The cold was the first thing that registered—a biting, deep chill that felt less like weather and more like an enemy determined to strip away heat, life, and memory. The second thing was the dull ache behind the eyes, a throbbing reminder that the brain currently housed in this skull had just undergone a violent, non-consensual reboot.
I should be freezing. I am freezing, the inner voice registered, yet the body remained upright, shivering violently but functional. The last memory was the flickering blue light of a screen, the smell of stale coffee, and the victorious chime of a 4X strategy game finally reaching its end-game conquest.
Now, there was rough, expensive velvet beneath heavy furs, the nauseating lurch of a carriage, and the sight of a landscape bleached white by snow and shadow.
"My Lord, we are nearly there. Just a short way to Fort Drakk."
The voice was rough, solicitous, and layered with exhaustion. It took the transmigrated soul a full thirty seconds to process the words and realize they were directed at him. He blinked, the movement feeling alien, and turned toward the source: a man in sturdy, if slightly outdated, noble livery. His face was lined with worry and loyalty. This must be the steward, Steven.
"Fort Drakk," the man called Cedric Vance repeated, his voice sounding deeper, richer, and strangely unfamiliar.
Steven flinched, perhaps at the lack of expected weak coughs or aristocratic complaints. "Yes, My Lord. Your new... assignment. The border garrison." Steven, though outwardly a steward, was an exceptionally loyal and battle-honed Silver Knight.
The term 'assignment' was a polite euphemism for 'exile,' a necessary removal engineered by the two scheming brothers, the 2nd and 8th sons of Duke Vance, who needed to clear the line of succession. Cedric, or rather the soul of the average gamer now inhabiting the body of the weakest Silver Knight in the Vance family, instantly grasped the gravity of the situation. The former Cedric died from the cold; the new one had to survive the politics.
He pushed the fur blanket aside and stepped out, ignoring Steven's gasp of surprise at his sudden energy. The air hit him like a physical blow—it smelled of pine, ice, and something sharp and metallic, possibly blood.
They stood atop a low ridge. Below them, nestled against the jagged teeth of a forested mountain range known as the Frostfangs, was the fort. It was not a majestic fortress of stone and steel, but a squat, sad collection of timber palisades and poorly maintained watchtowers. Smoke—thin, lazy, and insufficient—drifted from chimneys already struggling against the persistent, heavy grey sky.
This was his starting position. His base camp.
The sheer, desolate scale of the world—Aethelgard—finally hit the former gamer with the force of a tectonic shift. It wasn't a game rendered in pixels; it was brutal reality, and his life was the objective.
First objective: Survival.
Second objective: Resource consolidation.
Third objective: Optimization.
Just as his mind shifted into a familiar strategic analysis mode—assessing terrain, defensibility, and potential bottlenecks—a chime rang out, not in the air, but directly behind his eyes, a familiar sound effect ripped straight from an old-school RPG.
The Player System Activation
A translucent blue window, complete with stylized gothic borders and flickering animations, materialized in his vision.
[Welcome, Transmigrator 1,000,000,001.]
[System Initialization Complete.]
[Error: Core Conflict Detected. Host Body Synchronization Failure.]
[Glitch Status Activated: Dual Identity Recognized.]
[Identity 1: Lord Cedric Vance (NPC) - Duke's 10th Son, Silver Knight, Exile.]
[Identity 2: The Player (User) - Kingdom Builder, Strategic Mind, Glitch Host.]
[Warning: Player functions may be limited or augmented by NPC parameters.]
The notification was both a confirmation of his status and a terrifying new constraint. He wasn't just a player with a cheat; he was a glitch in the Matrix, simultaneously controlling an NPC whose social and biological constraints were now his own. He was the Lord, but he was also the game master.
A dual-class character, then, he mused, a sliver of excitement piercing the cold anxiety. The ultimate kingdom-building scenario.
He dismissed the pop-up with a mental gesture, and the main Status Window opened, neatly segmented and easily readable.
[Status: Cedric Vance (The Player)]
Attribute Value Rank
Might - 120 (Avg. Knight: 10) Silver Knight
Magic - 10 (Latent: 500) Apprentice Mage
Stewardship - 22 (Avg. Lord: 15) C-Grade
Charm - 15 (Avg. Courtier: 18) C-Grade
Influence - 5 (Kingdom of Veridia) E-Grade
[Resources: Fort Drakk]
Item
Quantity
Status
Gold Coins - 10,000 (Adequate)
Food Stores - 1 Year (for 500)
Personnel - 62 / 500 (Max Capacity)
[Personnel Breakdown]
Unit - Quantity
Silver Knight - 2 (Cedric Vance, Steven)
Bronze Knights - 10
Iron Knights - 50
Total Combat Power - 1200 Normal Knight Equivalent
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A/N - I'll update the power system in auxillary chapter, but to brief you up, 1 silver knight = 100 normal knights. 1 bronze = 50 and iron = 10.
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Cedric felt a surge of professional satisfaction. His starting troops were vastly superior to a standard medieval levy. The King, or rather the Queen's influence, had been careless or overconfident, assuming these powerful units would simply freeze or be wasted against the native border threats. They had gifted him a solid military start.
"My Lord, are you well?" Steven asked, his voice shaking now, not from cold, but from concern. "You look... different."
"I have clarity, Steven," Cedric said, pulling his thoughts back to the NPC world. "I know precisely what has happened and what must be done." He looked down at the desolate fort, then up at the dark, oppressive mountains where the Frost Elves and Barbarian Tribes waited. "We have been exiled to the edge of the Kingdom of Veridia, a hostile land. The objective is not comfort; it is survival, and then expansion."
Steven looked bewildered. "Expansion, My Lord? The borderlands... they say no man survives three winters out here without the King's active support."
Cedric's eyes, now sharp and strategic, fixed on the steward. "Then we shall not rely on the King." He turned his gaze toward the endless, snow-swept horizon. The terrain was brutal, the resources are finite, and the winter was not just a season; it was an executioner.
He gave a slight, calculated smile, a phrase from another lifetime bubbling up that perfectly described his current state of affairs. He knew what was coming, and he had to prepare the board.
"Steven," he said, his voice low and firm, a new kind of authority ringing in it. "Winter is coming. We need to be the blizzard, not the victims."
Steven swallowed hard, a flicker of true belief—or perhaps just desperate hope—appearing in his weary eyes. "What are your orders, My Lord?"
Phase 1: Resource Assessment
"Orders?" Cedric stepped back into the carriage, retrieving a worn leather pouch containing the initial 10,000 Gold. "First, we address the immediate vulnerabilities. The knights you traveled with—the ten Bronze and fifty Iron—they are loyal?"
"Fiercely so, My Lord. They were chosen by the Duke personally, men who value honor more than court politics."
"Good. Loyalty is a resource." Cedric tapped the status window—only visible to him—and pulled up the detailed Territory Map function.
[Territory Map: Fort Drakk]
The map showed the palisades, the barracks, and the surrounding terrain, complete with resource overlays.
[Nearby Danger Zones:]
Frostfang Pass: High density of Snow Bear dens.
Northern Glade: Frost Elf hunting grounds.
Whispering Peaks: Barbarian scouting parties observed.
[Unidentified Marker:]
Deep Ice Cave (5 miles North): High Magic Energy Signature Detected. Caution Advised.
The notification about the Deep Ice Cave caused the former gamer's pulse to quicken. High Magic Energy? That's not a threat; that's an objective. That was where the Ice Drake Egg and the Ice Orb were waiting. He couldn't rush it, but he had to secure it.
"Steven, listen carefully," Cedric commanded, his voice already moving at a strategic pace. "We will enter the fort and make a public display of our presence. I want the most experienced scout, an Iron Knight, to take a squad of five men. Their mission is not to fight but to confirm the location of our neighbors—the Frost Elves and the Barbarians. No engagement. Pure reconnaissance. We need to know their exact patrol routes and strength. We move from defense to offense immediately."
"Immediately, My Lord? But the men are exhausted, and we haven't even..."
"We are weak right now, Steven. Our weakness is our greatest vulnerability. Our enemies will assume we need a grace period. We deny them that assumption. Every day we waste is a day they consolidate. We will strike before they realize we have survived the journey."
He took one last look at the fort, now seeing it not as a dilapidated ruin, but as a Level 1 Town Hall, waiting for the right tech tree to be unlocked.
"Go ahead of me. Inform the commanders that I require an immediate, detailed inventory of the fort's defenses and a summary of all personnel skills. Organize a formal meeting in the main hall in one hour. I need to know what I have before I decide how to use it."
Steven, seeing the steel in his Lord's eye that was never there before, snapped to attention. "Yes, My Lord. It shall be done." The steward hurried off, finally moving with purpose rather than resignation.
Cedric followed, his hand resting on the hilt of the familiar longsword. His Might score of 120, combined with the power of his 61 elite knights (1200 combat equivalent), was a formidable starting army. It was time to stop thinking like a player stuck in a carriage and start acting like a Winter Lord ready to conquer his first harsh map tile. The brothers had exiled him, but they had also given him the perfect, isolated sandbox to play his game.
He was the Duke's son, the weakest Silver Knight, but he was also the player. And his campaign had just begun.