I Died and Became a Noble's Heir

Chapter 445: Fear is a useful tool

Fifty days of brutal training in the frozen wasteland of Floor Three, where the temperature never rose above freezing, and the wind cut through even the warmest clothing like razors made of ice.

Fifty days of Pho’s relentless instruction, where every mistake was punished with frost that burned worse than fire, and every success was met with the simple command to ”do it again, but better.”

Days spent learning to weaponize magic he’d spent his entire life thinking of as defensive support.

Rhys stood at the edge of a frozen cliff, staring at the massive fortress visible in the distance. His breath came in steady clouds despite the brutal cold, his body having adapted somewhat to the environment through sheer necessity.

The fortress dominated the landscape. A structure of ice and stone that rose three hundred feet into the perpetually gray sky, its walls thick enough to resist siege weapons, its towers positioned to provide overlapping fields of fire for defenders.

Somewhere inside that fortress was the floor boss. A creature that Pho had described as ”a dragon’s lesser cousin, but still capable of killing you if you’re careless.”

[Rhys Luffiel - Level 26]

[Class: Wind Mage]

[Strength: 92]

[Stamina: 77]

[Agility: 104]

[Vitality: 112]

[Endurance: 84]

[Magic: 142]

[Mana: 2,733]

[HP: 11,200]

[Magic Talent Rank: A]

[Martial Talent Rank: B]

[Affinity: Wind, Water]

The numbers told part of the story. His strength had more than doubled through constant physical conditioning that Pho insisted was necessary for ”not dying immediately in combat.”

His agility had increased significantly from endless drills that required dodging ice projectiles while maintaining spell formations.

But the real changes weren’t visible in stats.

”You’re thinking too much again,” Pho’s voice cut through his contemplation. The Deathfrost Demon materialized from the shadows near a frozen boulder, his blank white eyes somehow conveying disapproval despite lacking pupils. ”I can see it in your posture. Stop analyzing and start moving.”

Rhys turned to face his instructor, noting the slight smirk that played at the corners of Pho’s mouth.

Over the past fifty days, he’d learned to read those subtle expressions.

The demon’s version of emotional communication was far more restrained than most people’s, but it was there if you knew where to look.

”I was reviewing my approach strategy,” Rhys defended.

”You were second-guessing yourself,” Pho corrected. ”There’s a difference. One is tactical planning. The other is fear disguised as caution.”

A flash of green light appeared near Rhys’s shoulder as Slyph materialized, her six-inch form hovering in the frigid air. Her black eyes with green irises studied the fortress intensely, her green aura pulsing softly against the monotone ice landscape.

”He’s not wrong,” Slyph admitted, her tiny voice carrying clearly despite its small volume. ”You’ve been staring at that fortress for twenty minutes, Rhys. You know what you need to do. You’ve trained for this.”

”I know,” Rhys said quietly. ”It’s just...”

”You’re scared,” Pho stated flatly. ”Good. Fear means you understand the danger. Fear keeps you alert, makes you careful, prevents you from making stupid mistakes that get you killed.”

The demon walked closer, his footsteps leaving frost on the already frozen ground.

When he was close enough, he placed one clawed hand on Rhys’s shoulder.

A gesture that would have seemed threatening from anyone else, but from Pho felt almost protective.

”Cho was scared too,” Pho said quietly, his voice losing some of its usual cold authority. ”My little brother. Every time we went into combat, I could see it in his eyes. But he learned to use that fear, to channel it into focus rather than panic.”

Rhys had heard Pho mention his brother perhaps three times in fifty days. Each mention carried weight, emotion that the demon usually kept buried beneath layers of control.

”What happened to him?” Rhys asked, not sure if he was overstepping, but feeling like the question needed to be asked.

Pho’s blank white eyes stared at the fortress for a long moment. ”He died doing something stupid. He tried to kill the Soul Warden. Now Jack turned his bones into his armor.” The demon’s clawed hand tightened slightly on Rhys’s shoulder. ”You remind me of him sometimes. Same tendency to overthink. Same desire to do the right thing even when it terrifies you.”

Slyph’s green aura dimmed slightly, her expression conveying respect for Pho’s emotional vulnerability.

”The difference,” Pho continued, his voice returning to its usual controlled tone, ”is that you’re going to learn from Cho’s mistakes. You’re going to be brave without being stupid. You’re going to use your fear as a tool rather than letting it control you.”

He released Rhys’s shoulder and stepped back, his blank white eyes somehow focusing with renewed intensity.

”You have forty-nine days remaining to reach Floor Ten. That’s approximately six days per floor, accounting for rest and recovery time between major fights. Floor Three ends with that fortress and the Drake inside it. So tell me, prince. Are you ready to prove that these fifty days of training weren’t wasted?”

Rhys took a deep breath, feeling the cold air fill his lungs.

His hands moved to the hilts of Tempest’s Edge.

The storm cloud daggers that had become extensions of his will over the past fifty days. Lightning crackled along their edges in response to his magic, eager to be used.

”I’m ready,” Rhys said, and was surprised to find he meant it.

The fear was still there. It would probably always be there. But it wasn’t paralyzing anymore. It was fuel, sharpening his focus rather than clouding it.

”Then move,” Pho commanded. ”And remember everything I taught you.”

Rhys started down the frozen slope toward the fortress. Slyph flew alongside him, her green aura leaving faint trails in the frigid air.

”So,” Slyph said conversationally as they descended, ”what’s the plan? Frontal assault? Stealth infiltration? Aggressive diplomacy where you politely ask the Drake to leave?”

Despite the tension, Rhys found himself smiling slightly. ”I was thinking of a frontal assault with tactical applications of overwhelming force.”

”Ooh, someone’s been listening to Pho’s lectures.”

”Hard not to when he repeats them constantly.”

”That’s because you keep making the same mistakes,” Pho’s voice carried from behind them, the demon following at a distance. ”Repetition builds muscle memory. Muscle memory keeps you alive when conscious thought is too slow.”

They reached the bottom of the slope and began crossing the frozen plain that separated them from the fortress.

The wind picked up, howling across the ice with enough force to make Slyph retreat partially back inside Rhys to avoid being blown away.

’I hate this floor,’ her voice echoed from within him. ’Everything is cold and miserable and trying to kill us.’

’Welcome to Tartarus Spire,’ Rhys thought back through their connection. ’Where even the weather is hostile.’

The fortress loomed larger as they approached, its walls rising like frozen cliffs. Rhys could now see movement on the battlements. Figures that were too large to be human.

”Defenders,” Pho observed from behind. ”Snowmen, most likely. Terror-rank creatures, minimal individual threat but dangerous in groups. Expect coordinated tactics and ice-based ranged attacks.”

Rhys nodded, his hands tightening on Tempest’s Edge. Fifty days of training had taught him that Terror-rank creatures were approximately equivalent to a Level 25 to Level 35 adventurer.

Dangerous if underestimated, but manageable with proper tactics.