If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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He pulled three large, heavy leather pouches from his void. He carefully counted exactly 1,500 gold septims into each pouch, ensuring the weight was perfectly balanced for the massive purchases required. With a total of 4,500 septims secured in the three heavy bags, Aerion smoothed his dark robes, opened the bedroom door, and walked back out into the main living room, ready to fund the rapid, explosive expansion of his new empire.
Aerion stepped back out of the master bedroom, the heavy leather pouches clinking with the unmistakable, dense sound of raw wealth. He walked back to the center of the living room, where the mercenary vanguard was waiting with disciplined anticipation.
He approached the designated leaders of the three procurement teams, handing over the heavy bags of gold.
"Uthgerd," Aerion said, placing the first pouch into the massive Nord woman's calloused hands. "Fifteen hundred septims for the timber at Riverwood. Do not let Hod overcharge you for the delivery carts."
"He wouldn't dare, boss," Uthgerd grinned, securing the gold to her heavy iron belt.
Aerion turned to the Imperial veteran. "Titus. Fifteen hundred for the raw quarry stone. Ensure the masons understand we require immediate, expedited delivery."
Titus offered a crisp, military salute as he took the funds. "It will be done, sir."
Finally, Aerion handed the last pouch to the Bosmer archer. "Gwaering. Fifteen hundred to clear out Warmaiden's and Belethor's of their iron fittings and tools. If Adrianne asks questions, tell her I am expanding ,a big homestead."
"Aye, Patron," Gwaering nodded, slipping the leather bag into his cloak.
"Move out," Sinmir barked, taking command of the room once more. "Teams One, Two, and Three, you have your gold and your objectives. March!"
The nine mercenaries filed out of the Tundra Homestead, their heavy boots thudding against the wooden porch as they marched off into the golden light of the late afternoon to secure the foundation of Aerion's empire.
With the procurement teams dispatched, Sinmir turned to the remaining heavy infantry, Jora and Erlend.
"Alright, you two," Sinmir instructed. "Erlend, take the first watch. Walk the perimeter of the property line. Familiarize yourself with the sightlines and the blind spots. Jora, you and I are heading back to Pelagia Farm to secure our tents and maintain the public illusion that we are still just a wandering band of hired swords. We keep our heads down."
"Understood, Captain," Erlend nodded, stepping outside to begin his patrol.
Sinmir looked back at Aerion. "The perimeter is secure, boss. We will hold the line until the supplies arrive."
"Excellent work, Sinmir. Dismissed," Aerion replied smoothly.
As the Captain and the shield maiden departed, closing the heavy wooden door behind them, absolute silence finally fell over the Tundra Homestead. The sudden absence of clanking armor and booming voices left the spacious living room feeling incredibly peaceful.
Aerion let out a long, slow breath, rolling his broad shoulders to release the lingering tension of the day's diplomatic and logistical maneuvering.
He turned to his Dark Elf bodyguard. Jenassa had already removed her heavy leather gauntlets and was currently rolling her shoulders, looking noticeably fatigued from the sheer volume of combat and riding they had endured over the past few days.
"You have performed flawlessly, Jenassa," Aerion praised, his melodic voice echoing softly. "Take the evening to rest. You may claim one of the single bed in the master quarters, or relax by the fire. I have some deeply intricate arcane matters to attend to, and I require absolute, uninterrupted silence."
Jenassa did not argue. The prospect of resting her aching muscles was too appealing.
"Thank you, Patron," Jenassa nodded, walking over to one of the sturdy wooden chairs near the hearth fire and sinking into it with a heavy sigh. She pulled her Dwarven Bow from her shoulder, retrieved a small oiled rag from her belt, and began the meticulous, rhythmic process of cleaning the weapon's mechanisms.
Aerion left her to her maintenance. He walked across the main living area and approached the heavy oak door situated on the right wing of the homestead.
He pushed the door open, stepping into the dedicated arcane laboratory.
The room was magnificent, perfectly tailored for a master of the mystic arts. The air was thick with the smell of dried lavender, crushed bone meal, and the sharp, ozone tang of raw magic.
Lining the walls were tall, heavy wooden bookcases, currently empty but waiting to be filled with the tomes of his conquests. Several sturdy wooden chests rested in the corners for storing volatile reagents. In the center of the floor, a heavy wooden trapdoor with an iron ring led down into the deep, temperature controlled cellar.
But what commanded Aerion's complete attention were the two massive, intricately carved workstations dominating the room.
To the left sat the Alchemy Lab, a complex apparatus of glass alembics, bronze retorts, and heavy stone mortars.
To the right rested the Arcane Enchanter. It was a beautiful, terrifying piece of magical engineering. The heavy stone table was inscribed with hundreds of glowing, interconnected arcane runes, and a massive, stylized dragon skull was mounted at the apex, its empty eye sockets seeming to stare directly into his soul.
Aerion walked up to the Enchanter, resting his golden fingertips against the cold stone. He felt the latent magic of the table thrumming against his skin, eager to weave the fabric of reality.
"Let us expand the arsenal," Aerion murmured, his eyes reflecting the blue glow of the runes.
He opened his digital interface, accessing his massive spatial void. He mentally isolated the specific, highly valuable enchanted items he had purposefully saved from the liquidation at Warmaiden's.
With a series of soft, localized spatial distortions, a massive pile of heavy weaponry and delicate jewelry materialized directly onto the stone surface of the enchanting table.
Aerion deposited the Steel Dagger of Minor Souls, the Elven Sword of Lightning, and the massive, freezing Honed Ancient Nord Greatsword of Cold. He followed the weaponry with the golden, gilded plating of the Elven Armor of Bountiful Health.
Finally, with a heavy heart but a brilliantly pragmatic mind, he placed his two greatest economic multipliers onto the stone: the Circlet of Peerless Alchemy and the Iron Gauntlets of Smithing.
[Inventory Weight Decreased by 25.0 KG]
To a standard merchant, destroying the Peerless Circlet and the Smithing Gauntlets would be considered an act of absolute economic lunacy. They were priceless artifacts. But Aerion was not a merchant, he was a transmigrated system wielder.
By sacrificing the physical items to the Enchanter, he would permanently learn the underlying magical concepts. He could then apply those exact same enchantments to rings, necklaces, armor, and clothing, effectively multiplying the bonuses infinitely.
Aerion took a deep breath, centering his mind.
He picked up the Steel Dagger of Minor Souls first. He placed it directly into the center of the glowing runes. He closed his eyes, tapping into his Enchanting matrix, and violently pulled the magical essence out of the steel.
The dagger glowed with a harsh, blinding purple light. A high pitched, ethereal shriek echoed in the small room as the physical metal instantly dissolved into a pile of fine, mundane ash, the magical concept of Soul Trap flowing directly into Aerion's mind.
He didn't pause. He picked up the Elven Sword of Lightning. The Aldmeri weapon shattered into golden dust as he ripped the electrical matrix from its core.
The Ancient Nord Greatsword of Cold was next. The massive, six foot blade resisted fiercely, the ancient frost magic fighting against his pull. But Aerion's willpower was absolute. The ancient iron cracked, splintered, and finally exploded into a cloud of freezing mist and rust, granting him the concept of Frost Damage.
He picked up the Elven Armor of Bountiful Health. The beautiful golden plating crumbled like dry clay as he absorbed the Fortify Health matrix.
Then came the artifacts.
He placed the Iron Gauntlets of Smithing onto the table. The orange aura pulsed desperately before he crushed the enchantment, the heavy iron dissolving into gray dust. The concept of Fortify Smithing embedded itself permanently in his brain.
Finally, he picked up the Circlet of Peerless Alchemy. The heavy gold and emerald jewelry felt warm in his hands. He set it down, forcefully drawing the massive, verdant green magical aura out of the gold. The circlet melted into a puddle of mundane slag, but the absolute, flawless knowledge of Fortify Alchemy was now his to command forever.
The sheer, overwhelming volume of magical concepts he had just forcibly absorbed and integrated into his neural pathways caused a massive, violent surge in his systemic growth.
The golden text cascaded rapidly in his peripheral vision, blinding him with progress.
[Enchanting Leveled Up 32 Times! Current Level: 66]
The massive influx of specific skill experience violently pushed his overall power threshold over the edge, twice in rapid succession.
[LEVEL UP! You are now Level 98!]
[LEVEL UP! You are now Level 99!]
[You have gained 2 Attribute Points!]
Aerion gripped the edge of the stone table, panting slightly as the raw cosmic energy flooded his system. He mentally grasped the two attribute points, determining their optimal placement.
His Magicka and Stamina were already monstrously high. But as a mage, his physical durability was always his primary vulnerability against a lucky strike from a giant or a Warlord. He channeled both points directly into his Health.
A deep, powerful, radiating warmth bloomed in his chest. His cellular structure hardened, his bones becoming denser and vastly more resistant to kinetic trauma.
[Health increased by 20! Current Health: 420/420]
With his foundations fortified, Aerion wiped the sweat from his brow and cleared the mundane ash from the center of the enchanting table.
It was time to test a theory that could fundamentally shatter the power scaling of this reality.
In the standard, vanilla reality of this world, an enchanter, even a master of the highest caliber, could only weave a maximum of two enchantments onto a single item. The arcane matrices would simply destabilize and explode if a third was introduced.
However, Aerion was not operating on vanilla physics. In his past life, he had meticulously crafted his mod list. He distinctly remembered installing a highly specific, reality altering framework that expanded the enchanting capacity to a maximum of five simultaneous effects.
'If the system added more by of my mods...' Aerion thought, a hungry, dangerous smile spreading across his face. 'I am about to forge a dragon slaying weapon level.'
He reached down to his hip, unbuckling the heavy scabbard containing the flawless Ebony Sword he had looted from Draugr Overlord Curalmil. He drew the dark, heavy blade, laying it horizontally across the glowing runes of the table.
He reached into his spatial void, pulling out the massive, swirling purple Grand Soul Gem (Filled) he had recovered from the same chest. The towering soul trapped within the crystal pulsed with immense, eager energy.
Aerion placed his hands on the table, hovering them directly over the dark metal of the Ebony blade.
He didn't want a simple, specialized weapon. He wanted an instrument of absolute, unmitigated destruction. He wanted a blade that could burn, freeze, electrocute, and harvest the soul of his enemies in a single, devastating swing.
He closed his eyes, tapping deep into his newly expanded Enchanting matrix.
"Fire," Aerion commanded, pulling the concept of raw plasma into his left hand.
"Frost," he whispered, drawing the absolute zero temperatures of the ancient crypts into his right.
"Lightning," he intoned, visualizing the crackling electrical arcs of the Aldmeri sword.
"And Soul Trap," he finalized, grasping the ethereal, necrotic pull of the minor dagger.
He brought his hands together, violently forcing the four completely conflicting, highly volatile magical concepts down into the dark metal of the Ebony Sword, using the massive energy of the Grand Soul Gem to bind them together.
The physical resistance was terrifying. The air in the arcane laboratory instantly dropped to sub zero temperatures, while the stone table beneath the sword grew hot enough to melt lead. Arcs of purple lightning shot wildly across the room, striking the wooden bookcases and leaving scorch marks.
The arcane matrices violently rejected one another. The fire tried to melt the frost, the lightning disrupted the soul trap. The blade began to vibrate violently, emitting a high pitched, whining screech that threatened to shatter the glass alembics on the alchemy table nearby.
"Hold!" Aerion roared, pouring his massive Magicka reserves into the binding process, leveraging his systemic authority to force the mod's logic upon the universe.
The system engaged. The reality bending code recognized the parameters.
With a blinding, deafening explosion of multi colored light, the four enchantments slammed into the dark metal, weaving together into a flawless, perfectly stable, apocalyptic matrix.
The Grand Soul Gem shattered into a million pieces of harmless glass.
The room fell instantly silent.
Aerion slowly opened his eyes, smoke rising from the arcane table.
Resting in the center of the runes was the Ebony Sword. But it was fundamentally changed. The dark metal now radiated a deeply sinister, pulsating aura. However, the system's camouflage protocols had engaged perfectly. Instead of a chaotic, swirling mess of fire, ice, and lightning, the blade simply emitted a sleek, violent, blood red luminescence that crept along the sharpened edge.
Aerion picked up the sword. The moment his hand touched the hilt, the system interface flared, asking for a designation.
[Item Forged. Multiple Enchantments Detected (4/5). Please designate a name for this artifact.]
Aerion smiled, feeling the terrifying, vibrating lethality of the weapon.
"The Black Prism," Aerion whispered.
Instantly, the dark metal near the hilt shimmered, and the elegant, jagged letters of the name Black Prism etched themselves permanently into the Ebony.
He gave the sword a few experimental, heavy swings in the center of the room. The weapon hummed with a terrifying, heavy resonance. The single, unified red aura was a brilliant disguise.
Anyone looking at the blade would simply assume it possessed a standard, albeit powerful, fire or life drain enchantment. They would have absolutely no idea that a single strike would simultaneously incinerate their flesh, freeze their blood, fry their nervous system, and rip their soul from their body.
It saved him the exhausting necessity of explaining how he had broken the fundamental laws of magic to any observant mages.
Aerion sheathed the Black Prism with a highly satisfying, metallic schwing, securing the heavy dark scabbard to his hip.
The arcane work was complete.
He turned away from the Enchanter, exiting the laboratory and stepping back out into the main living room.
The atmosphere was exactly as he had left it. Jenassa was sitting comfortably in the heavy wooden chair, meticulously polishing the bronze gears of her Dwarven Bow in the warm light of the hearth. On the thick bear pelt rug nearby, Lupin was completely dead to the world, his small chest rising and falling in a deep, exhausted sleep, his paws twitching slightly as he chased dream rabbits.
Aerion walked over to one of the empty wooden chairs near the fire and sat down heavily. He rested his elbows on his knees, staring into the dancing orange flames, allowing his hyper-active, heavily taxed mind to finally slow down.
He had secured the fortress. He had deployed the vanguard. He had forged a weapon of mass destruction.
But as he sat in the quiet warmth of his new home, a sudden, highly complex logistical problem sprang to the forefront of his thoughts.
The mammoths.
He had boldly proclaimed to his mercenary company that he would construct the pens and acquire the beasts. But the timber and the stone for the perimeter fences wouldn't arrive for at least a day, and the construction would take several more.
He couldn't possibly venture out into the tundra and lead two massive, temperamental siege beasts back to the homestead right now. Even with his Animal Affinity rendering the beasts perfectly docile to him, the sheer, terrifying presence of two untethered mammoths wandering around the property would cause absolute panic.
Erlend would likely have a heart attack on his patrol, and passing merchant caravans would report a monster sighting to the Whiterun guards.
He had to wait for the infrastructure. He was landlocked.
And as his mind drifted to the logistical delays in Whiterun, a secondary, vastly more delicate, and highly personal complication suddenly resurfaced in his memory. A problem he had purposefully pushed to the very back of his mind before he left on his looting expedition.
Ysolda.
Aerion let out a long, heavy, incredibly complicated sigh, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples.
The situation with the ambitious Nord merchant was a tangled, deeply precarious web of business and emotion. They were now, legally and officially, 50-50 equity partners in the Bannered Mare.
From a macroeconomic standpoint, it was a flawless, highly lucrative arrangement. He had secured a permanent foothold in the city's primary social hub, establishing a massive passive income stream.
But the emotional reality was a significantly more dangerous battlefield.
Thanks to his transmigrated meta knowledge, Aerion knew exactly how affection operated. He knew, with absolute, terrifying certainty, that Ysolda had developed a genuine romantic feelings for him.
To know exactly how someone felt about him before they even confessed was a bizarre, double edged sword. It was a tactical blessing, allowing him to manipulate interactions flawlessly, but it was also a profound, heavy curse.
Aerion stared into the fire, engaging in a rare, brutal moment of internal introspection.
'How do I proceed?' he asked himself.
To say that he harbored no positive feelings for the Nord woman would be a complete lie. Ysolda was brilliant, driven, fiercely independent, and undeniably beautiful. He possessed a vast amount of goodwill and genuine respect for her.
But those feelings were firmly rooted in the realm of platonic partnership and mutual ambition. They did not, at least not yet, touch the deep, profound well of romantic love or affection that she clearly felt for him.
In his previous life, before the transmigration, Aerion had been a writer, a gamer, a man obsessed with lore and mechanics. He had never truly engaged in a deep, meaningful romantic relationship. The complexities of human emotion had always taken a backseat to his fictional game world.
Now, holding the very real, beating heart of an ambitious merchant in his hands, he was forced to navigate waters he had never charted.
The cold, calculating, pragmatic high elf side of his mind analyzed the tactical benefits. 'Pursuing a relationship with Ysolda provides an impeccable, flawless layer of disguise,' he reasoned. 'The mysterious, powerful High Elf mage settling down with a beloved local merchant? It perfectly humanizes me. It deflects suspicion. It weaves me so deeply into the social fabric of Whiterun that my true, overarching objective, becoming the shadow ruler of Skyrim by manipulating the prophesied Dragonborn, would remain completely invisible. It was the ultimate cover story.'
But the human slash gamer side of his soul, the remnant of the man from Earth, violently rejected the sheer, sociopathic cruelty of that logic.
'To string her along purely as a political shield,' Aerion thought, his jaw clenching, 'would be an act of profound, unforgivable malice. She is not a line of code anymore. She is real.'
If he faked a relationship, pushed for a marriage built entirely on tactical advantage, and then inevitably shattered her heart when his true ambitions were revealed... it would emotionally destroy her. Furthermore, a bitter, heartbroken 50% equity partner could absolutely cripple the operations of the Bannered Mare, destroying his passive income and his reputation in the city in a single stroke.
'It is horrible ethics, and it is terrible business,' Aerion concluded firmly.
He had to be extremely careful. He couldn't reject her outright, that would cause immediate, awkward friction in their new partnership. He couldn't fake it either.
The only logical, ethical path forward was genuine exploration.
He would try. He would spend time with her, not as a manipulator, but as a man who had never experienced romance, attempting to see if a true, genuine connection could be forged from their mutual ambition. If the feelings grew, they grew. If they did not, he would find a way to let her down gently, preserving their business and her dignity.
Having finalized his emotional doctrine, Aerion broke out of his deep reverie. He stood up from the wooden chair, the sudden movement causing Jenassa to look up from her bow.
"We cannot linger here idly tonight, Jenassa," Aerion announced, his voice crisp and decisive.
Jenassa raised an eyebrow. "Is there another ancient crypt you wish to plunder before midnight, Patron?"
"Nothing so violent," Aerion chuckled smoothly. "I simply realized a rather massive logistical oversight. We now own a magnificent, fully furnished home... but our cupboards are entirely bare. We no longer live at the Bannered Mare. We cannot simply shout for Ysolda to bring us a plate of roast beef and a flagon of mead. If we do not stock the kitchen with proper supplies, food, and drink, we will be forced to eat raw tundra cotton by tomorrow morning."
Jenassa paused, realizing the undeniable truth of his words. A mercenary army could not march on an empty stomach, and a homestead without food was just a fancy wooden box.
"Supplies are indeed vital," Jenassa agreed, quickly reassembling the gears of her bow and slinging it over her shoulder. She stood up, stretching her back. "I suppose a trip back to the city markets is required."
"Exactly," Aerion nodded.
He looked down at the bear pelt rug. Lupin was completely unconscious, his breathing slow and steady, entirely unbothered by the conversation.
"We shall leave the guardian of the estate to his rest," Aerion smiled softly.
Aerion and Jenassa stepped out of the warmth of the homestead and into the cool, crisp night air of the tundra. Aerion pulled the heavy wooden door shut, slotting the heavy iron key into the lock and turning it with a satisfying click.
They walked out to the small stable overhang attached to the side of the house. Revan and the bay horse were resting quietly. They mounted their steeds, pulling their cloaks tight against the evening chill, and spurred the animals back toward the cobblestone trade road.
The ride back to Whiterun was brief and peaceful. The golden sun had completely vanished behind the jagged peaks of the western mountains, replaced by the brilliant, silvery light of the moons, Masser and Secunda, illuminating the swaying grass of the plains in an ethereal glow.
They arrived at the Whiterun Stables just as the evening guard shift was rotating.
Skulvar Sable-Hilt emerged from the stable office, holding a lantern. He blinked in surprise as the High Elf and the Dark Elf rode back into the yard.
"Back so soon, elf?" Skulvar asked, taking Revan's reins as Aerion dismounted.
"A brief supply run, Skulvar," Aerion replied pleasantly. "We shall require the horses again shortly."
"They'll be brushed and waiting," the stablemaster promised, leading the beasts into the warm stalls.
Aerion and Jenassa walked away from the stables, ascending the long stone path leading up to the main gates. The guards, recognizing them from their heavily burdened arrival earlier that afternoon, waved them through without a word.
They stepped into the city. The bustling, chaotic energy of the daytime markets had settled into the warm, inviting, smoky atmosphere of the Whiterun evening.
Lanterns glowed warmly outside the shops, and the loud, boisterous sound of laughter and lute music echoed down from the wind district. Aerion passed the already closed open air market stalls. He turned his boots purposefully toward the massive, familiar wooden structure dominating the center of the Plains District. He walked up the steps and pushed open the heavy doors of the Bannered Mare.
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 420/420 Stamina: 400/400 Magicka: 570/570
Level: 99
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Instant Shout (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire(+2)/Lightning(+1)/Frost) (Level 54/19/89), Restoration (Healing/Purify) (Level 76/MAX), Alteration (Level 35), Alteration (Level 20), Illusion (Level 42), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning) (Level 37/MAX), Persuasion(+1) (Level 30), Smithing (Level 22), Sneak (Level 33), One Handed (Level 76), Two Handed (Level 65), Lockpicking (Level 35), Archery (Level 72), Enchanting (Level 66), Light Armor (Level 53), Block (Level 70), & Pickpocket (Level 8)
Shouts: Fus (Force), Tiid (Time), Krii (Kill), & Feim (Fade)
[Inventory Panel]
1x Small Sack, Poacher's Axe, Mammoth Tusk, the Golden Claw, Calm Spellbook, Arvel's Journal, Inkwell & Quill, Thief Book, Scroll Of Summoning (Wolf), Scroll Of Healing, Weak Potion of Paralysis, Dragonstone, Golden Staff of Flames, Parchment Rolls Of Mammoths Farm And Loan, Ebony Claw, Orcish Dagger, Jagged Crown, The Mirror, Glass Sword, Ring of Pure Mixtures, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Reanimate Corpse Tome, Staff of Lightning, Meridia's Beacon, & Deed to Tundra Homestead
2x Potion Of Ultimate Magicka, Common Soul Gem (Empty), Black Soul Gem (Empty), & Elven Sword
3x Glowing Mushrooms, Potions of Minor Stamina, & Black Soul Gems (Filled)
4x Potions of Minor Magicka & Spider Eggs
5x Lesser Soul Gem
8x Iron Arrows & Ancient Nord Arrows
9x Potions Of Minor Healing
Weight: 74.39KG / 500 KG
Septims: 78,779