The guards atop the fortress walls finally woke up.
It wasn't their commanding officer who roused them, but the blood-curdling scream of a scout.
A scout, drenched in mud and rain, came scrambling down from the northern observation tower. His armor was skewed, and his voice cracked as he shrieked the same frantic line: "They're coming! Someone is coming from the north!"
The night captain wiped the rainwater from his face and climbed onto the battlements, cursing under his breath. He squinted into the distance.
A massive, black mass was moving through the veil of rain.
The captain rubbed his eyes and looked again.
"How many?"
"I can't tell! At least a hundred! Maybe two hundred!" The scout's teeth were chattering. "They aren't carrying torches. No banners. They're marching in perfect unison... and they aren't making a sound..."
The captain froze for a moment, then burst into laughter.
"A hundred or two? No torches?" He slapped the scout on the shoulder. "Has the rain rotted your brain? There are no armies in this wasteland. It's probably just a bunch of starving refugees. Go, wake the Baron."
The scout opened his mouth to protest, but the captain silenced him with a sharp backhand.
Baron Loding was dragged away from the warmth of his fireplace, his face a mask of irritation. Reeking of wine, he staggered up the wall and stared down for a few seconds.
"Refugees?"
"Most likely, my Lord. Anyone heading toward the Winter Wasteland at this time of year is either a beggar or a fugitive."
Loding let out a long yawn and pulled his fur cloak tighter.
"Shoot them."
The captain blinked. "My Lord?"
"Are you deaf?" Loding leaned against the battlement, pulling a piece of dried meat from his pocket and chewing. "My territory doesn't feed useless trash. Shoot them and be done with it. It saves us the food. Let the archers practice; their bows are starting to rust."
The captain hesitated, then turned to relay the order.
A moment later, a row of archers lined the wall. They were a ragtag bunch—unbuckled armor, loose bowstrings. The last time these men had seen combat was three years ago, when they hunted down a group of unarmed miners.
"Fire!"
The strings snapped in unison. Dozens of arrows flew out in a jagged arc, vanishing into the northern rain.
Silence fell over the wall for a few heartbeats.
Everyone was waiting for the "refugees" to scream, to scatter, or to fall to their knees and beg.
Nothing happened.
Not a single sound.
The black shadows continued their march, moving at a steady, unwavering pace.
A second volley of arrows whistled through the air. This time, the archers took careful aim. The arrows fell in a dense cluster.
The captain leaned over the ledge, staring intently.
He saw it.
The arrows had hit their marks. Several were protruding from the silhouettes below.
But the figures didn't stop.
They didn't dodge. They didn't scream. They didn't even flinch. Even with arrow shafts buried in their shoulder plates, chest armor, and helmet slits, their gait remained unchanged.
Step. Step. Step.
Every stride was the same frequency, the same distance.
The captain's throat constricted.
"My Lord..." He turned to look at Loding.
The half-chewed meat fell from Loding's mouth. He finally saw the true faces of the "refugees."
Two-meter-tall frames. Thick, pitch-black plate armor. A sinister red glow emanating from the slits of their visors.
Each one dragged a massive double-edged axe, the heavy blades plowing deep furrows into the muddy earth.
Two hundred of them.
Exactly two hundred.
"To arms! Everyone to arms!" Loding's voice cracked into a high-pitched scream. "Close the gates! Activate the defensive array!"
A faint blue light flickered at the base of the wall. It was a primary magic circle Loding had bought second-hand from the Imperial Magic Academy for eight hundred gold coins. A thin, shimmering mana barrier began to form over the stone surface.
Before the barrier could even fully solidify, Lin Yuan's command echoed through the rain.
Standing three hundred meters behind the Berserker vanguard, Lin Yuan raised his right hand and pointed forward.
Fifty Steel Crossbowmen stepped out from the flanks, forming a straight line in the mud.
Crossbows cocked. Bolts slotted. Fifty steel weapons aimed simultaneously at the wall.
"Fire."
Lin Yuan's lips barely moved.
The strings roared. Fifty armor-piercing bolts tore through the rain, trailing silver streaks across the sky.
The moment the bolt heads touched the mana barrier, the blue light shuddered violently.
Then, it shattered.
The defensive array that cost eight hundred gold hadn't lasted even half a second against the system-grade bolts.
The blue light exploded into countless shards, dissolving into the rain.
The bolts continued their path, slamming into the archers on the wall.
The first archer's chest was hollowed out. He stared down at the bolt buried in his sternum before falling backward, tumbling off the battlements.
Second. Third. Fourth.
The sheer penetrating power was terrifying. One bolt passed through an archer and pinned the man behind him to the stone by his shoulder.
The formation on the wall collapsed instantly.
The surviving archers dropped their bows and scrambled for the stairs. Men were tripped and trampled under the feet of their comrades.
"Don't run! Get back here!" the captain yelled, drawing his short sword to hold the line.
No one listened.
The Berserker formation had already reached the gate.
The gates of Black Wind Fortress were made of solid timber reinforced with iron plates, three men thick. In a place like the Winter Wasteland, they were considered impregnable.
The first Berserker didn't slow down.
He slung his axe over his back, lowered his right shoulder, and slammed his entire weight into the wood.
The sound of splintering timber was sharp and clear in the night.
A second Berserker followed. Then a third. A fourth. A fifth.
After the fifth impact, the iron-clad gates tore away from their hinges and crashed inward. The massive slabs of wood flattened the two guards behind them, crushing them into the gaps between the cobblestones.
The Berserkers flooded in.
The interior of the fortress was a single main street lined with barracks and warehouses. At the end stood Baron Loding's manor.
Soldiers stumbled out of the barracks, some barefoot, some holding pitchforks instead of spears.
They all froze at the sight of the black-armored giants.
The first Berserker swung his axe.
The blade swept in a wide arc, decapitating three men in one stroke. Before the bodies could even hit the ground, the next Berserker had already marched over them. With every rise and fall of their axes, blood and mud sprayed into the air.
This wasn't a battle.
It was an assembly line.
The Berserkers didn't chase those who fled, nor did they acknowledge those who begged for mercy. They moved forward at a steady pace according to their formation. Anything living that stood in their path was simply cut down.
The screams in the streets lasted less than three minutes.
Baron Loding had fled the wall and retreated to his manor, scrambling to put on a suit of gilded armor. He gripped an enchanted longsword, his body erupting with a Golden Aura.
He was Gold-tier.
In this borderland, a Gold-tier warrior was the peak of power. His three hundred soldiers only served him because of this status.
Loding charged out of his front door, swinging his sword at the Berserker stepping onto the porch.
The gold-infused blade bit into the Berserker's shoulder plate.
A half-inch crack appeared in the armor.
Only half an inch.
Loding's wrist went numb; the recoil had split the skin between his thumb and forefinger. The Berserker glanced down at the crack on his shoulder, then looked up.
A pair of glowing red eyes stared at Loding.
Loding stumbled back and swung a second time, aiming for the slit in the visor.
The sword tip pierced through, stabbing into the Berserker's left eye.
The red glow in that eye went out.
But the Berserker didn't fall.
He raised his massive axe with his right hand.
Loding tried to pull his sword back and retreat, but two iron-like hands clamped onto his thighs from either side.
Two other Berserkers had knelt and locked him in a vice grip.
Loding's Golden Aura exploded, the energy searing the Berserkers' gauntlets until the metal turned cherry-red. The smell of charred flesh filled the air.
But the four hands didn't loosen.
They wouldn't. The option to "let go" didn't exist in their programming.
Loding struggled frantically, hacking at the arms holding him. Two heavy axes fell from the sides simultaneously, cleanly severing both of his legs.
Loding's upper body collapsed onto the steps, his voice shrill with a distorted howl. The Golden Aura vanished instantly as his clothes were soaked in crimson.
Lin Yuan stepped onto the porch.
He walked up to Loding, knelt down, and placed a boot on the Baron's face.
"Where is the vault?"
Loding's face was pressed into the bloody water on the stone steps. He managed a muffled, broken reply: "The... the basement... key is around my neck..."
Lin Yuan reached down and ripped a thin chain from the Baron's neck. A copper key hung at the end.
He stood up and walked into the manor without looking back.
Behind him, Loding's desperate cries echoed: "Have mercy! I can be your dog! I can—"
The voice cut off abruptly.
The remaining Berserkers had finished the cleanup.
The basement of the manor was small, but it was packed to the ceiling. Three iron-bound chests sat stacked in the center. The top one was unlocked; inside, it was filled to the brim with gold coins. Lin Yuan did a quick count—at least two thousand.
The second chest contained silver and a handful of small gems.
The third chest was the heaviest. Upon opening it, Lin Yuan found a layer of black velvet lined with thirty-odd thumb-sized, translucent crystals.
Mana Crystals. Primary grade, but the quantity was impressive.
Lin Yuan swept everything into his system inventory.
[Gold Coins Obtained: 2,100]
[Silver Coins Obtained: 870 (Converted to 87 Gold)]
[Primary Mana Crystals Obtained: 34]
[Miscellaneous Gems Obtained: 12 (Converted to 360 Energy Points)]
He stepped out of the basement and stood at the manor's entrance.
The battle in the fortress was over. The streets were littered with corpses—soldiers, servants, and a few unlucky bystanders. The rain was washing the blood into thin streams that trickled between the cobblestones.
"Recycle. Everything."
Dark red circles of light ignited throughout the streets. One by one, the corpses were pulled into the ground. Scattered weapons, shattered armor, the iron-bound gates, the remnants of the defensive array—anything the system deemed a "resource" was swallowed whole.
The numbers on the system interface flickered wildly.
[Recycled Soldier Corpses x 287... Energy Points +2,296]
[Recycled Iron Weapons/Armor x Massive... Energy Points +830]
[Recycled Primary Magic Array Remnants x 1... Energy Points +400]
[Recycled Building Debris/Iron Fittings... Energy Points +215]
Lin Yuan looked at the final tally.
[Total Assets: 5,187 Gold | 4,101 Energy Points | 34 Primary Mana Crystals]
Five thousand gold.
He had gone from a penniless brat with ten silver coins to a man with five thousand gold in less than a single night.
Karl, the old butler, had been set down by a Berserker. His legs were shaking. He leaned against a wall, watching the red circles vanish as the street was wiped clean. He was muttering something, but the words were unintelligible.
Lin Yuan ignored him.
He walked to the flagpole in the center of the fortress and reached out, tearing down the banner of Baron Loding's house. The fabric, heavy with rain, hit the ground with a wet thud.
A new option appeared on his system interface.
[System: Fixed Stronghold Detected. Establish Territory?]
"Establish."
[System: Please Enter Territory Name.]
Lin Yuan stood under the flagpole, rain dripping from his hair.
"Great Yuan."
[System: Territory 'Great Yuan' established. Current Rank: Lv1 Temporary Camp.]
A new flag materialized on the pole. Pitch black with deep red sigils, it snapped and fluttered in the wind.
Karl finally caught his breath and staggered over to Lin Yuan's side. His lips were trembling, but he forced a weak smile.
"Young Master... we... we have a home..."
Lin Yuan was about to respond when a shrill, piercing buzz erupted in his mind.
The system panel turned blood-red.
[Warning! Abnormal fluctuations in polar air currents detected!]
[Tier 3 Winter Beast Tide is gathering. Estimated Scale: 10,000+ Low-Tier Magic Beasts.]
[Estimated Time of Arrival: 12 Hours.]
[Current Combat Power Evaluation: Survival Probability — 11%.]
The smile froze on Karl's face. He didn't need to see the system panel; the vibration under his feet was enough.
On the northern horizon, a low, rhythmic thrumming began to echo. It wasn't thunder—it was the sound of thousands of beasts trampling the earth.
Karl's face turned white again.
"Young Master... the Beast Tide..."
Lin Yuan said nothing. He stared at the thirty-four Mana Crystals in his inventory, his finger hovering over the screen.
In the bottom right corner, a grey icon was flashing.
[System Upgrade Requirements: 1,000 Gold + 100 Primary Mana Crystals -> Upgrade to Lv2 [Steam-Magic Modification Period]]
One hundred crystals.
He only had thirty-four.
He was sixty-six short.
Lin Yuan looked up, staring out at the rain-soaked Winter Wasteland beyond the walls.
Twelve hours. Sixty-six crystals. An eleven percent survival rate.
He gripped the mana crystals in his palm, and a cold, sharp smile spread across his face.
"Karl, do you think those beasts heading this way have mana crystals inside them?"