Kingdom of Soro
Northern Snow Wolf County Territory
Grant opened his eyes, and it took several moments for his mind to fully wake up.
The room smelled of old leather mixed with expensive wood polish.
Sunlight pierced through heavy velvet curtains that hadn't been properly closed, casting a brilliant golden stripe across the polished oak floor. The beam illuminated a small section of mirror-like flooring and revealed tiny dust particles floating in the air.
This definitely wasn't his cramped studio apartment.
Sixteen years ago, Grant had visited a fortune teller who swore that if he went outside on a specific day, he'd strike it rich. Like a fool, Grant believed him and spent that entire day wandering around his neighborhood.
The fortune teller was right—Grant really did strike it rich. What kind of "rich," well... that's another story.
When he opened his eyes again, he'd somehow become the fifth son of the Snow Wolf Count.
A nobleman, sure, but essentially dead weight—someone with zero chance of inheriting anything and already out of the running.
At least he kept his name: Grant Windsor.
Windsor—the Snow Wolf family name. In this vast region called the Western Marches of the Northern Duchy, that name meant ancient military glory, unshakeable power, and generations of fierce warriors who could survive anywhere and crush any enemy.
"The good news," Grant sat up in bed, staring at his pale, slender hands that looked like they couldn't strangle a chicken, "is that this Snow Wolf Count isn't just some minor noble.
The territory's massive, the army's powerful, and supposedly even real marquises have to be polite when they meet the Windsors."
Family memories flooded his mind—vast lands, battle-hardened armies, the kind that stayed quiet but packed serious punch and made serious money behind the scenes.
"The bad news?"
He gave a bitter smile. "I'm the fifth son."
In this towering family hierarchy, his position ranked just slightly above the old, mangy dog that hogged the best sunny spot in the courtyard.
His mother came from a powerful magical bloodline, his father was a major player in the Northern Duchy, and the old man was a count with real authority in his territory. His eldest brother Carlos had already been confirmed as heir and wielded massive influence. His second and third brothers might only hold viscount and baron titles, but they'd already carved out their own domains like petty kings. Even his fourth brother Leon had shown incredible magical talent and been sent to an elite academy.
And Grant Windsor? The fifth son.
The one people mentioned in passing like "What's Grant up to these days? Probably counting flowers in his garden"—just background noise.
Sure, being the youngest meant his parents spoiled him.
But because of his lack of talent, even though Grant had trained hard since childhood, his abilities never improved much.
That's why as he got older, his father's attitude toward him became increasingly stern. The reason was simple—in a family like this, the patriarch didn't hold all the power alone.
While Grant's branch controlled things, his father still had to appease the other family factions.
Grant shuddered as memories of office politics and corporate backstabbing from his previous life came flooding back.
He threw off the silk covers and leaped out of bed, bare feet hitting the thick carpet. The soft texture brought no comfort. His heart was racing.
No way. Absolutely not. The farther he stayed from this family's power struggles, the better.
That's exactly why a few days ago at his coming-of-age ceremony, Grant had asked his father for permission to develop frontier territory.
Frontier development sounded like miserable, frozen wasteland work—full of unknown dangers and terrible conditions—but at least it was far from court intrigue, free and safe! Away from all the family scheming, it seemed like his best escape.
Grant walked toward his bedroom's heavy oak door, decorated with the snow wolf crest. His fingers hesitated on the brass handle carved with wolf fang patterns, the cold metal biting his fingertips. Taking a deep breath, he pulled it open.
He never made it to the imposing family council chamber. Instead, he found himself blocked by a crowd of people in the brilliantly lit family corridor, lined with ancestral portraits and priceless armor displays.
The real "power players" of the Windsor family had apparently anticipated his plans and were lying in wait.
"Little brother!" His eldest brother Carlos's booming voice echoed through the high-ceilinged corridor with its usual commanding authority.
He stood blocking Grant's path like a drawn sword, his tailored black military uniform perfectly fitted to his lean, powerful frame. A gold family crest gleamed on his chest.
His massive hand slammed down on Grant's shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. "Excellent! What ambition! I heard you want to brave the northern frontier and develop new territory?"
Carlos's sharp, hawk-like eyes with their pale blue tint burned into Grant, dancing with approval and a soldier's fierce enthusiasm. "That's the spirit a Snow Wolf should have! As your big brother, how could I let you go empty-handed?"
Carlos gestured grandly. "Resources—big brother's got you covered!"
His voice carried a soldier's boldness with no room for argument. "Three thousand hardworking pioneer serfs! A hundred-man elite infantry guard!"
He spoke rapidly, not letting Grant interrupt. "To protect you and establish your settlement! Plus—"
His gaze swept over his other brothers. "Clang!" A heavy wooden chest reinforced with steel landed at Grant's feet with enough force to indent the carpet. "Startup funds—ten thousand gold coins! Don't spend it all in one place!"
"Whoa—" Gasps rippled through the corridor from lurking servants, passing clerks, and even a castle steward who'd just rounded the corner.
Even for the wealthy Windsor family, this was incredibly generous.
Grant stood there slack-jawed, eyes wide, completely stunned.
His "harsh frontier development" plans got obliterated by that "clang" of ten thousand gold coins—not even dust remained. Before he could process the numbers, his brother's overwhelming generosity had knocked him senseless.
Before he could recover from his eldest brother's "love bomb," another equally strong hand landed on his shoulder, carrying the scent of leather and horses.
His second brother Vincent. His territory was Frost Valley, adjacent to the main Snow Wolf lands, where he managed the family's crucial horse farms and cavalry training.
"Grant!" Vincent's voice was like water flowing under ice—cold and clear. He wore equally well-tailored military dress, broad-shouldered and lean, with eyes even sharper than Carlos's, like polished steel examining Grant.
Those penetrating eyes that seemed to see through everything looked him up and down. "Snow Wolf fangs aren't for show—they're for holding your ground. The frontier's where steel and blood do the talking."
His tone was decisive. "I manage my territory and my army's my lifeline—nobody else gets a say."
This sounded like a territorial declaration, but was really reassurance for Carlos's heir sensibilities.
Vincent paused, then continued. "But this is your first time so far from home—as your brother, I need to show support. A fully equipped hundred-man heavy cavalry unit! Plus ten veteran Bronze-rank knights to serve as officers!"
"From today on, they answer only to you, Pioneer Commander Grant Windsor! They'll charge for you, break enemy lines for you! Remember that!"
He gestured, and the sound of hoofbeats and clashing armor seemed to penetrate the thick castle walls.
His third brother Fletcher, who'd earned the nickname "Granary Baron" thanks to his merchant family connections, stepped forward. His build wasn't nearly as imposing as his older brothers—more like a shrewd businessman, with gentle lines from years of calculating profits.
"Little brother!" Fletcher's voice was warm and solid, carrying the comfortable weight of full warehouses.
He clapped Grant's back heartily. "Brother Fletcher can't promise much," he grinned broadly, radiating northern merchant boldness and cunning, "but food? Plenty of it! Enough to keep you well-fed! I've got provisions for ten thousand people for a full year! Premium grain, black bread, beans, dried meat... more than enough! Go expand our family's territory with confidence!"
He waved grandly. "Need more? Just ask! My warehouses run deeper than you think!"
Grant felt like his entire body was doing somersaults. Hundred-man cavalry? Bronze knights? Food for ten thousand people for a year?
These offers transformed into mountains of gold, making his throat dry as he seemed to fall into some unreal fairy tale made of coins. This was supposed to be harsh frontier development?
This was clearly bringing a small army and invincible logistics to... go sightseeing? Have an armed vacation?
Just as Grant was getting dizzy from this barrage of "generous gifts," with the chest of ten thousand gold coins mixing with incoming serfs, guards, cavalry, and massive food supplies in an overwhelming flood of wealth and responsibility, a shadow silently blocked the sunlight streaming through the corridor windows.
The newcomer wore an impeccably fitted dark blue mage robe with premium silver thread outlining mysterious, softly glowing magical symbols—the mark of the elite "Star Tower" academy. The robe's hem had flowing runes representing elemental mastery.
His face was young, carrying scholarly refinement, but those amber eyes held depths like ancient ice, so profound they made your heart skip.
His fourth brother Leon was back from studying at the prestigious Star Tower in the imperial capital, the future pillar mage the family was investing everything in.
When Leon walked, those gorgeous magical arrays made no sound—instead, they seemed alive, absorbing surrounding light and sound, making him like a silent ghost with only faint energy ripples proving his existence.
"Grant." Leon's voice was like crystal chimes—crisp and pleasant but carrying detached coldness that cut through worldly concerns, reaching everyone clearly just before hurried footsteps announced another family member's approach.
Leon's gaze swept over Grant like he was measuring some experimental subject, without warmth. "On the frontier, especially in the far north, the deadliest threats aren't always obvious ones."
He methodically pulled a crystal box from a specially enchanted pocket in his robe. The box was mirror-smooth, glowing with warm white light.
Inside, a hundred thumb-thick glass bottles were perfectly arranged in rows. The liquid looked like the purest sky condensed into form, shimmering with mysterious ice-blue color. The bottles were sealed with silver, and ancient symbols representing healing and purification were etched on their surfaces—[Frost Heal].
This was a high-level healing potion for treating internal injuries, removing toxins, and even limited tissue regeneration. Production was extremely limited and expensive enough to bankrupt minor nobles.
"Take these." Leon matter-of-factly pressed the crystal box into Grant's hands. The box felt heavy, and the ice-blue liquid seemed to radiate cold through the crystal walls.
"When you run out," Leon finally looked directly at him, amber eyes reflecting Grant's dazed expression, "contact me through magical communication."
His tone was calm as still water, as if handing over homework. "Leon Windsor's protection extends further than you currently realize, at least regarding potions."
This cold, priceless gift was the final straw, making Grant feel like overly enthusiastic rich brothers were physically lifting him onto a golden yacht. He could barely breathe.
Just then, urgent, heavy footsteps echoed from the corridor's far end—thump, thump, thump—like someone barely containing massive frustration, each step making the floor tremble slightly.
A tower-like figure stormed over, radiating thick anger mixed with pine and cold iron scents.
He wore the dark gold ceremonial uniform symbolizing the family head's status, but his violently heaving chest had stretched the fabric out of shape. His angular face was flushed purple, and his thick gray eyebrows seemed ready to stand on end. This was the current head of the Snow Wolf family—Count Edmond Windsor, their father.
====
Power Level Classifications
Knights: 1. Knight Squire - 2. Black Iron Knight (Apprentice Knight) - 3. Bronze Knight - 4. Silver Knight - 5. Gold Knight - 6. Earth Knight - 7. Sky Knight - 8. Epic Knight - 9. Legendary Knight - Divine Fire - Demigod - God
Mages: 1st level Mage Apprentice - 2nd level Apprentice Magician - 3rd level Elementary Mage - 4th level Intermediate Mage - 5th level Advanced Mage - 6th level Magus - 7th level Magister - 8th level Grand Magister - 9th level - Archmage - Semi-God Mage - Mage God
Warriors: 1. Apprentice - Black Iron - Bronze - Silver - Gold - Earth - Sky - Epic - Legendary - Divine Fire - Demigod - God. Assassins and Swordsmen follow the same levels but are generally weaker than Knights and Mages at equivalent ranks.