A bone-chilling wind howled, whipping snow against the skeletal trunks of trees that lined the road. Arthur sat in a swaying carriage, its wheels grinding a dull complaint against the frozen earth. He glanced down at the document in his hand—a Northlands Pioneer Charter, stamped with the royal seal—and a bitter smile touched his lips. Three months ago, a collision with a dump truck had catapulted him from his world into this one, into the body of Arthur Beaumont, a son of the esteemed Duke Beaumont. But before he could taste a single day of the pampered, untouchable life he'd been born into, he was granted the title of Pioneer Baron and dispatched to this frozen wasteland to develop a new territory. This was no honor. The Northlands was a land locked in perpetual winter, barren and desolate. Worse, it was the hunting ground of Icefang Giants that stalked the lands beyond the northern mountains. It was, in short, no place for a human being. Though the Dominion claimed dominion, vast swathes of the territory were still held by remnants of the old Frost-Folk Realm clans. In fact, just two years prior, a massive rebellion had nearly torn the Northlands from the Dominion's grasp. It was a conflict suppressed only at a staggering cost. The war had taught the Dominion a hard lesson: relying on the entrenched Northern Lords alone was not a sustainable path to stability. And so, the emperor had decreed that every major noble house must send one of their own to serve as a Pioneer Lord, trading grants of untamed land for the manpower needed to fortify the border. It was also a convenient way to bleed the great houses of their influence, killing two birds with one stone. Of course, the nobles were not fools. They saw the emperor’s game for what it was and, for the most part, sent their most expendable family members to fulfill the royal command. Arthur was one such offering. As the least favored of Duke Beaumont’s twelve sons, he was the natural choice for a suicide mission. Upon receiving his Pioneer Charter, his family had given him a purse of 800 gold coins, a few wagons of grain, a retinue of three Elite Knights, ten Official Knights, and thirty Apprentice Knights, and then sent him on his way with all due haste. The message was clear. Duke Beaumont had no expectation that his useless son would ever establish a foothold in the North. As long as he didn’t perish on the journey, his duty was fulfilled. His inevitable death in the Northlands would count as a successful completion of the task. It was the thought that counted, not the outcome. No one believed Arthur could survive. Not his family, not his men. Not even Arthur himself. He was a recent graduate, not a hardened frontiersman. How was he supposed to live in this icy, godforsaken hell? Arthur pulled his cloak tighter, but the thin wool did little to ward off the biting cold. He couldn't help but mutter a curse under his breath. "So much for the transmigrator's cheat. Where the hell is my special power?" The words had barely left his lips when a crisp, mechanical female voice echoed in the confines of his mind. "The Oracle loading..." Arthur froze. Before he could even process the shock, a torrent of information flooded his consciousness, explaining the system's function. The Oracle. Every day, it would provide him with several pieces of intelligence relevant to his life, from the location of hidden resources to the secrets of those around him, and even glimpses of future events. For a Pioneer Lord, such an ability was nothing short of miraculous. The Northlands was a land of peril, but also of hidden opportunity. With the intelligence provided by the system, he could navigate the dangers and seize the rewards. This was a lifeline, a path that could lead him from being a sacrificial lamb to a powerful lord. Even in the worst-case scenario, a daily warning would give him enough time to run. As the full weight of his new reality settled in, Arthur could no longer contain his elation. A low chuckle escaped his lips. The dark, hopeless road ahead suddenly had a glimmer of light. "The Oracle loaded!" As the voice announced its completion, a semi-transparent screen materialized in his vision, lines of text scrolling rapidly into view. [Oracle Intelligence Update Complete] [1: At noon today, the Third Prince of the Valorian Dominion was framed during an inspection of the royal stables and drowned in a manure pit.] [2: Duke Beaumont’s tenth daughter has been born with the "Rupture" bloodline talent.] [3: At dawn, a school of Boreal Crystalperch will appear three kilometers west of the Icefang Chasm.] [4: Knight Roger has mixed Rime Scorpion venom into your dinner stew.] His heart pounding with excitement, Arthur read the list from top to bottom. The first two items were of little practical use, offering only a sliver of dark amusement in his miserable state. He could picture the chaos in the capital over the Third Prince's undignified demise. And he could only shake his head at his father’s relentless energy and startling fertility. But when his eyes fell on the third piece of intelligence, his breath caught in his throat. "At dawn, a school of Boreal Crystalperch will appear three kilometers west of the Icefang Chasm." Boreal Crystalperch! A creature of legend, as rare as it was valuable. Before setting out, desperate to improve his odds of survival, Arthur had frantically studied everything he could find about the Northlands. He knew this fish. They thrived in waters of impossible cold, and their flesh was more than just a delicacy. Their bones contained a unique substance that could purify the bloodline of a knight, purging impurities and greatly enhancing their strength. An item like that was priceless. This wasn't just food. It was currency, a tool for forging alliances, a direct route to greater power. The system had arrived at the perfect moment. He had been drowning in despair over how to build a foundation in the North, and now, a golden opportunity was about to fall into his lap. Forcing himself to calm down, Arthur read the final line. The warmth of hope vanished, replaced by an icy dread. "Knight Roger has mixed Rime Scorpion venom into your dinner stew." Arthur’s throat went dry. His gaze flickered instinctively toward the knights gathered a short distance from the carriage. They were making camp around a crackling bonfire. Some were pitching tents while others unloaded supplies from the packhorses. A small group was handling dinner, chopping meat and root vegetables into a large iron pot that hung over the flames. Steam billowed from it, rising like a ghost in the frigid air. Crouched by the pot, stirring the bubbling stew with a ladle, was a knight with a plain, earnest-looking face. A true chill, one that had nothing to do with the wind, snaked down his spine. One of the Official Knights his family had assigned for his protection was already trying to murder him. He had assumed that, while they might hold him in contempt, they would at least follow his orders. He never imagined one would be so eager to see him dead. To be exiled to this forsaken land was bad enough. But to be targeted for assassination before he even arrived? Damn it all. You could never know what a man was thinking just by looking at him. If not for the Oracle, he would have been a corpse by morning. From outside the carriage, a man’s voice cut through the wind. "My lord, dinner is ready." Arthur smoothed his tunic, took a slow breath, then lifted the carriage curtain and stepped out onto the frozen ground. The firelight cast dancing shadows across the small camp. The stew bubbled in its pot, its rich, savory aroma a stark contrast to the biting cold. His knights were seated around the fire, but none had begun to eat. By tradition, the lord always took the first portion. Arthur let his gaze drift over the assembled men, their faces illuminated by the flames. Finally, his eyes settled back on the iron pot, and the corner of his mouth curved into a faint, cold smile.

Chapter 1: A Cold and Bitter Honor