Fifteen days.
That was how long Erick had lived among the ancient stones of the Warg Kings... long enough for the ruins to lose their eeriness and become home. Broken walls no longer murmured of forgotten ages... they simply blocked the wind. The cracked floor was now his training ground. His sanctuary.
In that time, he had grown stronger... faster... sharper.
And he had begun to understand something important... survival wasn't just about strength. It was about preparation.
So he opened the Shop.
The prices made him wince, but he spent carefully, choosing only what he needed. First, a skin bag... a leather satchel for up to 20 liters. Not a storage scroll, but close... and cheaper. He learned a trick... if he put items in the bag... then put the bag into inventory... it only takes one slot.
Then came the weapons.
x 20 Kunai - versatile, durable, perfect for close combat or throwing
x 20 Shuriken - light, fast, ideal for distraction or precision strikes
Altogether costing him 20 SP... leaving him with 92.
He held them in his hands for a long moment, feeling the weight, the balance, the cold metal against his skin.
The next five days were brutal for Erick.
Erick trained with kunai and shuriken until his palms split and fingers blistered. ANBU gloves helped, but not enough... real training demanded real pain. He wrapped his hands in cloth and kept going until he couldn't close his fists.
But the results spoke for themselves.
He wasn't Itachi... not even close... but from twenty meters, he could hit a stationary target dead‑center without hesitation. The weapons no longer felt foreign in his grip. They felt like extensions of his will.
Every morning, every night, he checked the slave camp on the map.
The pattern didn't change.
The guards stayed the same... eight Ironborn, thirteen Mormont men... all marked red.
But the number of slaves... soared.
His stomach twisted as new yellow and green dots appeared... weak, starving, injured people dragged from their homes, penned like animals.
If his guess was right, the raiders were preparing for transport. Soon, the slaves would be marched to the coast, loaded onto ships, and sent across the Narrow Sea to be sold in the slaver cities of Essos.
He clenched his fists until the blisters stung.
By strength alone, he was now five times stronger than an average man. His endurance and vitality grew... his body adapted to the Uzumaki bloodline with shocking efficiency.
...But the real shock was his chakra growth.
Chakra: 12,231.
Low Chunin level.
And it wasn't slowing down... if anything… his chakra development was accelerating.
He felt it... a hum under his skin, warmth in his core, pressure building like a rising tide. Each day, his chakra pool deepened and widened, racing toward its potential.
Night settled over the forest like a heavy cloak, and Erick knew this was the moment he had been preparing for.
For fifteen days, he watched the camp, memorized patrol routes, guard faces, and every weakness. He told himself he wasn't a hero, but couldn't look away.
Tonight, he will act.
He slipped into the patrol circle before dark, moving with quiet confidence. The guards walked a wide loop... four circuits in two hours, then back to camp for shift changes.
He crouched in the shadows, waiting for the world to dim.
When the forest turned dark, Erick let a thread of chakra reach his eyes. The world sharpened. Not daylight, but clear enough to see shapes and movement far away.
He formed the hand signs and became one of the Mormont men... the one who had just stepped into the Bear tent. His height didn't match, but in the dark, no one would notice.
He walked into the camp like he belonged there, grabbed a torch from a barrel, and strode out again with the casual authority of a man on duty.
The guards patrolled clockwise. Erick walked counter‑clockwise.
Larry was having a miserable night.
His stomach twisted since morning... bad fish, probably... and the patrol made it worse. No one wanted to trade shifts. Ralf laughed in his face. The others ignored him.
'Old man like me… they don't care if I drop dead out here,' he thought bitterly.
He trudged along the tree line, muttering, and saw Dan approaching. Dan walked strangely... stopping, scanning the ground, searching for something.
Larry frowned.
"Hey, Dan," he called out, hope creeping into his voice. "Are you here to replace me?"
Dan didn't even look up. "You wish, old man."
Larry's irritation flared, but curiosity won out. Dan wasn't supposed to be out here. He was acting distracted, eyes on the ground.
Now only a few paces apart, Larry asked, "What are you looking for anyway?"
"My dagger," Dan muttered. "Must've dropped it somewhere around here."
Larry glanced around automatically, though he had no idea what he was supposed to be looking for. "Didn't see anything on my way through. You sure you lost it here?"
Dan didn't answer. His eyes flicked past Larry, toward something behind him.
"There," Dan said suddenly. "Found it."
Larry turned instinctively.
And in that moment, everything changed.
A sharp pressure struck the side of his neck... not painful at first, just shocking, confusing. His breath caught. His legs weakened. The world tilted. He reached up, trying to understand what had happened, but his fingers came away wet.
He tried to speak, but no sound came out.
He turned back toward Dan.
Dan's expression was cold. Detached. A look Larry recognized from raiders, killers, men who'd stopped caring.
Larry's knees buckled.
He collapsed onto the forest floor, questions swirling in his mind, none of them finding a voice.
'Why? What did I do? Why me?' Questions, never spoken aloud.
Dan stepped away without a word, his movements light, practiced, silent. Within moments, he vanished into the darkness, leaving Larry alone beneath the trees.
The forest swallowed the sound of his breathing.
And the night moved on.
Erick moved around the camp like a shadow.
One by one, he removed the outer guards... always from behind, always in blind spots, never giving them time to shout or struggle. Each time, he transformed into the man he replaced, slipping into the patrol pattern. Final guard, layed on the ground with frozen fear all over his pale face, unable to believe what had happened.
Erick didn't linger.
He transformed into the guard's appearance... height, build, clothing, even the way he carried himself. This guard was set to return soon and switch shifts. Perfect timing.
Wearing a new face, Erick walked toward the camp with the steady, confident stride of someone who belonged there.
The camp was divided into three sections:
The Bears - the Mormont men
The Squids - the Ironborn
The cages - the prisoners - slaves
Even from a distance while waiting, Erick had noticed the strain between the Bears and the Squids. They distrusted each other. They despised each other. They could barely endure each other. They snapped, shoved, and muttered insults under their breath.
As Erick neared, he identified a Squid behind one tent, relieving himself. The man never realized what happened... his body locked from the neck down, then he crumpled. Hauling the body, Erick melted into the shadows, formed the hand signs, and mimicked the Squid's form.
Now he had access to the Ironborn side of the camp.
Ralf sat on a wooden crate, chewing a piece of hard bread and hating every moment of his life.
He wasn't proud of what he did, who he worked with, or the lies he'd been told.
Lord Jorah Mormont had claimed the people in the cages were thieves and killers. Criminals. Dangerous folk who deserved whatever fate awaited them.
Ralf had known it was a lie from the beginning.
He'd seen the fear in their eyes... seen the families torn apart... seen the children.
But coin was coin, and the North was cold, and a man had to eat.
At first, he pretended to struggle... hesitating, looking away, convincing himself he wasn't part of it. After years, numbness settled in.
What he hated most wasn't the guilt.
It was the Ironborn.
They mocked him constantly... for being slow, soft, and fat. Yes, he is fat, and yes, his wife cheated on him with a nice-looking neighbor. Still, he smashed his wife's and his neighbor's faces together. He has two kids... a girl and a boy... who look nothing like him, which pissed him off even more, knowing that maybe... they aren't his.
He clenched his jaw.
He wasn't a handsome man... wasn't a clever man... but a man who needed to survive.
"Damit...!"
And survival meant doing things he didn't want to think about.
He took another bite of bread, staring at the cages.
Erick didn't need to fight the whole camp.
He just needed to push it.
And the Bears and Squids were already halfway there.
The tension had been simmering for days.
The Bears... hated working with Ironborn. They hated their cruelty, their arrogance, their constant jabs. The Squids... hated the Bears for being "soft Northerners," for pretending to have honor while doing the same dirty work.
All Erick had to do was light the fuse.
He walked toward the Ironborn tent, shoulders hunched in the exact way the man he impersonated carried himself. Inside, the Squids were drinking, arguing, and loudly complaining about the Mormonts.
Not fully inside, Erick loudly exclaims... "Soft Bears think they run the place."
The nearest Squid snorted. "Aye. Those fur‑clad bastards act like they're better than us."
Erick leaned closer, lowering his voice. "One of them just called us cowards. Said we hide behind ships because we can't fight on land."
The room went still.
A few Ironborn exchanged looks... angry ones.
"Who said that?" one growled.
Erick shrugged. "Didn't catch the name. Big one. Beard. Looked like he ate a whole elk for breakfast."
That described half the Mormont men.
The Squids didn't need more.
They stormed out of the tent, muttering curses, gripping their weapons. Erick slipped into the shadows as they marched toward the Bear tents.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the camp…
Ralf was finishing his meal when he saw the Ironborn approaching. Their faces were twisted with anger, their steps heavy, their voices rising. He sighed.
"What's now…?" he muttered, hating even the idea of interacting with Ironborn.
Other Bears noticed them too.
"What's your problem?" one of the Mormont men barked.
"You lot calling us cowards now?" an Ironborn spat back.
Ralf's stomach dropped.
"Oh no. Why now…?" his shift is supposed to finish right now, and now this.
The Bears stood, hands on their weapons. The Squids stepped closer, forming a half‑circle. The air thickened. The slaves in the cages shrank back, sensing the shift.
Ralf tried to step between them.
"Oi, calm down-"
A Squid shoved him aside... Bear shoved back... voices rose... insults flew... hands tightened on hilts.
And then someone... Erick couldn't tell who... threw the first punch.
Chaos erupted.
Both... Bears and Squids crashed into each other, shouting, grappling, fists flew, tents toppled, torches fell... camp exploded into rage and old grudges.
Erick watched from the shadows, he just nudged the fragile balance a bit... and camp tore itself apart.
The fight between the Squids and the Bears began as a brawl, loud, messy, fueled by pride.
Seven Ironborn against nine Mormont men, each side trying to overpower the other without crossing the line... into killing.
Shoves, punches, grappling, curses... the kind of brutal contest meant to prove a point... not end a life.
The camp's Mormont commander tried to intervene, shouting for order and demanding they stand down. His voice cracked through the camp, but no one listened. The tension had been building for days, and tonight it finally snapped.
From the shadows, Erick watched everything unfold.
And then he saw it... the sword lying beside the Ironborn body he had taken earlier. A perfect spark for the fire he needed.
While the commander pushed between the fighters, trying desperately to restore control, Erick lifted the sword, aimed, and hurled it like a javelin.
It struck the commander in the neck before he could finish his shout.
Dozens saw it happen.
The camp froze for a heartbeat... then erupted.
Whatever restraint the men had been holding onto vanished. The fight turned savage. No one cared about rules anymore. No one cared about orders. The Bears fought with stubborn discipline, but the Squids fought with ruthless improvisation, using anything they could grab, striking from any angle, taking every advantage.
The camp became a storm of rage and desperation.
When the dust finally began to settle, only four men remained... two Bears, two Squids. All of them exhausted, battered, barely standing. The fury drained out of them, replaced by dawning horror as they realized what they had done.
They stepped back from each other, breathing hard, trying to regain control.
That was when the sound came.
A sharp, cutting rush through the air.
None of them had time to react.
A volley of shuriken swept through the clearing, striking with precision and force. Three men collapsed instantly, too stunned even to cry out. The last Squid - Tom - staggered, staring down at the unfamiliar weapon deeply lodged in his chest.
He blinked, confused, breath shallow.
He had only wanted to prove he wasn't a coward... hadn't meant for any of this to happen... hadn't realized the fight had turned into something far darker.
He tried to steady himself, but the world tilted.
Then he saw it.
A shape in the corner of his vision... a shadow that moved, expanded, stepped forward into the dim torchlight.
Tom's eyes widened in terror.
And then he fell.
Erick stepped fully out of the darkness, checking the map one last time. No more red markers. No more enemies.
The moment the last hostile marker on the map faded, a soft chime echoed in Erick's vision.
[All slavers eliminated. Reward: + 200 SP]
The notification felt distant. Hollow. It felt like it belonged to someone else.
Erick stood in the middle of the ruined camp, surrounded by the aftermath of chaos he had helped create. As a doctor, he had seen death before... quiet, peaceful, tragic, expected. But this… this had been something else. A frenzy. A collapse. A slaughter.
And he had been part of it.
He felt the warmth of chakra in his core, steady and comforting… yet at the same time, a strange coldness spread through him. A numbness. A detachment. He had felt it with the first guard he took down. He felt it now, stronger, deeper.
'Is this… the price... cost of using chakra...?'
He didn't know... didn't have time to think about it.
The prisoners in the cages were trembling... not from the cold, but from what they had witnessed. They had seen the Bears and Squids tear each other apart. They had seen a masked figure step out of the shadows.
To them, he wasn't a child... wasn't a savior... he was something else entirely.
A ghost... a reaper... shadow...
Erick approached the first cage. The prisoners recoiled instantly, pressing themselves against the far wall. The cages were made of ironwood reinforced with metal bands... strong enough to hold desperate people, but not strong enough to stop chakra‑enhanced strength.
Erick didn't speak... didn't try to reassure them... simply gripped the lock and tore it free.
The metal groaned... the door swung open.
The prisoners hesitated only a heartbeat before rushing out, giving him a wide berth, circling around him as if he were a fire they feared to touch. Most of them fled into the darkness without looking back... their stories scattering into the night, never to be known.
Erick moved to the next cage... then the next... and the next.
Each lock fell away... door opened... groups fled.
But not all.
Some remained frozen inside their cages, staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes. They didn't move... speak... or even breathe loudly. They watched him as if he were something unreal... a nightmare given shape.
Erick didn't force them... he simply opened the doors and left them be.
He turned his attention to the camp, searching for anything useful. Supplies. Tools. Food. Coin. Anything that could help him survive.
He found:
7 golden dragons
240 silver stags
560 copper pennies
He didn't know their worth... but he took them anyway.
The food was worse.
Frozen fish with strange patterns on the skin... hard biscuits that looked more like stones than bread... dry meat that smelled questionable... barrels of ale - far too many for a camp this size.
He gathered what he could, storing it in his skin bag.
Behind him, the camp was silent... cages stood open... fires burned low... wind carried the scent of snow and smoke.
Erick stood alone in the center of it all... ANBU mask hiding his face... but not the weight, that is settling in his chest.
He had saved them... had done what needed to be done... but, he had also crossed a line... he could never uncross.
Chakra inside him dulled the nausea... smoothing the edges of panic... but it didn't erase the truth. He had taken part in something brutal. Necessary, maybe... but brutal all the same. The numbness spreading through him was almost as bad as the horror.
He forced himself to breathe, to focus, to move.
While scavenging through the camp, he noticed something strange. In the cages... the ones he had opened... several people still remained. They hadn't run. They hadn't even stepped forward. They just stared at him, heads bowed, bodies trembling.
Erick approached slowly, voice muffled behind the ANBU mask.
"You're free now," he said quietly. "Take what you want from the camp. Go where you please."
No one moved.
Their heads lowered even further, as if afraid to meet his eyes.
Then one girl... maybe twelve, thin as a reed... lifted her gaze. Her voice shook.
"Ser… a no, Lord… we've nowhere to go. Our home… our village… it was burned when they took us."
Erick checked the map. Eighteen people remained... nine children - two boys, seven girls, none older than thirteen.
An older couple clinging to each other.
A scarred young man who looked more boy than adult.
Six women in their late teens or early twenties, eyes empty, staring at nothing.
He stepped closer.
"You all know each other?"
The girl nodded. "Yes, Lord. We're from Bear Island. Our village was called Blue Steel."
Her voice softened, almost a whisper.
"It was named for the Blue Steel flowers… they grow even in the cold."
She said it like a memory she was afraid to lose.
Erick nodded slowly. "Deepwood Motte isn't far. I'm sure they'll take you in."
The older man... still holding his wife... shook his head.
"We've been here longer than we can count," he said hoarsely. "We heard things. Bad things. More houses are involved in this than just the Mormonts and Ironborn."
Erick stiffened.
The man continued, voice trembling with anger and shame.
"I heard one of the Mormont men spit on the ground, saying the Glovers do nothing… and get paid in gold to keep quiet."
This was bigger than he thought.
He looked at the survivors... broken, lost, terrified.
He had planned to make Sea Dragon Point his home. A place to build something new. Something safe. Something his.
But a home needed people.
He straightened, voice steady.
"Listen," he said. "You have two choices..." Every head lifted, just slightly.
"You can go to Winterfell, I am sure they are not involved, or you can come with me."
The wind rustled through the ruined camp, carrying his words.
"I can't give you silver or gold," Erick continued. "But I can give you strength. A Power. A way to walk this land with your heads held high."
He paused, letting the promise settle.
"There will be rules to follow. But if you choose to follow me… no one will ever take your lives and play with them again."
Silence.
Eighteen pairs of eyes stared at him... some fearful... hopeful... or... just empty... but all of them listening.
Erick explained their first option... traveling to Winterfell... he did it slowly, carefully, making sure they understood the risks.
Bandits... wolves... bears... cold... distance.
He didn't exaggerate... didn't need to.
The moment the group heard what the road held, every single one of them chose him instead.
They had escaped slavers only half an hour ago... the idea of facing wild beasts and bandits on their own was enough to make their decision immediate.
Erick looked at their thin clothing, their shaking bodies, their pale lips. They wouldn't survive a night in the open like this. Not without help.
So he made a choice.
He would give them chakra.
He also told them... calmly, firmly... that this "gift" could be taken away by him if they broke his rules. A lie. He had no idea if that was possible, to take chakra away. But fear was a tool, and right now, they needed structure more than comfort.
His Chakra Transfer Technique guided him instinctively. He knew exactly how to inject chakra into another person so it would settle inside them like a seed... self‑propelling, slowly growing, strengthening the body just as his own chakra seed had done for him.
He also understood, without being taught, how the seed would change them... their bodies would grow stronger, warmer, more resilient... their minds clearer, sharper, more stable.
He began with the girl who had spoken to him first... Layla
She stood with her back to him, stiff with fear but refusing to show it. Dirt streaked her face, and her brown hair hung in tangled clumps like a wet mop. She didn't flinch when he placed his palm between her shoulder blades.
"You don't need to be afraid, it is not a painful procedure..." Erick tried to calm her with his old habit.
"Hmm..." she nodded stiffly.
For a few seconds, nothing happened.
Then Layla gasped.
Warmth bloomed inside her, spreading through her limbs, her chest, her fingers. Her pale arms flushed with color. The shivering stopped. Her breathing steadied.
She turned, eyes wide, and exclaimed to the others what she felt... the warmth. The others stared at her in disbelief.
Then they lined up.
One by one, Erick placed his hand on their backs.
One by one, warmth spread through them.
One by one, the trembling stopped.
Even the dull‑eyed young women... the ones who had looked hollow and broken... now had a faint spark behind their gaze. Erick suspected it was a side effect of chakra... the body adjusting, the mind stabilizing, the spirit strengthening.
When he finished, he told them to eat before they moved.
The women, now with a flicker of hope in their eyes, cooked the fish. It was salty... painfully salty... preserved in salted barrels to keep it from rotting. Erick understood the necessity, but still only ate a small piece.
As he lifted the food to his mouth, he felt eyes on him.
The youngest of them all, Jack, a four-year-old boy sitting nearby, was staring intently at his mask, trying to see what was beneath it.
Erick noticed the boy's gaze and pulled a perfect Kakashi on him.
Every time Jack blinked, Erick ate.
He was moving so fast, his mask up and down, that it was impossible to see a thing.
Erick took another bite of fish, silent behind the mask, watching his new… followers?
Erick didn't yet have the word to describe this newly formed group... but it was the beginning of something.