Erick decided they would spend the night in the camp.
It wasn't ideal. The group was terrified, frail, half-starved. Guiding them through the shadowy woods at night would be reckless... even if they had finally eaten something.
David had been a blacksmith's apprentice before everything changed. His face was marked with scars. He was a thin, fifteen-year-old boy with soot-black hair and a nervous stutter.
With Erick's help, they took anything useful from the bodies... swords, knives, coins. To keep the camp safe, Erick dragged the bodies far away and left them in a pile.
The others watched from a distance, huddled together, whispering in fear.
"What if someone comes back?" Mara clutched her torn cloak tighter. She was barely twenty.
A fearful murmur spread through the camp.
Erick heard their whispers as he worked. He walked over to the group, feeling a new wave of fear on them. "If anyone threatening shows up, they'll end up like those in that pile." He pointed outside the camp, where even in the dark, a small hill of corpses was visible.
The bluntness shocked them, but it also settled them. Fear shifted into a fragile sense of safety.
Only the children slept well that night... exhaustion finally winning over terror. The adults lay awake, staring at the sky, listening for footsteps that never came.
As dawn broke, bringing an end to the anxious night, a cold wind swept through the camp and urged them to action.
Erick organized everyone to salvage what they could. David dismantled the tents, working quickly. Mara and two other women checked the food stores. The older couple, Bran and Elira... both grey-haired... collected blankets and clothing.
There were two horses tied near the wagons, both thin, with dull brown coats and weak, misty breaths in the cold. The wagons had once been slave cages, but Erick tore off the metal bars with his strength and converted them into transport wagons.
Once everything was loaded—tents, blankets, salted fish, hard biscuits, dried meat, and barrels of ale—the horses struggled. Their hooves scraped the frozen ground, and their muscles shook.
"They can't pull this," Bran murmured.
Erick approached the horses, placing a hand on each of their necks. The group watched, puzzled.
Erick closed his eyes and let chakra flow into the animals. The technique guided him instinctively, just as it had with the people, as the chakra seed sank into the horses' bodies. The change didn't happen right away, but as the group watched the horses, they grew increasingly surprised.
Their coats grew glossy, catching the morning light. Their posture straightened. Their breathing deepened. Even their eyes sharpened, losing the dull haze of a mindless animal.
Gasps rippled through the group, sharp and involuntary, as wonder chased away their dread.
Old Elira covered her mouth. "By the gods…" she had never in her life seen such beautiful horses.
The male horse stamped the ground… snorting with new strength. The female tossed her head, mane shimmering.
"Try now."
David took the reins, his eyes wide. The horses leaned forward, and the wagons rolled as if they were empty. There was no strain or hesitation. The animals moved with steady, strong steps, pulling the heavy loads over rough ground without slowing down.
"What did you do, Lord?" Bran asked, aghast.
"I gave them the same gift that I gave you all."
Erick looked at the baffled faces surrounding him... but... "Right now we need to move, I will explain that later..."
For the next few hours, the horses pulled the wagons through the forest with ease. No road. No path. Yet they moved as if the weight meant nothing. Not a single sign of fatigue.
The group followed behind, whispering to each other. Their fear slowly turned into wonder.
The warmth they felt inside didn't go away.
At first, the survivors clung to the warmth as a blessing, desperate against the biting cold. But now they knew that it was not just warmth. Their steps grew lighter, lungs widened with each easy breath, and muscles no longer ached as before. Even Bran and Elira, once stooped, stared at their hands in awe as youth returned to worn skin.
Survivors stared at Erick with a reverent, almost fearful awe, as if they were seeing a miracle in the flesh.
The group murmured among themselves at night in hushed tones, speaking of the masked child who strode ahead of the wagons.
"Children of the Forest..." Mara murmured to David, her voice trembling. "He must be one of them. Who else could do this?"
David shook his head, eyes fixed on Erick's silhouette. "From what I know, they wore flowers as their clothes... but he is clothed in even fancier clothes than some Lords."
"Maybe now they wear proper clothes," whispered Anna, the younger girl, clutching her blanket.
Old Bran looked at the boy who was sitting not far, cross-legged, voice thick with gratitude. "Doesn't matter who he is... he saved us, took us in. That's all that matters now," he said, his eyes bright with emotion.
Everyone nodded in agreement. Erick didn't hear any of it, and even if he had, he probably would have just shrugged.
Four days later, after steady travel along the coastline, the land curved westward and the air grew more salty with the breath of the Sunset Sea. The wind howled across the cliffs, carrying the cries of distant gulls and the crash of waves against stone.
Then the ruins appeared.
Weir‑Grip.
The ancient city of the Warg Kings.
The group froze in place, hearts pounding. Their silence was heavy, eyes wide with wonder and the ache of hope.
The ruins stretched across the entire point... a vast skeleton of a city that had once held half a million people. Most of it was built from wood... now, much of it had rotted away. The stone foundations remained... massive rings of black rock, wide avenues carved into the earth, and the towering remnants of the King's hold.
Some walls still stood, impossibly tall and as thick as fortresses. The stones were massive, far too large for human hands.
Mara stepped forward, eyes wide. "Gods… this place is enormous."
David swallowed. "Bigger than anything I've seen."
Jack tugged on Bran's sleeve. "Did giants live here?"
Old Bran didn't know what to say. Even he found himself doubting, wondering if the city was truly the work of giants.
Layla, the brave girl who had spoken first back at the camp, stared at Erick's masked face. "Is this where you've been guiding us, Lord?"
Erick was surprised, too. He looked over the ruins... the tall stone ribs of ancient halls, the broken pillars, and the faint sense of old history in the air.
"Here," Erick said finally, "we can build something."
The group exchanged glances, whispering between themselves.
Erick ignored the whispers and walked forward, his ninja sandals crunching on ancient stone. The wind whipped his cloak behind him as he approached the massive remnants of the King's Hall.
He turned back to the group.
"This will be our home."
Later that day, the ancient great hall became their shelter.
Its walls were thick... towering slabs of stone shaped by hands much larger than human. They enclosed the group on all sides. Even in ruin, the place felt immense.
They set up their tents inside the hall and stacked their supplies in the center. The wind howled outside, but inside the stone walls, it was quiet.
Erick wasted no time.
He assigned tasks with the calm certainty of someone far older than eight years.
Not far from the hall, they found the remains of a smaller building... half-collapsed walls and a stone foundation. It looked like a good place for a forge. With a roof, it could become a proper smithy.
David's eyes lit up the moment Erick pointed it out.
"You'll rebuild this," Erick said. "We need shovels, axes, nails, hinges..."
David nodded quickly, almost too quickly. "A‑aye, lord. I can do that. I… I know how."
Erick crouched beside a pile of scavenged metal... swords, spearheads, and armor pieces.
"These first," Erick said, tapping the pile. "Turn them into something useful."
David stared at the metal pile, breath faltering, old anger and hope twisting inside him. Tears stung, but he clenched his jaw, resolved.
"I'll do it," he whispered. "Gladly."
David had once dreamed of forging his own blade. But now, as he looked at the swords that had taken his freedom, he felt something new... a fierce satisfaction at the idea of turning them into tools to build a new life.
His father had died of fever when David was still a child. He never knew his mother... his father never spoke of her. At seven, he had been forced to work to survive. One winter, starving and freezing, he had sat on the street staring at the sky, convinced it would be the last thing he ever saw.
Then Rey found him.
Rey was a cranky old blacksmith with a loud voice and a rough temper, but a good heart. He took David in, fed him, and taught him. David had promised himself he would repay that kindness one day.
But the raid came.
Rey was tortured, and so was David. The scars on David's face reminded him of that day. Rey had agreed to work for the slavers in exchange for David's freedom, but they never let David go. Rey was taken far away, and David never saw him again.
"I'll make this place a smithy..." David clenched his hands into fists.
Erick looked at the resolved David… he saw something in the boy change. He did ask what, just said... "Good."
Next, Erick spoke with Bran and Elira, the older couple who had survived together. Bran had a steady voice. A patient manner. Elira had sharp eyes and a mind that never stopped calculating. They had once run a small trading shop, dealing in everything from grain to cloth to tools. Both could read and write… both could count coins.
Erick saw their value immediately.
"Bran, you'll teach the children. Reading… numbers… anything useful."
Bran blinked, surprised. "Me… Teaching?"
"You're the best suited…" knowing old Bran's easy-going nature.
Bran didn't argue.
"And you," Erick, turning to Elira, "will manage our supplies. Food, tools, and coins. Everything."
Elira nodded slowly. "I can do that, Lord."
Erick reached into his inventory while his hand was under the coat… he pulled out a coin pouch and passed it to Elira.
She stared at the coins, stunned. "You're giving this… to me?"
"Yes, now you will manage our finances... this is for you to keep."
"I will do my best, Lord."
The women were given simple tasks... preparing food, tending the fire, and sorting blankets. According to David, these women had already endured more than enough for several lifetimes.
That evening, after the meal, he gathered everyone in the great hall.
The fire crackled in the center, casting long shadows on the old stone walls. The group sat in a loose semicircle, wrapped in blankets and still getting used to feeling safe. Erick climbed onto an old barrel so everyone could see him.
"Alright," he began, voice steady behind the mask. "We'll start with rules. There are only two."
He raised two fingers.
"First rule... never betray our group or me. Second rule... never use your powers to do evil. That's all."
The group stared at him as if he were some strange creature that had wandered out of a story.
A small hand shot up.
Erick almost laughed. "Go ahead."
The small girl, Anna—the red-haired one with the raspy voice—cleared her throat. "Lord… we know 'Lord' isn't your real name. Can we know what it is?"
Erick blinked.
With all the chaos and travel, he had never actually introduced himself. He looked around and saw every face watching him with curiosity.
Slowly, he reached up and removed the mask.
Gasps rippled through the group.
They had expected a creature, a spirit, a being of magic. Instead, they saw a boy. A boy with gentle features, soft hair, and bright blue eyes.
"You can call me Erick," he said simply. Then he glanced at Anna and added, "Or you can call me Mister Whiskers if you want."
A few muffled laughs escaped the children. Even some adults smiled. Erick slipped the mask back on, the moment of levity settling the tension in the room.
Anna raised her hand again, more patiently this time, as if she finally remembered what Bran had taught her that day.
"Yes, Anna," Erick said, amused.
She leaned forward, eyes shining. "Are you… Children of the Forest?"
The question lingered in the air. Several people held their breath.
Erick shook his head. "No, Anna. I'm not."
A wave of disappointment washed through the group. Some had clearly hoped for a magical savior, a legend made flesh.
Erick watched their reactions quietly and with a hint of amusement.
Anna's eyes were still wide when Erick looked back at her.
"But if you behave," he added lightly, "maybe one day I'll bring you to see them."
The hall erupted in gasps. Children leaned forward, practically glowing with excitement. Even the adults straightened, curiosity breaking through.
Anna forgot all about raising her hand. "Are you telling us there are Children of the Forest somewhere?"
Seeing the spark in their eyes, Erick nodded. "Not just Children of the Forest. From what I know… There are still a few thousand giants alive behind the wall."
Silence fell like a dropped stone.
Even the fire seemed to crackle more quietly.
Then whispers spread quickly across the hall—frantic, excited, and full of disbelief. Erick clapped his hands sharply to get their attention.
"Alright. Listen up. There's something more important you need to understand."
The room stilled instantly.
"The gift I gave you isn't just warmth. You've probably noticed that it's making your bodies stronger. The energy you feel inside is called chakra, and it can do much more than just keep you warm."
Before anyone could speak, Erick bent his knees and flipped backward... landing effortlessly on the stone wall.
During the four days of travel, Erick continued his training at night while everyone else slept. Even without guidance, he found tree walking surprisingly easy to learn. The secret was in the precise distribution of chakra, which came naturally to him.
Gasps echoed through the hall as he began walking along the vertical surface as if it were the ground. Then he pushed off, somersaulting again and landing lightly on the barrel.
He didn't give them time to interrupt.
"As you can see, chakra has many uses. It isn't magic. It's the combination of your physical and spiritual energies. When they mix, they create chakra."
He let that sink in.
"Why am I telling you this? Because chakra is powerful and can also be dangerous. If you don't train it properly, it can hurt you. Someone who doesn't know how to use chakra is a danger to themselves and others. That's why, starting today, I'll teach you the basics."
Every face in the hall... young, old, frightened, hopeful... watched him with rapt attention.
Erick continued, "Chakra can calm your mind or make your emotions stronger. It can make your body stronger or leave you exhausted. You have to learn to control it."
He demonstrated the leaf exercise, placing a leaf on his forehead and holding it there without touching it. Then he showed them how to draw chakra from within... the first step of extraction.
He warned them clearly that using too much chakra could make them sick, weak, or worse. They nodded seriously, understanding how important his words were.
He didn't mention jutsu. Not yet. They weren't ready.
But he did give them one promise.
"If you train your chakra control well enough… you'll be able not just to stick to the surfaces, but even walk on water."
The hall erupted again...
From that night on, every day followed a routine.
People worked. People rebuilt.
Finding free time, they trained physically by doing basic exercises.
And every evening, they gathered in the great hall, sitting in a circle, practicing the leaf exercise with fierce determination. Children giggled when their leaves fell. Adults cursed softly under their breath.
Seeing their effort and their desire to grow and change, Erick pushed himself harder as well. His training became more intense.
The next ten days passed in a rhythm of work, training, and quiet determination.
David forged crude but sturdy tools and items. The group started chopping trees and turning them into planks. Even little Anna wanted to help, dragging branches twice her size and puffing her cheeks with pride. For the children, building a home with their own hands felt magical.
They started with the great hall and the smithy.
They patched roofs together from large planks. Doors were installed, and window openings were covered with wooden boards to keep out the wind. It wasn't perfect, but it was a real shelter, and each day it looked a little better and felt warmer.
But Erick noticed something.
Even though everyone was stronger, the work was still slow... too slow. They needed more help.
That was why he never stopped checking the map.
Every morning. Every evening. Every time he took a break from training.
On the eleventh day, he saw something.
A caravan... that moved through Deepwood Motte lands...
Eight red markers showed... hostile... forty-two yellow and green markers... weak, hungry, and exhausted people.
They were heading straight toward the old slaver camp he had destroyed ten days earlier.
Erick narrowed his eyes behind the mask.
From their pace, they would reach the camp in about a week.
He could reach it in two to three hours if he ran at full speed.
Strike and Freedom, the improved horses, could get there in one hour.
He just needed to wait for the right moment.
The horses had changed more than anyone had expected.
Erick didn't know their old names, so he gave them new ones: Strike for the male and Freedom for the female.
And horses seemed to like their new names.
Strike tossed his head proudly whenever Erick called him. Freedom nudged Erick's shoulder with surprising affection. Their coats shone like polished bronze, and their muscles moved with smooth strength.
Spending time with the group gave him something that he really needed... information. Bran, Elira, and even the children shared bits of gossip, rumors, and dates.
Slowly, Erick pieced them together and got a rough timeline.
It was the year 285 A.C. Two years after Robert Baratheon had taken the Iron Throne.
That meant the realm was still settling. The North was still recovering, and the War of the Five Kings was still years away.
But it also meant danger was everywhere.
There were bandits, slavers, ambitious lords, and the slow, creeping corruption spreading through the great houses.
Erick checked the Shop every day, searching for knowledge... anything that could help him prepare for the future. His first thought had been sealing arts. Fuinjutsu was powerful, versatile, and terrifying in the right hands.
But mastering it would take years, maybe even decades, and building a barrier like Konoha's was impossible with what he had now.
He needed something else.
He needed something faster and scalable, something he could learn and use almost right away.
So he searched other worlds.
Most of the knowledge he found was either too complex, too dangerous, or needed materials he didn't even recognize. Some systems were even harder than Finjutsu, with lifetimes of study packed into impossible diagrams.
But he kept searching… and found a book with no world tag… no origin… no author.
It only had a title... Array Formations for Dummies.
At first, Erick thought it was a joke. The cover was cheap, the paper was thin, and the price... 200 SP... seemed suspiciously low for a book that claimed to teach formations.
But the Shop allowed him to preview the first chapter.
And that chapter alone turned his world upside down.
It explained how a few strokes, placed in the right spots, could summon storms. Lines drawn in the earth could enrich the land with spiritual energy. Formations could shield, empower, heal, or destroy... and all of that was described in simple, almost childish language.
It was terrifying in its simplicity... knowledge that even a child could use, and so could he.
He bought it instantly, draining his SP to 204.
It took him three days to read the entire book.
Even with his sharper mind, Erick felt overwhelmed. The ideas were simple, but what they meant was huge. The book explained old and new methods, how nature interacts with formations, and how to anchor, amplify, and stabilize energy.
On the fourth day, he bought a notebook and a pencil.
He started drawing diagrams, notes, and ideas, working slowly and carefully to make sure he understood each step. He practiced drawing lines in the dirt, testing how energy moved and how the environment responded.
But on the seventh day, he had to stop.
Because the caravan was almost at the old slave camp.
One day away... forty‑two starving, exhausted people... eight slavers.
Erick closed the book, tucked his notes away, and stood.
It was time to move... it was time to hunt and save more lives, people who might join him and help build his new home.