Chapter 29: Unlocked skills!

"You know what, Ashford," Leon spoke, his voice low yet every syllable sharp and clear, "you were born to be a menial servant. Your mother pawned her jewelry to fund your studies, and your father is a disgraced knight commander.

The entire aristocratic circle knows exactly what became of your family. Gold is gold, while you’re nothing but scrap iron. No amount of polishing will ever turn you into gold, and you’ll never reach any peak in your life."

Cecil did not step back. He stood facing Leon, frost energy slowly gathering at his right fingertips hidden beneath his robe, yet he held back from unleashing it. He listened to Leon’s words without so much as a flicker of change in his expression, only the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"The Gray family," Cecil replied, his voice lower than Leon’s but equally crisp, "your father had his own elder brother sent to the northern mines to seize the inheritance, claiming it was a ’voluntary transfer’. Your grandfather’s accounts were audited three times, and each time the evidence ’vanished’ at the last moment. Your mother’s cousin drew his sword in broad daylight right outside a church to dispute a fief property deed—that incident made the city’s official bulletins back then. How much gold did your family spend to bury that scandal?"

Leon’s expression shifted imperceptibly. A subtle tightening of his jaw, the muscles at the corner of his eyes contracting by less than a millimeter.

"I don’t want to start trouble," Cecil said. "You attacked me first. I’m merely repeating what people outside are saying."

Two paces separated them. The air between them grew taut, like a string being twisted tighter and tighter, the faint friction of its fibers audible to the ear.

At that exact moment, a sudden flash ignited deep within Cecil’s consciousness.

Silver characters burst forth unannounced, brighter and denser than they had ever been before. A brand‑new interface unfolded before his eyes, not the concise list he was familiar with, but an expanded skill compendium.

[Skill Compendium · Updated]

Skill Package: [Frost Resonance · Novice]

[New skills Unlocked]

Active Skill: Frost Breath (Upgradeable)

New Skill: Consolidated Ice Armor (Unlocked)

New Skill: Ice sphere Projection (Unlocked)

Cecil’s gaze swept quickly across the lines of text, lingering for a split second on the third.

Gwendolyn, crouched at his feet, tilted her head slightly. Her blue eyes fixed on him, the tip of her tail tapping the ground gently. She had sensed something—through their soul bond, Cecil felt a faint ripple on her end, as if a similar transformation was stirring inside her as well.

He wasn’t sure if she could perceive the system’s changes, but her tail tapped the ground half a beat faster than usual, like a cat spotting something intriguing moving in the distance.

Leon failed to notice Cecil’s momentary distraction. He took a second step forward, quicker than the first, drawing his short staff from his waist and lifting its tip toward Cecil. His movements were more decisive now, as if he had no intention of leaving room for further conversation.

"Done with your nonsense?" Leon asked.

Cecil pulled his focus back from the depths of his consciousness, locking onto the scene before him. Fine arcs of electricity flickered to life at the tip of Leon’s staff, like a tiny bug crawling with blue sparks perched on the wood.

"I’m done," Cecil said.

His right hand slid out from the side of his robe, fingers splaying open, a cloud of white mist far denser than any he had conjured before coalescing in his palm. Instead of dissipating, the mist contracted inward into a fist‑sized sphere, its surface rippling with delicate ice crystals, like a frozen star suspended in midair.

[Frost Resonance · Novice · Proficiency — Critical Threshold]

Silver characters flashed at the edge of his vision and vanished.

Cecil had no idea how he had pulled this off. Until now, he could only release scattered frost, never compress it into a sphere. But in that instant, a gauge on the system interface had jumped, and his body had memorized the motion.

Gwendolyn let out a low resonant growl from her position at his feet. The sound synced perfectly with his frost energy, and fine patterns bloomed across the surface of the compressed ice sphere in his palm, like cracks spreading across ice or ancient runes taking shape.

Leon swung his staff down.

Lightning streaked through the air, a blue‑white arc cutting through the void straight for Cecil’s ice‑holding right hand. Cecil did not dodge.

He stepped forward directly into the path of the current, thrusting the ice sphere outward—

Ice and electricity collided midair. No explosion, no deafening crash. The lightning was enveloped by the cold, like a living snake trapped in an ice cave, writhing briefly before snuffing out entirely.

A cloud of white steam rose from the ground, ice shards and electric sparks dissolving into the air together.

Leon’s eyes widened for a split second.

Cecil did not pause. He gathered frost once more in his right hand, this time far faster, the process of condensing the sphere cut nearly in half.

He took a second step, closing the distance between them within two paces, and launched a second ice sphere toward Leon’s staff‑wielding right wrist.

Leon was forced to pull back and defend, blocking the sphere with his staff held horizontally in front of him. When the ice sphere shattered, its shards struck Leon’s forearms and the back of his hand, drawing a muffled grunt from him. His staff flew from his grasp, bouncing twice across the gravel ground before rolling into a corner.

Leon stepped back. A thin layer of white frost coated the back of his right hand, his knuckles stiff and unyielding. His thunder griffin surged to its feet ready to charge, but Gwendolyn launched herself from the ground, landing between the beast and Leon.

Small as her blue‑white form was, the deep, prolonged resonant growl in her throat carried the oppressive aura unique to dragons. The griffin halted in its tracks, its golden eyes locking with Gwendolyn’s blue gaze two paces apart, neither daring to move further.

Cecil stood his ground. The frost in his right hand had dissipated, his fingertips pale but warming quickly. He stared at Leon three paces away, and for the first time, he saw an emotion in Leon’s ice‑blue eyes he had never witnessed before—not anger, not resentment, but confusion. As if he had just seen something impossible happening in reality.

"...When did you learn to compress frost?" Leon asked, his voice hoarser than before.

"Just now," Cecil replied.

Leon said nothing more. He glanced down at the melting frost on his hand, then looked back at Cecil.

Cecil’s gaze drifted past Leon to Swan and Walter standing behind him—and to Irene a step further back, near the archway itself rather than beside the other two. She had never crowded in to claim one of the three spots; Leon had stationed her there for another purpose entirely.

Their stances had loosened slightly, the silver‑maned wolf had dropped from a low crouch to a seated position, the fire‑feathered hawk folded its wings, and the rock tortoise at Irene’s feet had half‑retracted into its shell. Yet their eyes remained fixed on Leon, waiting for a signal.

"The beast door is ours," Cecil stated.

Cecil was about to turn around—when Leon’s right hand moved. It was not an attacking gesture, just a single finger pressing down slightly. A barely perceptible motion, more than enough for the three behind him.

Swan moved first. The silver‑maned wolf launched from its seated position, a grey blur arcing through the blue‑white glow straight for Cecil’s left side.

Turner darted off Freddy’s shoulder. The grey weasel collided with the wolf midair, nearly three times its size, sending Turner flying and tumbling across the ground. Yet he scrambled back to his feet instantly, his fur standing on end, letting out a shrill series of snarls at the wolf. The wolf was distracted for a split second by the piercing noise, its ears flattening back, its steps faltering.

Meanwhile, the fire‑feathered hawk on Walter’s shoulder spread its wings and took flight, opening its beak to unleash a burst of compressed flame straight at Lydia’s face. Lydia dodged sideways, the fire grazing her shoulder. Ivy slid down her wrist, its emerald body gliding quickly along the ground, slipping through the shadows at the base of the wall to circle beneath the hawk.

Irene’s rock tortoise stirred—but it moved not toward the front lines, but toward the doorframe. This, Cecil realized, was exactly why she had held back from the fight: her role was never to claim one of the three spots but to make sure the door itself never opened for anyone. The bulky reptilian spirit beast crawled slowly toward the blue‑white light curtain of the beast door, its hard carapace taking on a dull grey sheen, like a living small wall sealing off the entrance.

"...It’s blocking the door," Gwendolyn’s voice came from Cecil’s feet. "That creature intends to seal the entrance shut, locking the quota so no one can get in at all."

Cecil did not look back. His gaze remained locked on Leon, yet he issued an order in the same instant. "Ivy, stop tangling with the hawk, circle around to the rock tortoise!"

Lydia heard him. She crouched down and let out a short whistle toward Ivy, and the emerald serpent abruptly turned in the shadows by the wall, slithering toward the rock tortoise’s hind legs.

The tortoise was already slow‑moving, and once Ivy coiled around its hind limbs, its movements seized up entirely. The dull grey glow on its shell flickered, the coalescing defensive armor destabilized.

Turner continued to grapple with the silver‑maned wolf head‑on. Its tiny size meant it could not bite through the wolf’s fur, but it was fast, darting and leaping around the wolf’s paws. Every time the wolf lowered its head to snap at it, it missed by a hair’s breadth, and every time the wolf turned, Turner slipped past from the other side. Freddy stood five paces away, fists clenched, watching closely without rushing forward.

Cecil glanced at Leon. The ice on Leon’s right hand had melted away under body heat, but his fingers still trembled slightly. Leon lifted his gaze from the ground, meeting Cecil’s eyes.

"You told them to attack," Cecil said.

"I said nothing," Leon replied.

"Your hand made the signal."

Leon’s jaw tightened, offering no rebuttal.

Cecil chose not to argue further. He glanced back at the doorframe behind him—the blue‑white light curtain still glowed steadily, yet the number plaque marked "3" beside it had dimmed noticeably, its light flickering faintly like a lamp running out of oil.