The response time stunned even Sinclair. It had taken less than three minutes from the moment he activated the call to the moment General Valthorn and a contingent of soldiers materialized in a controlled burst of energy. Sinclair had expected five to ten minutes at the very least, yet here they were, seventeen strong, assembled with precision and purpose.

General Valthorn, resplendent in battle armor that shimmered faintly with protective enchantments, wasted no time. Without a word, he took to the skies, wings flaring wide as he rose into a tight spiral for a high-angle reconnaissance sweep. His ascent was graceful but fast, banking hard to cover the perimeter in wide arcs.

Below him, the fifteen soldiers who had arrived with him moved like clockwork. Their formation flowed seamlessly into place, spreading outward with military efficiency. Each one took up a calculated position in a loose ring around the center of the village, their weapons held ready but lowered, signaling alertness without aggression. And at the heart of that formation stood a figure Sinclair hadn't expected to see quite so soon.

He froze in place, brow furrowed as he squinted toward the familiar face. That can't be right… but it was. His father stood among them, looking more like a seasoned adventurer than the man he remembered from Earth. Gone were the soft creases of middle age, replaced by a sharper jawline, broader shoulders, and the kind of physical vitality Sinclair had only ever seen in old photographs. Bruce looked like he'd shed twenty, maybe even thirty years, and the effect was jarring.

Gasps and startled whispers rippled through the village. The gathered townsfolk took several steps back, awe and fear mingling in their eyes. These weren't just soldiers, they were something else entirely.

Bruce stepped forward, expression calm but curious. "Son, what's going on here?"

Sinclair blinked, still caught off guard by the visual of his father in peak physical form. He gestured vaguely toward him with a bewildered shake of his head. "Yeah, we'll get to that in just a second. What's going on with you? Did you stumble across the elixir of life while I was gone?"

His father's laugh was rich and full of mirth as he reached out and clapped Sinclair on the shoulder. "Nothing so dramatic. I just finished my race upgrade. Turns out rejuvenation is one of the perks. Your mother's looking about the same, by the way. Now, stop stalling. What are we walking into here?"

Regaining his focus, Sinclair gave a nod toward the nearby villagers who were still recovering from the shock of their arrival. "I found this place about half a day out from Raven's Watch. They're not equipped to handle the kinds of monsters wandering this area. Good people, though. I thought we could offer them a lifeline, relocate those who want to leave, and maybe cycle in some of our fighters to keep the place standing."

Bruce's expression softened into a proud smile. His son was still trying to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. He couldn't fault him for that. If anything, it reinforced what Bruce already knew, that his job now was ensuring Sinclair had the support he needed to keep going. "That's a great idea, son."

"I've restricted the portal," Sinclair continued. "No open access until we've vetted everyone. I figured the council should take over that part. Make sure we don't bring in anyone who's going to cause problems. But I've got to keep moving. The quest tug is getting stronger." He rubbed his chest absently where the persistent burn sensation had returned, a warning that time was slipping away.

Bruce gave a single nod, already moving into action. "Understood. We've got this well in hand. Go. Do what you have to."

Sinclair watched as his father turned and approached Chris, extending a hand and beginning introductions with the casual grace of someone born to leadership. Without another word, Sinclair turned toward the village gate and let the change take him.

In a smooth motion, his form rippled and expanded. Dense muscle and coarse fur swept across his frame as the Visage of the Wolf overtook him, pushing his human guise aside. There were audible gasps from nearby villagers, but Sinclair didn't pause to reassure them. He was already focused.

"Chewy, Leia, let us run some more."

He didn't need to wait for a reply. A thunderous howl tore free from his throat as he launched forward, his boots hammering the ground. The wolves were right behind him, twin streaks of silver and light, streaking past startled onlookers like living bolts of power.

In seconds, they were gone, just three shapes vanishing into the trees, the rhythm of their departure echoing like the last beat of a war drum. The forest swallowed them, and the village faded from view behind the swaying canopy.

Now that he was moving again, the relentless pressure in his chest eased slightly. It wasn't gone, but the urgency had shifted. Instead of demanding speed, the sensation now seemed to nudge him in a particular direction. Like a compass embedded in his bones, pointing him toward something important.

They ran at a steady, ground-devouring pace, their steps synchronized by long habit and shared instinct. With the wind streaming through his fur and the forest racing past in a blur, Sinclair took the rare opportunity to enjoy a moment of calm.

You think the village will be alright? Chewy asked, his mental voice laced with lingering concern.

"They'll be fine. My dad's there, and General Valthorn won't let anything happen on his watch," Sinclair replied aloud, though his voice was slightly breathless from the pace.

I liked them, Leia added. They reminded me of people from some villages our parents would lead us around, confused, scared, but willing to learn.

"They'll survive," Sinclair said. "And if they don't, it won't be because we didn't try to help."

The terrain ahead began to shift. The flat stretches of forest floor gave way to gradual inclines. Soon, massive silhouettes emerged on the horizon. Towering peaks, taller than anything he had seen back on Earth, loomed in the distance. Jagged and snow-capped, the mountains seemed to touch the sky itself, dominating the landscape with their stark, awe-inspiring presence.

Sinclair slowed just enough to climb one of the Sentinel trees. He moved carefully, respecting the spirit possibly bound within, and was relieved to feel no resistance as he ascended.

From his vantage point, the world stretched out before him: forest, foothills, and the first traces of rocky switchbacks winding into the mountains.

Sinclair surveyed the world that lay sprawled before him from his elevated perch atop the ancient Sentinel tree. The internal tug in his chest, that persistent pull that had guided him all this way, pointed directly toward the heart of those mountains.

He scanned the horizon methodically in each direction, his eyes locked onto a small clearing between two ridgelines. Near its edge, the faint outline of a man-made wall peeked through the mist and branches. To the left, a river shimmered like liquid glass, winding its serpentine path through the slopes and valleys. He carefully marked these details onto his map, annotating the potential landmark and the natural waterway; every scrap of information could matter later.

Once the details were committed to his notes, Sinclair descended with practiced care and resumed the journey. They pressed forward at a steady run, the path growing more rugged as they neared the foothills of the mountains. The terrain demanded more from them now, sharper inclines, unstable footing, and dense underbrush that clawed at their limbs. But it was the local fauna that truly began to test them.

Unlike the earlier stretches of their journey, where beasts had retreated from their presence, the creatures here met them head-on. The skirmishes became more frequent and more dangerous. The worst came in the form of a manticore, something Sinclair had only ever read about in old Earth mythology. Now, it was charging at him, all nightmare and fury, with a grotesque blend of human face, leonine body, and a scorpion's twitching, venomous tail.

The thing was enormous. Level 75, fast, and unpredictable. Its movements were a blur of muscle and snapping limbs, forcing Sinclair to dig deep. He'd barely had time to react when it first lunged, tail striking with a speed nearly outpacing his perception. The sting from the puncture to his leg momentarily caused him to see stars.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Hel's Rebirth flared to life inside him in that desperate moment, the connection reinforced by its placement in the Eye of Colossus. He could feel the skill gain surging mid-battle, every second in combat refining its edges. The venom alone was a threat he hadn't anticipated; it burned like liquid fire where it entered his leg, a painful reinforcement that this beast didn't just strike hard, it struck dirty.

Even so, Sinclair adapted. That's what he did best. He moved with a fluidity honed through multiple battles, using terrain and angles to deny the manticore its full strength. As it lunged again, his mind snapped into focus, and his Telekinesis, also bound to the Eye of Colossus, responded with newfound sharpness. He was able to blast holes in the beasts carapace as it tried to attack home further.

It wasn't brute force that won the fight. It was patience. Timing. Control.

And after the beast finally fell, its twisted form crumpling into the dirt, Sinclair stood above it, battered but unbroken.

You alright? Chewy asked, his voice tinged with concern and a measure of impressed awe.

"I've been better," Sinclair replied, shaking out his shoulders. "But damn… that was one hell of a fight."

He took a moment to assess the aftereffects. The manticore's venom still pulsed along the edge of his bloodstream, but his resistances were holding. A quick internal glance confirmed what he'd suspected, two level-ups had come from the encounter.

You have leveled up! You have leveled up!

When a Ulfhednar levels up, they receive the following stat changes automatically:

5 Strength 3 Agility 4 Constitution 3 Intelligence 4 Willpower 5 Endurance

You have gained four free stat points per level.

He hadn't assigned the points yet. Sinclair liked keeping a buffer. Stacking points for later was still working out best for him, thanks to that title that only let him get experience if it was twenty-five levels higher than him. I have not looked at my whole screen in a while. Wonder what that even looks like anymore.

Name: Lord Sinclair Hagerson

Race: Human

Level: 25 (27)

Rank: E

Path: Journey of the Wolf

Class: Ulfhednar (19)

Health: 1770

Mana: 1410

Stamina: 2120

Strength: 552

Agility: 506

Constitution: 419

Intelligence: 250

Willpower: 471

Endurance: 414

Luck: 66

Available Points: 8

Titles:

Midgard's Progenitor

Vǫrðr's Valor (Rare)

Jötunheim's Might (Epic)

Cosmic Behemoth (Legendary)

Wolf Lord (Mythic)

Odin's Chosen (Legendary)

Hammer of the Thunder God (Mythic)

Æsir's Champion (Legendary)

Skills:

As One (Rare) Level 10

Fenrir's Rally (Rare) Level 10

Hel's Wrath (Rare) Level 17

Huginn and Muninn (Legendary) Level 9

Phantom Call (Mythic)

Rage of the Berserkir (Rare) Level 10

Sand Viper Strike (Rare) Level 1

Storm Strider (Rare) Level 17

Valkyrie's Gaze (Rare) Level 10

Visage of the Wolf (Mythic) Level 19

Will of the Norns (Rare) Level 10

Yggdrasil's Authority (Legendary) Level 25

Passives:

Aegis of the Æsir (Epic)

Æsir's Resilience (Rare) Level 3

Asgardian Resilience (Rare) Level 2

Beast of Burden (Uncommon) Level 14

Echoes of Elvandar (Uncommon) Level 1

Eye of Colossus (Unique) Level 15

Hel's Rebirth (Rare) Level 9

Might of the Einherjar (Legendary) Level 3

Odin's Grasp (Legendary) Level 21

Seer's Clarity (Rare) Level 17

Shadow Sight (Rare) Level 4

Skald's Tongue (Rare)

Cores:

Stones of Midgard (Stone)

Blessings:

Blessing of the All Father (Mythic)

He reflected for a moment, letting the rush of adrenaline taper off. His base stats now exceeded 1700, not counting gear or the multiplicative bonuses granted by his growing list of titles. It was hard to imagine any three average system users matching that number. Even Leia and Chewy, both of whom were leagues above the standard curve, probably hovered somewhere around 70% of his total capacity.

The odd thing was that despite how high his Intelligence had risen, Sinclair didn't feel any smarter. More organized, sure. His thoughts snapped into place quicker, and he could compartmentalize and process data more efficiently. But true intelligence, the kind that made people wise or insightful, didn't seem to come with the number.

I guess it makes sense, he thought to himself. Just because the stat's high doesn't mean I'm automatically a genius. If anything, it just makes me better at juggling the mess inside my head… not at remembering where I left my damn gloves.

Their journey pressed on, and soon, they reached a mountain pass that funneled them between two towering stone cliffs. A thin trail zigzagged up the incline, barely wide enough for the three to navigate side by side. A shadowed tunnel loomed at the top, high above the treeline, an open maw carved into the rock. From his vantage point, Sinclair saw no signs of immediate danger. There was no movement, no scent, just damp stone and the stillness of age.

They climbed carefully, each step grinding over loose stone and brittle shale. As they gained elevation, the full scope of the valley came into view. Miles of forest and rolling hills stretched out behind them. The planet's curve itself was visible now, a subtle bend that reminded Sinclair just how massive this world had become.

When they reached the tunnel entrance, Sinclair paused. The air inside was thick with moisture, carrying the earthy scent of undisturbed stone. There were no tracks. No noise save their own. But despite its ominous appearance, he felt no threat here. Only mystery.

He stepped inside.

The tunnel wound deeper into the mountain, twisting like a coiled serpent through the heart of the rock. With each curve, the natural light dimmed further until it was swallowed by darkness. Instinctively, Sinclair felt Shadow Sight activate. The world around him resolved into harsh monochrome, and blacks and grays painted the contours of stone, cracks, and ancient mineral seams like an underworld mural.

They advanced cautiously, staying close to the walls. The silence was broken only by their footfalls and the occasional drip of water echoing in the distance. For nearly twenty minutes, they walked until the first hints of light returned, dim and flickering.

Sound followed next.

The deeper they moved, the more oppressive the noise became, not from the tunnel but from beyond it. It started as a low hum and built into a cacophony of howls, screeches, the grinding of claws on stone, and the guttural growl of beasts that had no business existing in any natural order.

The tunnel opened suddenly, and what lay beyond made Sinclair stop cold.

They stood on a rocky shelf overlooking a massive canyon. A graveyard of sanity stretched before them. Below, thousands of warped and nightmarish creatures moved as one. Hulking abominations, stitched horrors, and things with too many eyes crawled and shambled across the valley floor. The terrain itself seemed twisted, the air around it heavy with corruption.

Sinclair's internal pull, ever-present since his arrival, went dead silent. The guiding pressure vanished, as if its task was complete. No whisper, no tug. Just stillness.

He opened his interface and triggered Huginn and Muninn. A shimmer passed across his vision like frost tracing glass, and the world bent.

Question: Where is the controlling mind or anchor that binds this horde together?

For a moment, nothing happened. Then his vision narrowed, collapsing inward like a telescope focusing from the stars to a single burning coal. The ambient noise dulled. All movement on the valley floor blurred, except one.

A shape, colossal and still, loomed near the far canyon wall, half-buried in the jagged landscape. Blackened antlers curled from a broad, lupine skull, and long strands of decayed fur hung from a frame like an elk crossed with a spider. Its many legs, seven on each side, were jointed like spears, ending in bladed talons hooked into the canyon floor. Eyes, too many to count, lined the chest and shoulders, each blinking at uneven intervals, watching everything, seeing too much.

Its chest rose slowly, rhythmically, as though it slept, but each breath sent tremors through the ground.

Then the vision snapped back.

Sinclair staggered slightly, sweat beading on his brow. A moment later, a line of text slid across his interface.

Your skills have increased!

Huginn and Muninn: Increased from Level 9 to Level 10

New effect unlocked

Skill: Huginn and Muninn (Legendary)

Level: 10

Description: By invoking the bond between Odin and his twin ravens, you gain access to fragments of the All-Father's boundless knowledge. Huginn, thought, and Muninn, memory, circle the Nine Realms, gathering truths both hidden and forbidden. Each use calls upon this divine network, offering insights no mortal could reach alone.

Effects:

Thought's Flight:

Form a mental query to search Odin's hidden archive; receive information as visions, system-generated text, or whispered insight depending on urgency and clarity.

Memory's Grasp:

Grants enhanced recall for up to 10 minutes following activation, allowing perfect memory of any previously encountered scene, conversation, or sigil.

Raven's Toll:

Costs 25% of the current resource pools to cast. Cannot be used if below 10% total reserves.

Veiled Glimpses:

If the question pertains to fate, prophecy, or forbidden magic, the vision may include fragmented glimpses of future events, often cryptic and difficult to decipher.

Sinclair closed the interface slowly, gaze lingering on the canyon floor. That thing hadn't moved, but now that he'd seen it, it was impossible to unsee. The hive didn't shamble without purpose.

"Well, shit," he muttered. "I wanted to be challenged and grow…"

He exhaled, shoulders squaring, pulse steadying.

Ask and you shall receive.

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