ogram would develop the disgusting habit of eating human flesh. He'd become a savage beast in truth, and would eventually be killed by his own family who wouldn't tolerate such cannibalistic habits.
There was a limit the fierce family wasn't willing to cross.
'Before that happens, I want to beat him up at least once. Who knows, it might correct his idiotic behavior and teach him humility,' he thought.
Erik had been waiting for this day for years. Ogram would leave tomorrow for his Trial of the Beast after summoning his totem beast. They wouldn't see each other for a few years. The big child would come back from his trial wounded, later than it was acceptable for a Basara, changed but alive.
If he wanted to officially duel him, it was today.
"Eighth," Erik replied, eyeing his brother warily, "I see you still stutter despite your butler's language lessons."
Liam Wolverine, Ogram's butler, stood beside his young master, hunchback, black hair, dressed in a neat white and black tuxedo. He didn't budge, leaving the room for the two Basara children to speak.
"Y, y, you've grown fangs since yesterday, ninth. Anyway, after tomorrow, we won't see each other for a v, v, very long time!" The eighth child said, resting his arm on Erik's shoulder. "S, s, so I came to see you! How about another good beating? Maybe a broken arm to remember me by, hum?"
Erik looked up, calculating the distance between Ogram's jaw and his own fists; an old habit.
"Hey ninth, are you m, m, mute? Not good! W, w, women like talkative men, like me!" Ogram said, his brother's silence annoying him.
"That's rich coming from the mouth of a virgin stutterer boy," a low chuckle that did not go unnoticed escaped Erik's lips.
His brother tightened his hold. "You dare m, m, mock me, again? Have you g, g, grown tired of living!?"
Erik channeled [Durability] to resist the nine years old child's ridiculous strength and remained indifferent to the question. His wyrd stirred within him as the urge to beat his brother grew.
"Answer me y, y, you bear shit, I'll teach you respe—" Ogram started.
"Holmgang," Erik said but one word, his reply fazing the eighth Basara child.
After a few seconds, Ogram grinned wickedly. "Finally, you've g, g, grown balls. Fine, brother, I'll teach you r, r, respect."
***
From a rooftop, two men watch the show unfolding on the training ground.
"Isn't it your duty to stop the trash from committing such a foolish act?" Liam asked Caliber next to him.
The old butler wore the same clothes as Liam, albeit with more style and charisma. Spine straight, grey hair neatly pulled back, wrinkles hinting at his advanced age. Caliber looked the very picture of a rich family's butler, if not better.
Every cadet in the training ground had been gathered to form a makeshift ring with their body to spectate the holmgang between two Basara children.
Liam had joined him on the rooftop where Caliber usually watched over his young master. The crowd down there hindered sight at ground level.
"'A foolish act' you say? I wonder…," Caliber smiled knowingly. He's been monitoring Erik since his birth and found something truly peculiar about the boy. "Young master Erik has every right to challenge his brother to a holmgang."
Holmgangs were traditional challenges in the north where two, sometimes more, people would put their honor on the line, which almost always resulted in the loser's death—Ogram and Erik weren't allowed to kill each other though, not yet.
The winner gets to claim the glory, fame, and whatever rewards were prearranged.
So that the word may spread, many people usually attended such duels, even more, when two Basara vied for supremacy.
"What do you mean?"
Caliber's smile faded into a poker face. "That it is not my place to intervene, nor it is yours, Liam."
"Huh, are you taking a liking to this trash?" The butler replied mockingly.
"Quiet, Wolverine, it's about to start," Caliber responded, keeping a dignified appearance.
Liam scowled but dared not reply. In terms of cultivation, that old man was far stronger than him.
Down in the makeshift arena, Erik rolled his shoulders while taking deep relaxing breaths, a habit that helped him focus before a fight.
A cadet offered him a shield and an axe. He stared at the weapon with clear disdain but politely refused both items.
Axemanship or wielding any other weapon to fight went against his path. Erik would compromise for a shield or protection of sort if need be, however, never a weapon.
"Brother, d, d, do you truly think you can beat me weaponless? Haha!" Ogram said, laughing like a mad cow five long strides away. "Bears will fly b, b, before that happens! Haha!"
"My body is all I need for this fight," he said, staring at his opponent, oblivious to the cadets laughing at Ogram's words. The wyrd inside him pulsed once, as if acknowledging his decision.
Erik channeled [Shaman Senses]. The world turned ashen revealing spirits, a certain ghost that has been following for two years now, and the wyrd of everyone around him.
Golden threads stretched up the sky as if linked to the heavens, two such threads came from Ogram, merging in his bosom where a blurry ball of golden light resided.
'I can't see his core shape, too bad. That would have given me a small edge. Well, knowing Basaras, they tend to shape an axe as their core.' Erik thought, staring at the two threads hovering loosely around Ogram. By now, he had realized that one thread represented around 100 wyrd.
'So he's reached rank 2, knowing his talent, he'd probably breakthrough soon. Too bad he slacked on his training. A rank 3 opponent would have made for a more interesting fight.'
Colors returned as he deactivated [Shaman Senses], an instructor came between them, made a useless announcement about no killing for this holmgang, then went back into the crowd before shouting: "Start!"
Erik immediately channeled two basic martial arts unregistered by the Fate System.
[Congratulations, you've learned Enhanced Strength!]
[Congratulations, you've learned Enhanced Speed!]
His muscles shook with vigor as he closed the distance separating him from his opponent in two strides.
"Come b, b, brot—" Ogram tried to say before lifting his shield in surprise, blocking a powerful kick.
BAM!
Ogram took two steps back to absorb the blow. "What the V, v—"
Leaving no time for his brother to recover from the shock, Erik darted forward, lowered, and whipped his brother's leg unguarded by the shield.
Or so he tried.
Still a Basara hardened through harsh training, Ogram rapidly recovered from his initial surprise, activated his martial arts to boost his body capabilities, lifted his leg to avoid the blow, and countered with a downward slash.
Raising up his crouched position, Erik seized the dreadful axe's shaft below the blade, stopping the attack.
"Your strength and s, s, speed…," Ogram was shocked again. His little bother's physical capabilities equaled his!
"I didn't slack off on my training like you, brother." Erik pulled to bring his sibling closer.
Ogram showed incredible battle instinct, surfing the momentum and shield bashed his brother.
Erik took the blow head-on; a step back, still holding on the axe, he brought the big child along.
Suddenly, all in one fluid motion, he stopped, shifted waist and body, yanked his brother closer, locked Ogram's elbow with his free hand, straightened the arm and viciously pushed.
Crack!
The speed, and strength coupled with the initial pull, disjointed the eighth child's shoulder.
"Bastard!" Ogram launched the rim of his shield forward.
Erik ducked, saw a big opening in between his brother's leg, and dealt a devastating blow, the ultimate technique he had copied from a female fighter in the arena.
The bane of all males.
[Congratulations, you've learned Nut Crusher!]
To his merit, Ogram didn't let go of his ax, though the shield fell off his grasp.
"Urg!" Bent over, available hand on his jewels, Ogram's face was the very picture of pain. That much wasn't enough, yet.
Like all Basara, Ogram had a tough body.
Erik slapped both his ears at the same time, destabilizing his brother's balance and hearing so he wouldn't counterattack.
From that point onward, the 8th child was left no chance.
In a swift practiced motion, Erik swept the big kid's leg, throwing Ogram in the snow, jumped on top of him, trapping both his brother's arms.
"Remember this as I pummel your face with the fist of love, brother." And oh boy, he put all his so-called "love" into the following punches while activating [Soaring Wrath] to collect wyrd from his brother's pain and anger, replenishing supply of energy consumed after activating his martial arts.
Honestly, though he disliked his guts, Erik didn't want his brother to turn out the way he did in his previous life, a heartless cannibal. If he could correct that by inflicting a trauma through a good beating, then all the better.
BAM!
"Cannibalism…"
BAM!
"… is…"
BAM!
"… dishonorable!"
Erik repeatedly pummeled the helpless bleeding child whose watery eyes started swelling. Ogram was sturdy for his age, lasting for a full minute under a rain of furious punches before Erik dealt the coup de grace.
"As the winner, I declare that," Erik channeled more wyrd into [Enhanced Strength], going past the boost the martial art offered, "you shall never lower yourself to eat human meat."
That didn't make much sense contextually but whatever.
Crack!
He felt Ogram's jaw finally fracture under his knuckles after what was probably the sixtieth or seventieth punch; Erik had lost count. A milk tooth popped out of the bloody mouth of his unconscious brother, following the flight path of five others.
Free dentist appointment.
Urg.
Erik felt his life circuits, where wyrd flows throughout his body, scathing, the consequence of forcibly increasing a cultivation art's output.
A message from the Fate System appeared.
[Congratulations, by beating your brother you have accomplished a common deed. Reward: +10 wyrd.]
Erik rose to his feet, lifted his bloody fist, and roared his victory.
***
Lore Extract:
"It is possible to strengthen a cultivation art one step further, for that, a cultivator must force more aura than necessary into the technique, break the limit. Such application isn't an art, just a technique known as "augment." Simple, huh? Dead wrong, bitches! Extreme focus and flawless control! Both are required if you are to use such technique. "Augment" widen your life circuits for a short time, letting more aura flow through. Hey, you there! What's with that face? You got an issue with me calling you bitches!?"
—Maximus Aurelius, addressing new gladiators.
——
System Extract:
Martial Art: [Enhanced Strength]
Grade: Common
Host's Wyrd Cost: Intermediate
Description: Temporarily increases a cultivator's strength as long as it remains activated.