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Aerion knew he could not possibly do everything at once. But as a transmigrator who viewed the world through the lens of absolute optimization, he had never been particularly good at leaving a useful and profitable opportunity untouched. He smiled faintly beneath the bronze mask as the group rode toward the open gates of Tundra Homestead. For this evening, he would handle what was directly in front of him. Tomorrow, he would deal with the rest of the world.
The sprawling courtyard of Tundra Homestead was already a hive of organized activity when Aerion and his entourage finally rode through the reinforced gates.
Mercenaries patrolled the walls, couple of the boys and girls were busy loading heavy wooden vats of fermented milk onto a reinforced wagon near the cellar, and the rhythmic, hollow clanging of a training bout echoed from the sparring ring.
As Aerion dismounted and out Revan's reins to be tied into the stable's post joining the other horses, he immediately noticed two familiar figures standing near the entrance of the manor. Aeloria and Valdemar had just returned from the city.
Aeloria looked up, a bright, relieved smile crossing her face as she saw the heavily armored Altmer.
"Aerion," Aeloria greeted him warmly, stepping down from the porch. "You're back. How was Solitude?"
"Very profitable, and also political," Aerion summarized smoothly, removing his bronze mask. "I am now a Praefect."
Valdemar's eyes widened slightly, and he immediately snapped off a crisp salute, which Aerion returned with a faint smile.
"Congratulations," Aeloria offered sincerely, before her expression shifted into something significantly more exasperated. "I wish the politics in Jorrvaskr were as straightforward. I've just received a new assignment from Skjor, and it is entirely ridiculous."
Aerion raised a golden eyebrow, gesturing for her to continue.
"Skjor has assigned Farkas and me to travel to Dustman's Cairn," Aeloria explained, crossing her arms. "We are supposed to search for the missing fragments of Wuuthrad, the legendary weapon of Ysgramor. Valdemar intends to travel with us, but remain outside the crypt to secure the perimeter."
She sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "I explicitly told Skjor that we already explored Dustman's Cairn thoroughly. You, Lydia, Jenassa, and I searched that entire ruin from top to bottom. We fought through the monstrosities in there, killed dozens of Draugr and spiders, and turned the final burial chamber upside down. We never found a single fragment of Wuuthrad."
"And Skjor's response?" Aerion prompted, keeping his face perfectly neutral.
"He stubbornly believes we may have simply overlooked it in the dark," Aeloria grumbled. "He insists that Farkas and I investigate the ruin again. Skjor considers it a matter of profound honor for the Companions to recover such an important relic, even if the scholar who pointed them toward the crypt might be entirely mistaken and also a fool."
Aerion listened quietly, his expression offering nothing but polite sympathy.
Internally, however, he found the situation deeply amusing. He knew exactly why Aeloria had never found the fragment of Ysgramor's legendary battleaxe.
It was because after all he had secretly taken it.
During their brutal expedition through Dustman's Cairn weeks ago, he had spotted the fragment resting on a table in the final chamber. Already knowing it was a very valuable and unique loot, he had seamlessly slipped it into his dimensional inventory before anyone else had noticed.
Aerion briefly considered his options. He could simply keep it, letting Aeloria and Farkas waste three days searching an empty tomb.
But as he looked at the Dragonborn, he calculated the broader political board. Aeloria's standing within the Companions was steadily and aggressively increasing. If she were the one to physically recover such a legendary, vital relic and present it to the Circle, her reputation would skyrocket. She would cement herself as an indispensable hero to the organization. And Aeloria's growing influence and status in Whiterun directly benefited Aerion's own sprawling power network in the city as well.
Returning the fragment was vastly more useful than hoarding in him, after all it's not that he planned to recreate it himself since even if he got the other scattered fragments, the other fragments are on Jorrvaskr.
"Aeloria," Aerion said quietly, his voice dropping. "Come inside with me for a moment. We need to speak privately."
Aeloria looked slightly confused, but nodded, following him into the quiet, empty foyer of the manor house and closing the heavy oak door behind them.
Once they were completely isolated, Aerion reached into his satchel, accessing his System inventory.
He pulled his hand out, holding several jagged, heavy pieces of ancient, dark metal. Reducing his inventory weight by 0.5 KG.
He held it out to her.
Aeloria stared at the object. Her eyes widened in absolute, genuine shock as she recognized the distinct, Atmoran metallurgical patterns.
"Is that...?" Aeloria breathed, stepping closer.
"The fragments of Wuuthrad," Aerion confirmed honestly. "I found it resting on a table in the final chamber of Dustman's Cairn during our expedition."
Aeloria looked up at him, bewildered. "You took it? Why didn't you say anything?"
"I apologize, Aeloria," Aerion said, his tone perfectly steady and entirely sincere. "I took the fragment because I genuinely believed it was simply a highly valuable, unique piece of ancient Nordic scrap that I could research on and eventually be sold to a historian or melted down for an enchantment. I had absolutely no idea it was the sacred pieces of Ysgramor's battleaxe, nor did I know it held such profound importance to the Companions. Had I known, I would have handed it to you immediately."
Aeloria blinked, processing the admission. Initially, she was deeply surprised by his blunt honesty, but the shock quickly faded. She trusted Aerion implicitly by this point. He had fought beside her, bled for her, and protected Whiterun while she slept. She didn't question his explanation or accuse him of hoarding it maliciously, the logic of a wealthy Altmer scholar picking up a shiny piece of ancient metal to research and sell later made perfect sense.
"I... well," Aeloria sighed, a small smile breaking through her confusion. She reached out and took the heavy fragments, holding it carefully. "Thank you for telling me the truth, Aerion. And thank you for giving it to me."
"You are welcome," Aerion nodded. Then, his expression hardened into the calculating mask of a tactician.
"However," Aerion warned softly, holding up a finger. "Do not simply walk back into Jorrvaskr carrying that fragment and claim you already had it. If you suddenly produce the legendary relic fragments from your pockets without a valid explanation, Skjor and Kodlak may become highly suspicious regarding exactly where it came from, and who you are working with."
Aeloria frowned, understanding the political danger immediately. "You're right. Skjor is already paranoid about outside interference."
"Instead," Aerion instructed smoothly, "you must still travel to Dustman's Cairn with Farkas. Follow Skjor's orders exactly. Make a highly convincing, exhaustive search of the crypt. Pretend to scour the final chamber. Then, you can 'discover' the fragment hidden beneath some rubble or behind a collapsed pillar. You can return to Whiterun and allow the Companions to believe that you and Farkas successfully recovered the relic during the expedition."
Aeloria nodded slowly, a wry, deeply appreciative smile forming on her lips. She fully trusted Aerion, and she knew he was always thinking several steps ahead of everyone else in the room.
"A flawless lie," Aeloria agreed. "I will follow your instructions. Thank you, Aerion."
Shortly afterward, Aeloria and Valdemar departed Tundra Homestead, riding back toward Whiterun to meet Farkas for their staged expedition.
With the political theater handled, Aerion turned his attention toward the next massive, logistical project he had been quietly considering since his promotion.
His mammoths.
Aerion understood the brutal reality of the coming weeks. If the civil war finally reached the plains of Whiterun, his six massive mammoths would easily be among the most valuable, devastating military assets under his direct control. He still could not openly rely upon his Thu'um, and he absolutely could not reveal the terrifying existence of his Summon Dragon ability without bringing the wrath of the Empire and the Thalmor down upon his head.
Therefore, for the time being, the mammoths were the most obvious, overwhelming battlefield advantage he could deploy without exposing his darkest secrets.
But like he thinks before, they needed armor.
Aerion walked out to the expansive smithing yard, his mind already churning with complex, unprecedented schematics.
He didn't start hammering immediately. He sat down at a heavy wooden table near the forge, pulling out several sheets of blank parchment and a piece of charcoal.
He spent the first two hours sketching. Designing armor for a creature the size of a small house was a massive smithing challenge. Standard plate armor would be too heavy and rigid, suffocating the beast under its own weight.
He eventually settled on a highly practical, modular design that would protect the mammoths without restricting their devastating mobility. The armor would consist of massive, overlapping steel plates riveted onto incredibly thick layers of reinforced leather, acting as a flexible chainmail skirt that covered their vital organs, flanks, and upper legs. This would allow them to walk, charge, and turn freely while deflecting the majority of Stormcloak arrows and spears.
He paid special attention to their heads. He designed a heavy iron front plate to protect their skulls from plunging fire, ensuring it was padded with thick mammoth fur on the inside so it wouldn't chafe or blind the animal.
Finally, he sketched the most lethal addition, tusk guards. He designed heavy, sharpened steel caps that would slide over the ends of their massive tusks, reinforced with iron bands. It would protect the ivory from shattering upon impact, while transforming their charges into a devastating, armor piercing nightmare against enemy shield walls. He thought practically about how the beasts moved and fought, rather than treating them like fantasy siege engines with unlimited stamina.
Satisfied with the blueprints, Aerion called for Sinmir.
"Captain," Aerion instructed, handing the mercenary a heavy small sack containing 12,000 septims. "Take this to the city. Pay the remaining balance we owe Adrianne Avenicci for the forge and the smelter. Use the rest to arrange a massive, immediate order of raw materials. I need vast quantities of steel ingots, iron banding, thick boiled leather, leather straps, and heavy rivets. Have it transported here by wagon."
Sinmir wa surprised before then weighed the small sack, then nodding sharply. "It will be done, Boss."
For the next several days, Aerion practically lived at the forge.
He worked through the grueling, repetitive process himself. He didn't just spawn the armor through magic, he used his Smithing skill to physically beat the massive sheets of steel into shape, refining the curvature to perfectly match the massive flanks of his herd. The work felt incredibly satisfying, a genuine, physical progression of craftsmanship that tested his endurance and precision. The roaring of the bellows and the ringing of his heavy hammer became the steady heartbeat of the estate.
At the same time, the wider life of the homestead continued to thrive around him in a highly organized, overlapping rhythm.
Aerion consistently oversaw the mammoth cheese production between his smithing sessions. The hired civilian workers, Hroki, Maren, and Elrindil, were handling their responsibilities flawlessly under Ysolda's sharp supervision. The production still required immense patience, the milk had to be carefully processed and left to age in the freezing cellar. But the background hum of a highly lucrative business settling into a permanent routine was deeply reassuring.
He also dedicated several hours each evening to training J'zargo, Onmund, Brelyna, and Eirik.
He gave them intense, practical lessons in spell control, teaching them how to weave Destruction magic into physical melee combat. The three College apprentices were absorbing his lessons at a terrifyingly rapid pace, their confidence soaring after their survival against the dragon. Eirik, the young Nord mercenary mage, was particularly eager to prove himself, soaking up Aerion's instruction like a sponge so he could finally anchor the vanguard of the mercenary company instead of hiding in the rear.
However, on the fourth day of this grueling week, Aerion stood near the reinforced pens, looking at his six mammoths, and made a calculated decision.
Six was not enough for a war. He wanted more.
Aerion immediately organized a specialized hunting expedition. He gathered Jenassa, Lydia, Eisa, the three apprentices, and Eirik, ordering them to saddle their horses.
Their objective was very specific, they were going to systematically hit several known Giant camps across the western portions of Whiterun Hold, kill the defending Giants, and secure additional mammoths to bring back to Tundra Homestead.
Over the next two days, the heavily armed expedition struck three distinct locations.
The first was Sleeping Tree Camp. The massive, glowing purple tree dominated the center of the camp, guarded by two towering, highly aggressive Giants.
Before the battle began, Aerion dismounted and walked slowly toward the edge of the camp. He activated his *Animal Affinity* skill, projecting a wave of calm and affectionate resonance toward the three mammoths grazing near the fires. The effect didn't turn them into mindless zombies, it simply soothed their territorial aggression, allowing them to immediately accept Aerion's presence and recognize him as a non threatening alpha they would follow once the fighting stopped.
With the mammoths pacified, the group attacked.
Aerion led from the absolute front, his Ebony Greatsword humming. He didn't make his companions irrelevant, but he demonstrated exactly why he was a Praefect. When the first Giant swung its massive, bone crushing club, Aerion sidestepped the lethal arc with terrifying speed, severing the Giant's hamstring with a brutal sweep of his blade. Lydia immediately followed up, bashing her shield into the Giant's knee to bring it down, while Jenassa drove her daggers into its throat. Eisa anchored the flank, preventing the second Giant from flanking them.
The apprentices and Eirik remained farther back, utilizing the tactical lessons Aerion had drilled into them. They recognized instantly that fighting a Giant was vastly different from fighting a bandit. A single grazing hit from those clubs would launch them fifty feet into the air.
"Keep your distance! Do not bunch up!" Aerion roared over the fray. "Onmund, target the eyes! Brelyna, freeze the ground beneath its feet!"
The young mages executed the orders flawlessly, bringing the second Giant down in a hail of highly coordinated fire and frost.
They repeated the brutal, highly efficient process at Secunda's Kiss, eliminating a single Giant guarding a rocky outcrop.
Finally, they struck Talking Stone Camp, engaging in a highly challenging, chaotic battle against two heavily armored Giants near a rushing river. The terrain was uneven and dangerous, forcing the apprentices to constantly reposition to avoid being cornered. Aerion had to cast several precise Greater Wards to protect J'zargo from a thrown boulder, but they eventually triumphed, leaving the Giants dead in the mud.
After the three bloody expeditions, Aerion had successfully obtained five additional mammoths in total: three females and two massive males.
Under the soothing, continuous influence of his Animal Affinity, the five massive beasts docilely followed Aerion's horse back across the tundra toward the homestead.
When the new mammoths finally lumbered into the reinforced pens at the estate, a fascinating, highly natural scene unfolded.
The existing herd immediately turned to face the newcomers, raising their trunks and letting out low, rumbling trumpets of warning. The largest original male mammoth, a massive, heavily scarred beast that had long established itself as the alpha, stepped forward, asserting its dominance.
The two newly acquired males were significantly smaller. For a tense moment, they stared at the towering alpha. Then, recognizing the overwhelming physical hierarchy of the herd, one of the new males slowly lowered its massive head and deliberately took a step backward, submitting to the alpha rather than challenging him for control.
Aerion leaned against the wooden fence, watching the animals integrate, a rare, genuine smile crossing his face. The scene offered a quiet, natural moment of levity amidst the constant preparations for war. His herd had now grown substantially to eleven mammoths.
However, the satisfaction was quickly followed by a stark, logistical reality.
Properly equipping a herd of eleven mammoths with heavy, custom forged steel armor was going to require a staggering amount of time, raw materials, and septims.
Aerion returned to the forge with even greater, relentless motivation.
The entire sequence of events unfolded seamlessly over the course of a single, exhausting week. Aerion balanced his mounting responsibilities with ruthless efficiency. He spent his mornings at the blazing forge, his afternoons drilling the apprentices in the sparring ring, his evenings supervising Ysolda's booming cheese empire, and his nights reviewing the military readiness of his mercenaries.
On the second day of that grueling week, Aeloria and Valdemar returned from their staged expedition to Dustman's Cairn.
Aeloria found Aerion at the forge. She was practically glowing with quiet triumph.
"The mission was a complete success," Aeloria reported, leaning against the wooden pillar of the smithy. "Farkas and I 'discovered' the Wuuthrad fragment buried under some rubble in the final chamber. When we returned to Jorrvaskr and presented it to Skjor and Kodlak... the reaction was exactly as you predicted. My standing within the Companions has dramatically improved. The older members are finally taking me seriously. My reputation is rising faster than I expected."
Aerion wiped his hands on a rag, offering a supportive nod. "They should have taken you seriously much earlier, Aeloria. Especially since you have been revealed as the Dragonborn."
Aeloria chuckled, a mixture of amusement and mild frustration crossing her face. "You would think shouting a dragon out of the sky would earn you some respect, but Nords are notoriously stubborn about their traditions. Still, I am incredibly pleased with how things are progressing."
The exchange was deeply respectful and familiar. Aeloria clearly understood that Aerion had deliberately engineered the situation to help her, without making her feel as though he was controlling or manipulating her career from the shadows.
Throughout that same week, Aerion continued meticulously managing his vast financial resources.
Every single morning, as an established, quiet routine, Aerion stood in his private room and retrieved exactly 25,000 septims from the five special, modified storage chests hidden securely within his dimensional inventory. The daily withdrawal didn't feel like a massive event, it was simply the steady heartbeat of his incredible wealth.
By the end of the seven day period, Aerion had seamlessly collected a staggering total of 175,000 septims.
He immediately put the gold to work. He spent 8,000 septims purchasing thousands of iron and steel arrows from every fletcher and merchant in Whiterun, stockpiling the ammunition at the estate. He then paid a massive premium to the wealthy Battle-Born Clan, utilizing their deep Imperial connections to quietly supply and transport additional crates of arrows directly to his Legion unit stationed on the western border.
It wasn't merely a shopping trip, it was the cold, calculated logistical preparation for the coming war. Aerion understood perfectly that ammunition would become the single most vital resource once his unit swelled to its full five hundred man capacity. Securing the arrows early demonstrated his immensely practical approach to military command.
Throughout the exhausting week, Aerion flawlessly preserved the absolute, established secret hierarchy surrounding his true nature.
He did not reveal his terrifying ability to do his shouts again. He never spoke of his Summon Dragon skill. He never hinted at his true knowledge of the future, nor did he expose the full, reality breaking extent of his system like abilities. The people around him only understood exactly what Aerion deliberately, carefully allowed them to know.
Likewise, he maintained a strict, careful distinction between his public masks, he was the respected Thane of Whiterun, the newly minted Praefect of the Imperial Legion, the shadowy leader of a private mercenary army, and the demanding teacher to a cadre of young mages.
By the late afternoon of the seventh day, Aerion finally stepped away from the roaring heat of the forge.
He stood near the center of the courtyard, slowly wiping the soot from his hands, and looked over the immense progress made at Tundra Homestead.
The estate was a fortress. The massive, eleven strong mammoth herd grazed peacefully in their reinforced pens. The cheese operation was highly organized, churning out thousands of septims in profit. The workshops were fully functional. The apprentices were rapidly becoming lethal battlemages. His private mercenary organization was hardened and disciplined, and an Imperial Legion unit was waiting for his leadership on the border.
Aerion let out a slow, quiet breath, recognizing the undeniable truth.
The coming war was getting closer by the hour. And every single improvement, every piece of armor forged, every arrow purchased, and every spell mastered now, would matter immensely when the Stormcloaks finally marched on the city. He turned back to the anvil, picking up his heavy hammer as the homestead hummed with activity around him. This period of intense preparation was incredibly satisfying, but Aerion knew the truth. This was only the calm. The next major, violent development was rapidly approaching, and he intended to be ready for it.
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[Main Panel]
Name: Aerion
Race: High Elf (Altmer)
Health: 860/860
Stamina: 900/900
Magicka: 980/980 [External Capacity & Regeneration: ∞]
Level: 231
Skills: Animal Affinity (MAX LEVEL), Fast Skill Levelling (MAX LEVEL), Fast Magic Mastery (MAX LEVEL), Instant Shout (MAX LEVEL), Dragon Master (MAX LEVEL), Eye Of Magnus (MAX LEVEL), Summon Dragon (MAX LEVEL), Destruction (Fire(+5)/Lightning(+2)/Frost(+2)) (Level 0/91/70), Restoration (Healing(+2)/Purify(+2)) (Level 50/98), Alteration (Level 35), Illusion (Level 50), Conjuration (Necromancy/Summoning(+1)) (Level 37/90), Persuasion(+2) (Level 83), Smithing (Level 57), Sneak(+1) (Level 64), One Handed(+2) (Level 0), Two Handed(+1) (Level 29), Lockpicking (Level 55), Archery(+1) (Level 0), Enchanting(+1) (Level 23), Light Armor(+2) (Level 10), Block (Level 70), Pickpocket (Level 8), & Heavy Armor (Level 59)
Shouts: Fus Roh Dah (Force Balance Push), Tiid (Time), Krii (Kill), Feim Zii Gron (Fade Spirit Bind), Su (Air), Laas (Life), Yol Toor (Fire Inferno), Kaan (Kyne), Zul Mey Gut (Voice Fool Far), & IIZ (Ice)
[Inventory Panel]
1x Small Sack, Poacher's Axe, the Golden Claw, Arvel's Journal, Inkwell & Quill, Thief Book, Parchment Rolls Of Mammoths Farm And Loan, Ebony Claw, The Mirror, Ring of Pure Mixtures, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), Deed to Tundra Homestead, Dawnbreaker, Traveling Backpack (Supplies), Vampire Armor, Vampire Boots, Movarth's Golden Ash (Unique), Potion of Healing, Mage Boots Of Weight, Master Robes Of Destruction, Staff of Jyrik Gauldurson, & Gauldur Black Bow
2x Common Soul Gem (Empty), Black Soul Gem (Empty), & Potions of Plentiful Magicka
3x Potions of Minor Stamina, Petty Soul Gem (Filled), Potions of Minor Magicka, Grand Soul Gem (Filled), & Greater Soul Gems
5x Mod Chests
8x Iron Arrows, Ancient Nord Arrows, & Common Soul Gem (Filled)
9x Potions Of Minor Healing
10x Lesser Soul Gems
12x Black Soul Gem (Filled)
Weight: 47.21 KG / 750 KG
Septims: 252,867