Late Merethic Era.
More than 4500 years before the birth of the Last Dragonborn.
Falmeret/Skyrim.
Seven years later.
Feator.
What is preliminary training before joining the Novices of the knight-paladins of the Chantry of Auri-El?
O-o-o-oh!
It’s a horror!
Being less numerous than the Altmer on Summerset, also known as the Summer Isles, or the Ayleids of Cyrodiil, which in the future would become the center of Human Empires, the Falmer were forced to compensate for numbers with quality.
And here, the typical long-lived slacker attitude—i.e., sitting around for entire decades—didn’t fly.
Maybe it touched ordinary Snow Elves to some degree, but not the knight-paladins.
For Auri-El must be served by the best.
And the best means the faithful, since it’s hard for atheists to appear in a place where gods are quite real and manifest their will almost directly.
So the only alternative was worshiping the Daedra, whom…
They disliked, like all demons.
But that fell under the article of heretic and demon-worshipper, not atheist.
“Oh, for fu…” I rubbed my long-suffering rear, which my vengeful Vaysi loved to hit with her ice-blunted sword.
Yes, instead of ordinary wooden practice swords, the elves just used magic.
And it was even faster and easier, because the ability to control ice and snow for a Snow Elf ranked somewhere after breathing and walking.
One snap and you have a blade in your hand.
Even for me, inclined toward flame magic, it worked just as easily.
The equivalent—picking up a spoon after dropping it.
Not instantly, but purely instinctively, your hand quickly finds the object.
“Don’t complain.
Don’t protest.
Don’t retreat,” she once again declared the main mantra of the knight-paladins.
An unofficial one, of course, and clearly specially designed for the young recruits.
Because if even I was being killed by the pace of the current studies, which were something like preschool education, then what about my other kin?!
“Have I ever complained or protested seriously?” Meeting her skeptical look, I rolled my eyes and sighed, losing my usual snark.
“Alright!
Have I ever seriously complained or protested even once?” “Not here.
Only unserious whining,” she was forced to agree, though clearly through gritted teeth.
…Alright.
Enough slacking off, time for the last sparring session of the day.
“Come on, beat up your unfortunate student, Miss Ice Queen…” I smirked mockingly, cracking my neck and meeting another displeased look from Vaysi.
Summoning a new ice blade into my hand, I took a fighting stance, correctly positioning my feet, torso, and arms.
And as soon as I did, Vaysi immediately rushed at me, starting an attack from one very interesting position.
To properly block the blow, which I wouldn’t have had time to dodge, I had to bend like some gymnast, but my body allowed such a trick.
Even if my muscles started aching quite noticeably afterward.
“Slow,” the white-haired girl tossed out her brilliantly simple assessment, breaking blade contact and transitioning into a new series of swings and lunges.
Fortunately, we weren’t training exclusively with swords this time, otherwise I’d already be lying on the ground swallowing snow.
However, I couldn’t just use fire magic either—for all its advantages against Snow Elves, mine manifested much slower than Vaysi’s simple ice.
I needed to find the right moment.
Carefully watching my opponent’s actions, I found one.
A familiar attack to me, and at the cost of a formal wound to the thigh, I managed to hit with an ice stream at full power.
Fire magic is better, but…
I wouldn’t have made it in time.
The space around my distant relative became covered in snow and began turning into pure ice, including the trees behind her.
But even this didn’t particularly faze the more experienced and magically powerful opponent, only slowed her down a bit and forced her to focus on her defense for a couple of seconds.
This wouldn’t have led to my victory under any circumstances, but…
It gave me a chance to launch my final attack.
Lunging forward, I immediately grimaced in dissatisfaction at the small amount of magical energy, which formed in a mage’s body from two types of mana—the small part generated by the person themselves, who has an aptitude for it, and that which enters them from the world itself, or rather, through the Sun.
“All well and good…
But not enough,” my opponent meanwhile said with a crooked smirk, managing to parry all my swings and straight lunges with a one-handed blade even in her frozen and slowed state.
If only because she herself taught me them.
And for at least some competition, I had to blatantly improvise and twist things to the brink of pure heresy, not sword-fighting style.
Avoiding a dangerous blow that flew right past my face, but then— “Ah, screw you!..” I hissed back in annoyance when my right fist flared with sharp pain, and Vaysi knocked the blade from my hand with an incredibly powerful and graceful kick.
“Tsk!” Charging her practically point-blank with the last of my remaining magic, spent on a small Flame Burst, I tried to break the distance.
And only then realized it was a mistake and I should have done the opposite—closed the distance.
And so I immediately paid for it.
Barely managing to tuck and not expose my stomach to a kick from my opponent’s shapely leg, I still took a solid hit to the side.
Since her leg was clearly enhanced with magical energy, Vaysi even with a glancing blow sent me flying into a large snowdrift.
Though…
I didn’t get up, tiredly sprawling right in the pile of snow.
The latter, for some reason, felt like a soft, albeit cool, bed late in the evening, so I involuntarily thought about the future.
The future that soon awaited the Falmer, and all of Tamriel.
I probably wouldn’t live to see the events of Alessia, the slave uprising, which started the Imperials in the Elder Scrolls…
But another, not much less important event, I would definitely witness.
Ysgramor.
Anyone who played Skyrim has heard of him.
Ancestor of the Nords and great leader of antiquity…
Who is already in Skyrim.
Because literally last winter, confident and clearly confirmed rumors began circulating about humanoid creatures arriving from the north, i.e., Altmora, as the Falmer called Atmora.
Who were neither elves nor beastfolk from the south.
And were suspiciously similar to the Nede tribes* from the center and south of the continent.
* — collective name for humans in Tamriel, except those who arrived from Atmora.
“What are you distracted about?” this charming individual interrupted my great isekai thoughts.
“Stop lounging around.
Get up and crea-a-ate…” my relative was forced to jump back sharply, as I, without bothering and straight from a lying position, shot a Fireball at her.
“You little Daedra brat!” this cutie swore, still warily eyeing the magical fire that had decided to start devouring one of the forest’s fir trees.
“You’ve been chasing me for hours on end…
Leave me alone,” I grumbled weakly afterward, not even feeling the strength for banter.
“You still handle a blade terribly!” she retorted, not too confidently.
“And you should stop comparing me to yourself.
I’m only thirty-seven winters old, and you’re already pushing sixty…” What had I been doing for a whole thirty-seven years?
Many things that were available to a body that had only recently become fully interested.
By human standards, I did too little and kicked back way too much…
Bu-u-ut…
Several factors came together.
First—the locals weren’t going to adjust to my pace of life, and my mother and her friends conveyed information in their own style.
Accordingly, during breaks, I had to suffer by contemplating nature or sitting over books.
And the latter weren’t much like modern textbooks, and absorbing information from them without a teacher…
Was tough!
Second—the general limitations of a slowly maturing body, again.
Third—magic in reality isn’t game mechanics but an extremely complex science, which I, a humanities person squared, had to figure out.
Fourth—after daily schooling, and then university for almost two decades…
You really want to kick back.
Yes, I know I should train, because there will be trouble soon, but…
You can always run away somewhere far.
Yes, cowardly, yes, tsk-tsk-tsk, but Tamriel is big, and the Oblivion Crisis is still a couple of thousand years away.
We-e-ell…
And maybe I’m a bit of a slacker, don’t judge, you workaholic gentlemen!
Multiplying all these factors by my changed brain, which perceived time somewhat differently, resulted in almost forty years flying by like just three years by human standards.
So it’s wiser to think I’m just past thirty, rather than almost a pensioner, yes.
As a certain flying wizard said—I’m a man in the prime of my life!
“Didn’t get the hint,” she narrowed her eyes threateningly and, overcoming the instinctive fear every Snow Elf has of fire, especially magical fire, stepped sharply toward me.
“What did you mean by that, runt?” “You’re not one of the short-ears, those, humans, living in the south and who sailed to us from the north…” I smirked as mockingly as possible, feeling all the irony of what I said.
“You should have heard everything.” “I’ll drag you by the ears,” came the instant, grim promise of the worst punishment for an elf.
As for her age…
Considering Falmer lived on average four hundred years, Vaysi by human standards was now about the same age as I was at the moment of my death.
A full proportional comparison with humans was impossible due to elves’ almost non-existent aging.
“Sc-a-a-ary…” I made a frightened face, feeling a second wind for banter opening up.
“Haa…
Alright, you’re not lacking in courage.
But you’re categorically lacking in seriousness…” this individual complained about my personality traits again.
“I can hug you and show you my seriousness…
Just like in childhood,” I snorted back with a brazen face, still not moving.
“You’re not a child anymore,” she cut off with a proud look, sharply turning away.
And I sighed inwardly with sadness.
Well yes, I had that sin in childhood—who wouldn’t want to involuntarily touch a real-life elf with a model’s appearance, huh?..
“Haa…
Alright.
Our parents planned to say this only at the evening meal, so make sure to have a surprised expression then…” “So-o-o…” I pricked up my long ears.
“What’s going to be there, huh?” “Something…
We’re going to the capital.
His Majesty is holding a reception…
A preliminary decision regarding those…
Strange Nedes who sailed here will be announced.” Turning back, she grimaced, having clearly met my former kin personally.
Suspicions grew.
We wouldn’t just go to a reception for no reason, because our little family had paladin brain rot.
But right now, another point was more important…
“You met them?” I threw out semi-affirmatively, reflexively brushing away a stray lock of white hair that had fallen on my face, tousled during training.
“Tsk.
I should talk to you less, my perceptive bookworm,” she sighed in resignation and, taking a few steps toward me, suddenly collapsed next to me into the same pile of fluffy snow.
“I did.
And it’s…
Not the best impression.
They’re…
Strange.
I’ve heard about similar ones among the southerners, but these…
Don’t smell great…
Lots of hair on their bodies and beards…
But they shiver funny without their animal skins, which, can you imagine, they wrap themselves in!
They’re cold!
Just like you.” “Let’s not…
compare me to bearded, smelly savages who probably haven’t even heard of books,” I openly grimaced, because that was nothing but the truth.
Whatever the ancestors of the Nords were like, just like their descendants, they were exclusively prehistoric Vikings.
Who were never famous for kindness and sanity, no matter how romanticized they were in my century.
“Hmm…” she placed her palm on my head and ruffled my hair, tied in a ponytail like hers.
Alas, by tradition, it wasn’t pleasant to wear really short hair.
“What’s up?” I asked Vaysi, puzzled by her somewhat strange behavior.
After all, close embraces weren’t too common among the numerous, and therefore large-personal-space-having, Snow Elves.
“I’ve had a bad feeling lately,” she said after a few seconds, looking somewhere upward.
“Don’t know why, but…
A very bad one…” “You’re exaggerating, Vaysi,” I threw out without any confidence, because I knew perfectly well what awaited next.
After all, I played Skyrim as a mage, and accordingly, my training at the College of Winterhold was memorable.
And that means the Eye of Magnus, Saarthal, and the conflict because of which the Snow Elves would be wiped out in the future, so thoroughly that only one last true Falmer would remain, like that Last Paladin, Who Stands Alone.
In short, that was the reason why I didn’t protest the harsh training regime and generally started straining myself from the moment it became at all possible.
The Falmer aren’t idiots either, and are even more perceptive than humans in some ways, which is why I wisely didn’t start off showing everyone my isekai genius.
Even knowing what awaited Tamriel.
In the end, you could always run away with the family to the south or to a separate enclave, like the Forgotten Vale, and live out your days in peace…
Well, probably.
Though as usual, things definitely won’t go according to plan.
Ah, whatever…
Nothing depends on me right now anyway.
I’m the simple son of a small provincial lord, aka a baron or minor count in human terms, who’s only just preparing to join the knight-paladins.
I’m not a king or a prince to be listened to.
You can’t even become a prophet of God—the locals know waaay more about interacting with Auri-El than I do.
All that’s left is to hope that my kin will start slaughtering the human Atmorans only after I’ve learned sufficient survival skills in the devilishly, Daedrically harsh universe of the Elder Scrolls.