Simon planned to start building a house.
Building a house was for shelter from wind and rain, but in the Pure Land, the weather was fair, so it wasn't really necessary. However, sometimes a house transcends practicality.
He carried an axe to chop down trees; the pine and fir growing in the cold climate possessed a tough quality, making them suitable and excellent materials.
First, he dug a pit for the foundation on the ice plain, then went to the mountains to quarry stones to fill the foundation.
The moment the Pure Land absorbed an object, Simon could decide its spatial orientation, which greatly saved him the effort of moving stones.
The entire house covered at most five hundred square yards, similar to a villa.
Woodworking was a delicate task, so Simon specifically made woodworking tools: chisels, planes, saws, ink markers, and a Lu Ban ruler, among others. The felled pine and fir logs were processed into long strips, with dovetail tenons carved into the edges. The remaining scraps were not wasted and were planned for flooring.
Soil and water were mixed with hay and wood scraps, then, once frozen solid, laid on the foundation as the first layer. This step alone took a whole day.
Simon cut grooves in the first layer of frozen soil and embedded wooden planks there. Each plank was connected with tenons and mortises, like a jigsaw puzzle, making it very strong and secure.
A week passed. He had to leave for Winterhold.
Upon meeting, Simon immediately noticed Jonas was in a bad mood, lacking his usual smile.
"What, were you bullied?"
"No," Jonas pouted.
"Is there or isn't there?"
"There really isn't, I'll handle it."
Simon tilted his head back, a look of understanding on his face.
"Alright then. If you can solve it, that's best. If not, I'll solve it for you."
Jonas shook his head, saying nothing more, but it was clear he didn't want Simon to interfere.
As usual, Simon prepared a delicious meal for him at the tavern, then tested his martial arts and magic, finally letting Jonas play in the Pure Land for half a day before it was time to say goodbye.
Time passed quickly; Rain's Hand was coming to an end, and Next Seed would soon begin. The temperature in Winterhold was expected to become more comfortable.
Simon watched Jonas's back disappear into the night and suddenly felt that, at such a young age, he was already a warrior. He possessed courage and perseverance, even an optimistic and resilient demeanor, and a romantic poetic spirit. His future was limitless.
After a couple of remarks, the Troll walked back from the college entrance. As he reached the archway, he heard shouts of battle from within Winterhold.
"Die, you skin-peeling Vampire!" The Guards Captain's explosive, high-pitched roar echoed throughout Winterhold. Immediately, doors and windows opened in every household, and residents rushed out, brandishing axes and longswords.
Simon frowned inwardly and rushed towards the source of the shouts. His enchanted tattoos glowed brightly, faintly shining through his thick robes.
Turning around a house, he saw a hooded Vampire in the middle of the street casting spells at the crowd.
Cold, frosty white air spun at high speed, carrying sharp ice shards towards the Nords who were charging forward. These residents were not warriors, after all, and wore no armor. They were covered in wounds from the ice storm, but fortunately, they had extremely high resistance to cold, so they weren't frozen solid.
Simon roared, "Get out of the way!"
Like a sudden thunderclap out of nowhere, mixed with a fierce lion's roar, dozens of people on the long street, including the Vampire, were dazed and stood rooted to the spot by the immense sound.
The Troll suddenly flicked his sleeve, and about ten blue-hued silver lights flashed past, swiftly flying towards his opponent. They cut narrow, sharp arcs in the air, cleverly avoiding the crowd, and instantly plunged into the Vampire's body.
The Vampire let out a piercing shriek. The Sleeve Flying Swallow's mechanism opened, and the poisoned long needles inside directly pierced his body, emerging from his back and stopping only after penetrating his leather armor.
The poison used was made from bone meal, Nirnroot, and a human heart. The bone meal and human heart were readily available, and the Nirnroot was collected by Simon on his travels. It was a practice piece made in his spare time, not particularly potent, but abundant.
The poor Vampire, whose whereabouts were discovered by the Guards, had not even had time to carve out a bloody path before running into the Troll, this harbinger of doom.
He tried to say something hoarsely, but in an instant, his head was chopped off by a large axe.
The Vampire's corpse burned rapidly, turning to dust like a piece of paper. Blown by Winterhold's strong winds, bone ash filled the street.
Everyone cheered, convinced that Simon was a Nord brother skilled in battle shouts. They all offered to buy him drinks until dawn.
The Troll collected the Vampire's belongings, bundling them in his hand, carefully retrieved his Sleeve Flying Swallows, then politely declined the invitations from his Nord friends and hastily left Winterhold.
As the Vigilant Isran and his companions said, the Vampires in Skyrim were becoming active.
They're interrupting my studies!
Simon wondered if he should just storm the Vampire's lair and wipe them out to save himself trouble.
After some deliberation, the Troll decided to endure it for a while. Once Jonas had the ability to protect himself in Skyrim, he would go find trouble for those Vampires.
Even so, Simon still felt quite indignant for a time. To condone evil was to desecrate goodness, and his actions could hardly be called heroic. Suppressing a sullen mood, he returned to the Wolf Pack Resting Place and immediately went to the Pure Land to vigorously practice his martial arts.
After feeling as though his entire skeletal structure and muscles had been replaced, the Troll, panting, put down the bloody wooden mallet and went to bathe in the clear river on the ice plain. The downstream river water turned crimson.
Simon examined the Vampire's belongings. Besides money and weapons, there was also a letter. Its contents instructed this Vampire to infiltrate Winterhold's administration, become a guest of honor to the Jarl, and secretly convert all of Winterhold's residents into Vampires.
Alas, he died before his mission could even begin. Simon shook his head and cast the letter aside.
Vampires are a huge threat everywhere. They secretly spread disease, turning the infected into Vampires. Furthermore, they are often skilled illusionists and rhetoricians, adept at sowing discord, causing everyone in the region to fear for their own safety.
Simon decided to temporarily manage his own small patch of land.
The house still needed to be built.
It would be double-storied, with rooms arranged in a loop, and a central open space for the great hall. A spiral staircase opposite the entrance would lead to the second floor, where rooms would be supported by load-bearing walls and long pillars.
Simon scheduled house construction for the afternoon, martial arts practice for the morning, and designing his magical creations for the evening.
He planned to build a mode of transportation.
He'd build a motorcycle; simple and convenient. A steam turbine for the engine, absolutely powerful, with rear-wheel drive and large tires for off-road capability.
The biggest challenges were the tire material and suspension design.
There was no rubber, so he had to find a substitute. For suspension, he'd use springs, which meant he'd have to make springs, but that wouldn't be difficult with magic.
After much thought, he couldn't solve the tire material problem. Should he use tracks instead? Simon rubbed his bald head, troubled.
If he was going to use tracks, why not just build a tank?
Simon recalled Ghost Rider; the Hell Cycle was really cool, he had to make one.
No rubber meant airless tires.
Simon decided to make iron tires, supported by dozens of spokes, and then enchant them.
Silence spell, Ironflesh spell, protective field, to make the tires quiet and tough.
The chassis would be enchanted with a Ward spell, magic resistance, three-element resistance, and an Ironflesh spell, making it a war chariot.
Three peaceful weeks passed. Winterhold was calm, and Jonas was doing well.
Simon finally built his Necromantic Motorcycle. It had a black iron body, huge silver-white hollow tires, and a streamlined design, looking at first glance like a sharply angled barbell.
There were no handlebars, as the Necromantic Motorcycle was controlled by a psychic link. The front was cast in the shape of an iron-gray ram's skull, with long, curved horns for gripping. The rider could grasp one horn and wield a battle-axe with the other hand.
The Necromantic Motorcycle started.
Ethereal blue light burned like fire, otherwise completely silent. The Troll straddled it, released the brake, and instantly it sped off like the wind. The silver-white tire surfaces were covered with ferocious, short, square iron spikes, raising dust wherever it went.
Simon laughed with joy, driving all the way towards Winterhold.
-------------------------------
I've already uploaded 40 chapters of this story on Patreon!
If you enjoy it, come check out the latest chapters in advance.
Here's the link:
[patreon.com/Greyhounds]
Thank you so much for your support!!
"And If you're enjoying it, drop a Power Stone for me!"