Stoick’s gaze locked onto Lucian’s, studying him carefully. "Co with ," he ordered, motioning towards the side of the hall. Lucian followed, his steps asured, his expression unreadable.
"You held yourself well during the raid," Stoick admitted gruffly. "Not many can do that. But that doesn’t an I trust you yet."
Lucian’s lips quirked slightly. "Didn’t expect you to."
Stoick grunted, then crossed his arms. "You’re royalty, aren’t you?"
"What makes you think so?" Lucian asked, tilting his head slightly.
"The crest on your clothes. It’s the insignia of the Southern Isles, and only royalty are allowed to use the golden-plated ones," Stoick said.
Lucian narrowed his eyes. "And how do you know so much about us?"
A flicker of sothing—perhaps nostalgia—passed over Stoick’s face. "When I was a young, your king, Alan Westergard, helped Berk when we were at war with the Berserker tribe. That’s why I know about your kingdom."
"So that’s why..." Lucian murmured, glancing down at the insignia on his chest. A sword with a golden hilt, inlaid with jewels—ant to symbolize royal justice. But now, in his eyes, it was tainted with betrayal.
"The king you speak of was my grandfather. He died years ago. My father succeeded the throne."
Stoick absorbed this information, then asked bluntly, "So why does a prince find himself here?"
Lucian hesitated for a mont before answering, "I was exiled."
Stoick’s gaze hardened. "For what cri?"
"Murder," Lucian said, eting Stoick’s eyes without hesitation. "I was frad for killing my brother. Do you still have any of that little trust left now that you know the truth?"
Stoick studied him for a long mont before responding. "I’ll believe you didn’t do it."
Lucian raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Not because of what they claim, but because your eyes tell otherwise."
Lucian exhaled softly, unreadable once more.
"Well then, since you don’t have anywhere else to go, you can stay here," Stoick continued. "But that ans you need to prove yourself. You’ve got two choices—work under Gobber in the forge or join the dragon training with the others."
Lucian considered his options. The forge ant working with weapons and armor, keeping a low profile. But training with the others? That could give him more insight into their ways—and perhaps even help him understand this world more.
After a mont, he answered, "I’ll join the training."
Stoick gave him a asured look, then nodded. "Fine. Be ready tomorrow morning. And don’t make regret this."
Lucian smirked. "Wouldn’t dream of it."
"Well then, co with . We’ll go to your temporary ho."
---
As they approached a modest wooden house near the edge of the village, Stoick motioned toward it. "Welp, ho sweet ho."
Lucian examined the structure. It was sturdier than he had expected, with reinforced beams and a new thatched roof. The scent of freshly cut wood lingered in the air. There was a carved sign near the entrance, but when Lucian glanced at it, the symbols were unfamiliar.
’I can’t understand it,’ he thought. Most people here spoke Velmari, a universally used language in this world. But their writing system was different—he couldn’t read the characters.
Stoick turned on his heel, leaving him alone. "Get so rest. Training starts early tomorrow."
Lucian watched him go before stepping toward the house. He pushed open the wooden door, the hinges creaking slightly, revealing a dimly lit interior. A small fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows along the walls. The furnishings were simple—a wooden table, a bench, a cot in the corner with a thick fur blanket, and a few shelves stocked with basic supplies.
He stepped inside, running his fingers along the rough wooden walls. There was a sturdy chest near the foot of the cot, likely for storing belongings. He knelt down, flipping the lid open to find neatly folded clothes and a few essential tools—a whetstone, a small dagger.
His gaze drifted to a small window on the far wall. Outside, the village was quieting down after the raid. The glow of torches illuminated the streets, and he could hear the faint sounds of laughter and conversation from the ad Hall.
He sat on the cot, leaning back against the wall. For the first ti in a while, he allowed himself to breathe.
"Well, let’s see what this system is all about," Lucian muttered.
"How do I summon it?" He paused before saying, "Status."
Suddenly, a digital prompt appeared in front of him.
[Lucian Westergard]
[Age: 18]
[Race: Human]
[Racial skill: None]
[Abilities: Stealth, unard combat, weapon adaptability...]
[Unlimited box: Special box 2x, Rare box 1x, Uncommon box 1x]
"Let’s start with the uncommon first."
[Do you want to open the uncommon box from Gobber?]
"Yes," Lucian said, thinking, ’This feels like a gacha.’
A green box materialized and exploded in a flash of light.
[Congratulations! You gained: Blacksmith Knowledge]
Lucian stared at the prompt as the words lingered before fading away. Then, without warning, a surge of information flooded his mind—techniques, terminology, the weight and balance of a hamr, the feel of heated tal beneath tongs, the rhythmic strikes required to shape a blade. It was as if years of training had been poured directly into his brain.
He exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers against his temples as the sensation passed. When he opened his eyes, he understood things he hadn’t before—how to sharpen an edge properly, the difference between quenching in water versus oil, the correct temperature to forge iron versus steel.
And yet...
Lucian flexed his fingers, then clenched them into a fist. His hands held no muscle mory of these skills. He knew how to smith, but his body didn’t. His grip wouldn’t be as firm as a seasoned blacksmith’s. His strikes wouldn’t have the precision or efficiency of soone who had swung a hamr thousands of tis. He had the knowledge—but not the experience.
"If I pick up a hamr now, I’d probably still make a ss of things," he muttered to himself.
This wasn’t like swordplay, where instinct and muscle mory guided his movents. Smithing required years of physical conditioning, an understanding of tal through touch, sight, and even sll. The knowledge would help him learn faster, but he’d still have to put in the effort to make it his own.
Lucian smirked. "Well, at least I won’t have to start from scratch and this knowledge might help on the future."
Lucian’s gaze flickered as the system prompted him again.
[Congratulations! You have opened the rare box from Stoick and gained: The Map to the Lost Kingdom of Lumièrea.]
A golden light flickered in the air before a tightly rolled scroll materialized in his palm. The parchnt was old but well-preserved, bound with a dark red ribbon and a wax seal bearing an unfamiliar crest. His fingers traced the rough texture of the scroll as curiosity stirred within him.
"The Lost Kingdom of Lumièrea?" he murmured, carefully breaking the seal and unfurling the map.
The ink was faded in places, but the details were still clear—a precise route leading from Berk to an isolated landmass marked with an ’X.’ The cartography was exquisite, far beyond what he had expected. The delicate penmanship, the detailed topography... this wasn’t so crude adventurer’s sketch. It was a map made by soone who knew the land well.
"Interesting" Lucian muttered, rolling it back up. "This is a key to sothing important, look like I have a new goal for now."
He tucked the scroll into his belongings. He would study it later. For now, he still had more rewards to claim.
[Congratulations! You have opened the special box from Ariel and gained: Racial Skill—Tideborn Shift.]
Lucian’s eyes narrowed as another rush of information entered his mind. Unlike the blacksmith knowledge, this wasn’t just techniques and thods—it was sothing more intrinsic. He felt it in his bones, in the very core of his being.
[Tideborn Shift: A racial ability of the Tideborn, a rmaid-human hybrid species, allowing the user to transform their tails into human legs at will.]
For a mont, he didn’t move.
"...A rmaid ability?" he muttered, processing the information. Then, like a puzzle piece snapping into place, a mory resurfaced—faint but unmistakable. The silhouette of a woman, the feeling of warm water surrounding him, a soft voice he couldn’t quite recall. The system prompt he had seen just before he lost consciousness at sea.
"So that’s what happened back then," Lucian realized. "It was her... Ariel."
Now he know why her na felt strangely familiar. Had she saved him when he was thrown overboard? And if so, why?
-Fuuu
He exhaled slowly. He’d have to figure that out later.
Finally, he opened the last box.
[Congratulations! You have opened the special box from Hiccup and gained: Draconic Empathy.]
Another notification. Another skill.
[Draconic Empathy: An ability to understand and connect with dragons on an instinctive level. Those who possess it can sense a dragon’s emotions, calm their aggression, and earn their trust without force.]
Lucian’s lips curled into a smirk. "Now this... this is interesting."
Unlike the Tideborn Shift, which changed his body, this ability seed to work on a more instinctual level. He felt a strange awareness in the back of his mind, like a door had been unlocked to sothing he hadn’t noticed before. He wasn’t sure how strong it was yet, but if it was anything like what Hiccup had...
"Well, looks like I need to test this out," he said, standing up.
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