Chapter 42: Don’t let me down. Son of Giants

The dawn came slowly over the High Reach. Pale light spilled across the sea, painting the cabins in muted gold. The camp was quiet. Only the gulls cried above the cliffs. The smoke from last night’s fires drifted thin into the morning air. Bramm stood on the porch of his cabin, mantle drawn close, watching the horizon.

He turned when he heard the heavy tread of boots approaching the porch. Mestin stepped into view, warhammer slung across his back, his broad frame filling the clearing like a wall of iron. Bramm gestured deliberately to the chair opposite him, inviting Mestin to sit.

"Sit." Bramm motioned firmly.

Mestin lowered himself carefully, the wood creaking under his weight. For a moment, neither spoke. Their gazes locked on the horizon.

Bramm broke the silence. "You were among the first to join me, and ever since, you’ve been a loyal warrior. I stand on the verge of a decision, and before I make it, I want to know more about you."

"We haven’t spoken much lately. I want to understand the man who will walk beside me." Bramm turned to Mestin with genuine interest.

Mestin’s amber eyes burned with memory. His voice was low, rumbling like distant thunder. "I am from the clan of Highmalt, a vassal clan to the great clan Nerifhreach, descendants of giants we are said to be. We and the mother clan were tasked with guarding the passes of the Northreach, where the continent connected to the extreme wastes."

"We were the first line of defense against all those from the wastes and their abominations.

With each word he spoke, Bramm felt he was pulled into something akin to a story. Mestin spoke of the frozen tundras. He told how aberrations spilled from the Northern Wastes, pale horrors that clawed at the living. Mestin spoke of how they lived, their culture, and what it meant to fight these aberrations.

Listening in an entranced quiet, Bramm had taken a seat opposite the large man. For most of Mestin’s life, he had fought many horrors. He and his clansmen were bred for war, for battle. That was their way of life, their culture. At least, when he was still alive.

"And, do you remember anything after those last few battle moments?"

Mestin had spoken about how he fought these shadowy, horrid creatures, but he never once told Bramm how he died. Was it the beasts? Or something else?

"No, my Lord. My final memory was..." he fell silent in thought, his brows furrowing as he tried to recollect something from his mind.

"It was me tearing one of those things in half. But a shadow flickered to my right, and my vision turned dark. When I awoke... I was here." He gestured to the cabin and the clearing.

"Mhmm, intriguing." Bramm nodded, eyes narrowing in thought.’It seems he doesn’t remember precisely how he died...’

"Well, that will be all for today. No need to dampen the mood further with such a tale." Bramm stood up and met Mestin’s gaze, holding it to show his sincerity.

"I have made my decision. Mestin, you are one of the first to follow me, and one of the bravest men I have the pleasure of knowing. I wish to walk this journey even farther with you... and for that reason, I shall give you a gift."

Bramm opened the system panel with a focused expression, his eyes beginning to glow faintly in response to the interface.

[Hero Evolution Slot Available]

[Candidate: Mestin Highmalt]

’Proceed’

Just as his words ended, a soft light enveloped Mestin. It shone in the color of radiating rainbows. Then it disappeared, as if nothing had even happened.

"That is my gift to you... I hope you will rise to the occasion and walk this path with me a while longer," Bramm said, a soft smile on his face. "I thank the Mormaer for his gift and his trust." Mestin’s voice boomed as he stood and bowed solemnly.

"Good, now go and enjoy the day of rest. Once the morrow appears, you and the others will be busy. I intend for you and the others to lead a few men of your own as well." Bramm clearly stated his intention and dismissed Mestin with a wave and a laugh.

Seeing Mestin walk off, Bramm stroked his beard in thought,’Descended of Giants, huh? Maybe when we go to the northern passes, we’ll meet some... but these aberrations? I’ll have to make a note on that.’

’I did it quite earlier than I originally planned, but getting Mestin to a higher level sooner makes it worth it... Don’t let me down. Son of Giants’he smirked.

The clearing of the Black-Spine forest was no longer a scattered assembly of small cabins and makeshift tents. Over the span of two weeks, the whole area had been reshaped. It became something greater than before.

Along the clearing’s edge stood a massive, interlocking palisade wall of iron oak. Heavy, blackened iron bands were bolted tightly around the timber joints, reinforcing the dense wood.

Inside the perimeter, the living quarters boasted four newly completed, sturdy log cabins, bringing the total to a nice round ten. Two campfire areas were built across from one another in front of the newly built cabins for comfort and light.

To the western edge of the clearing, the plateau had made way for a crude but newly built training ground. It featured rows of sturdy wooden weapon racks loaded with blunt practice broadswords, spears, and axes.

Heavy leather sandbags hung securely from stout crossbeams, and thick wrestling posts were driven deep into the earth. At the center of the yard sat a series of colossal, upright logs used for strength conditioning.

Bramm had commissioned this for Mornell and others between projects. It was a clear success. Bramm has used the equipment daily since its construction.

And at the very heart of the settlement, the loose, smoky dirt pits of the first night were entirely gone. In their place sat magnificent, circular hearths crafted from flat, interlocking granite slabs that trapped and radiated a deep amber heat into the cooling mountain air.