Erik washed the blood off his hands using snow and headed back to the servants' quarter, leaving his older brother on the white ground.
Someone would pick him up soon, either his butler or a guard.
No one apart from the Matriarch and the chief of staff had the right to interrupt a fight between two Basara children. That's why none of the cadets or instructor had interrupted while he pummeled Ogram unconscious.
Because tradition.
Cadets who had ignored him until now were stealing glances, their faces a mix of astonishment, confusion, discontent. Erik saw some exchange bronze coins or items.
'Bets. No wonder they aren't fond of my victory. Most have bet on Ogram.'
As per usual, he ignored their gazes.
Erik felt that last fight had fractured a few finger bones, a Basara's physique was no joke; hitting Ogram was like hitting a thicker version of his wooden poll. Moreover, he had put a ton of "love" into his punches.
He held himself with dignity, faking his cool demeanor while internally cursing. The adrenaline had subsided, giving way to pain.
'This body is still too weak. In my past life, I could crush steel with my bare fists without injuring myself!'
He'd have to wait three days for his fists to heal, perhaps two.
Even with [Soothing Pain] and healing bandages, it'd take that long—normal for a cultivator. Fractures could not compare to banal injuries that healed overnight.
Moreover, low rank healing herbs potency lessened the tougher his physique becomes, not talking about cheap healing bandages that soaked in a second-rate concoction.
At some point, healing bandages wouldn't even cauterize his wounds, he'd have to access low rank healing potions with at least 70% purity.
Such potions were crafted from refining low rank healing herbs, focusing its healing agent in a vial. One vial could heal his current wounds in one day.
However, the family wouldn't provide some for him, not until he passes the Trial of the Beast.
'On the positive side of things, my bones will harden,' Erik thought, 'I'll just train my lower body until then.'
His stomach rumbled, reminding him it was time for his second breakfast. As he entered the kitchen, Erik didn't realize two men were observing him from a distance.
"This… is impossible," Liam's eyes shook with disbelief. "How? The ninth child is always cursed!"
"Unable to wield axes," Caliber corrected. "A curse for the Basara clan, certainly. But it seems young master Erik cares not for axes but for his fists." He eyed Liam calmly, "Shouldn't you attend young master Ogram's wounds?"
"Shut up, old man," Liam muttered under his breath as he jumped to Ogram's side.
Meanwhile.
'My, my,' Caliber's thought went astray, leaking his real personality, 'defeating his older brother despite the age gap. How unexpected. I'll have to report this to the Matriarch.'
He combed his white goat beard, his wrinkles highlighted by his crooked smile. 'I wonder how the young master learned to fight. Cultivating wyrd thanks to [Soaring Wrath] is one thing, fighting is another. I know he's been training hard, but still. Don't tell me, he watched the few times cadets trained on basic hand to hand combat and copied their moves? If that's the case he—no, that's too early to judge. But, since he has yet to touch an ax, he is probably instinctively aiming for the path of the fist. An interesting heresy.'
As a pugilist originating from the Wolf clan before working for the Basara clan, master of the Wolf Style, and a weirdo himself, Caliber could only chuckle at the idea of a Basara kid taking the unorthodox path of the fist.
He's been ordered to stand on the side and act like a ghost, only teaching common classes. Training a cursed child in axemanship was a waste of time, after all.
However, Caliber could barely contain his eagerness after today's show. How great would that young master of his become if he were to teach him earnestly?
A wolf-like smile crept up his face at the idea. Realizing he was letting loose too much, he controlled his urges and went to report today's event.
Contrary to his expectations, when he reported to Skadi, she was interested instead of pissed. Compared to her predecessor, that dreadful woman seemed more open-minded.
Or was there something he wasn't aware of?
Well, it was the ninth child they were talking about. Expecting him to master axemanship was simply unreasonable, though unreasonable was Skadi Bloodaxe.
Much to his delight, whatever her reason, the Matriarch gave him an order that was about to change the course of Erik's life.
***
Three days later, Erik's room.
"Heavenly Shit! Stop doing that!" Erik said to the ghost standing in his room.
At some point during the past two years, the lost soul appeared more often in vision whenever he activated his shamanic art.
"What do you want anyway, White?" He asked, using the name he came up with.
No response came, like usual.
Erik had followed the ghost's path, trying to find out the origin of his anchor.
He sighed. Maybe he could hear the ghost when he reached a higher rank? Truthfully, according to his inherited knowledge, most shamanic spells were limited before reaching the Manifestation Realm.
"Anyway, there is no point arguing with a lost soul." They'd either reveal their anchor on their own or not.
He walked through the ethereal being and focused on the earth spirit crawling on his wall's chamber.
Now that he has grown stronger and taller, he could finally contract a spirit.
Contracting a spirit at a young age was dangerous.
Once contracted, a spirit would reside in a shaman's body like a parasite, putting a burden on him, the kind normal children couldn't bear.
Thankfully, Erik wasn't normal.
He had accumulated wyrd all this while in preparations for this day and felt like his body could handle a low rank spirit now.
"Hey little guy, remember me?" he said, approaching the brown orb stuck to the wall. Compared to lost souls, Erik could hear the low rank spirits, though they didn't talk much.
"Eeek!" it replied with a rock sound. It couldn't speak human tongue, only emit sounds, but could understand him, at least according to his basic shaman knowledge.
Erik had made sure to familiarize himself with it by talking to it every day. Their discussions weren't refined but… well.
Spirits could refuse a contract if they didn't like the shaman, even if their affinity was high.
"Did you think about the contract?"
"Eeek!"
"Eeek you too," Erik said. "Well, shall I give it a try?"
He bit his thumb. Surprisingly, he couldn't get through his skin with a normal pressure. Great, since it meant his training was bearing fruits. He chewed harder, tore off his skin and infused wyrd in the blood gathering at the top of his wound.
Finally, Erik placed his bloody thumb next to the earth spirit and waited. Either the brown orb would touch the wyrd infused blood or—
"EEEK!" The earth spirit rushed towards his thumb. As it sucked out the energy in his blood like a drug addict, Erik felt a slight connection forming between them.
It was now or never!
Focusing on this connection, he channeled a basic shamanic art.
[Congratulations, you've learned Spiritual Contract].
The connection immediately widened and deepened, transforming into a bond. Erik's golden thread attached to the spirit's own, entangled and fused.
Just like that, the contract was completed.
"Wow, is that supposed to happen that fast?" he said, his voice filled with surprise at the sight of the brown orb sticking to his hand. According to his saga's knowledge, it could take an hour or two for a low rank spirit to decide whether it'd accept a contract or not.
"Weird, very weird indeed." That's when he noticed the fire spirit had quit the hearth to come closer and take a peek. Even weirder, Erik had no affinity towards fire. "Whatever, there are more pressing matter to attend to."
He channeled [Soothing Pain] to cauterize his thumb injury and focused on his new companion.
"Hum, how should I call you?" He pondered a bit. "Rock Stonearth! Simple and descriptive. Rock Stonearth it is!"
Seemingly ignorant about the concept of names, Rock morphed with his body to sleep after eating its fill. Now that it had left its habitat, it needed its contractor's wyrd to live.
With time, it could evolve into a mid-rank spirit, something Erik counted on.
Growlll…
Erik's stomach sent him a breakfast reminder.
"The tiger is claiming its due. Time to eat!"
When he entered the kitchen, a pleasant surprise awaited him.
'What the Void?'
***
Lore Extract:
"The Basara secret art [Soaring Wrath] is a cheat. At a high level, warriors never run out of wyrd to fuel their cultivation arts, so long as they cause pain and resentment to their enemies and they don't use costly arts. That's one of the reasons Basara Berserkers are dreaded on the battlefield. The only things that can stop them are either powerful opponents or stamina exhaustion. The latter rarely, if not ever, happens."
—Caliber Wolf.