Draconic Awakening

Another day in Wendigo's crust had passed, and just like the previous night, Ragnar had not spared himself a moment of rest. He had visibly shaking eyes and dark bags hanging below them, but still was in top shape to travel—according to his own assumptions.

As the first lights of day broke onto the jagged, serrated rocks of Wendigo's crust, Ragnar was up on his feet, ready to leave his cave.

With the map at hand and the help of the dancer as a scout, he would be guided out of this hell and to where Hagi had come from.

Stepping onto the snow, the desolate moaning gales met Ragnar's indifferent look, harshly making him shiver a little.

"If I ever make it out of this place alive, I'm going to despise ice for the rest of my life."

Ragnar established, beginning his journey—following, luckily, the map which was detailed to a good understanding.

Thanks to his new gear and his acquired Arcane, he was able to scale through the snow much easier. Well, easier did not mean he wasn't still struggling.

The further Ragnar went, the more he saw how weird this place truly was. It was enigmatic, having many rock-like structures that seemed to have been torn apart for centuries—cottages, or at least signs of them, Ragnar presumed.

But apart from that, all that was here were serrated rocks, jagged stone walls, and sometimes platforms that reached up a few meters into the air.

"This place is like a maze," Ragnar thought as he met many stone and ice-made walls that forced him to go around them.

Finally, he reached a small cliff reaching about twenty meters up into the air, and around it were a number of talus he could climb to get a better view of his surroundings.

Climbing up one of the smaller rocks to get to the higher ones, the young Lord made it a few meters up into the air and scouted further ahead.

And what he saw was rather unpleasant.

There were more ruins of still-standing rocks and pillars, and among them were a number of Ice Wendigos just moving around the vicinity in a single direction.

There were so many of them that Ragnar felt his heart tremble in shock. He never knew these Wretchborns were ones to hunt and stay together.

If not for the large wall of stone and ice that stood between them, Ragnar would have been spotted and hunted by the horde.

At least luck was on his side.

Ragnar waited for the numbers to thin out, staring at the several clusters of Wendigos moving towards a particular goal he had no idea about.

He noticed there were different clusters of Wendigos. One were small Ice Wendigos, like the grade one he had killed in the cave—skinny and nothing but an embodiment of bone and not much flesh.

Another group were much larger and well-fed, but not much different. And the third cluster were much larger than the size of humans or the normal Wendigo; they were as large as mammoths—or should the correct term be giants.

Their bodies were covered by disturbing dagger-like spikes, especially their backs, making them resemble porcupines. Their hands were much bulkier, but had smaller claws than the regular Wendigo.

If Ragnar was to guess, this species was a rank higher than the Wretchborns. If he was to guess, it would be a grade one Dreadling. And at his current level, he would rather not tangle with such menacing beasts.

After a while of waiting and studying the Wendigos as they slowly thinned out, his shadow—the dancer—returned to him, gasping for air... if that was something a shadow could undergo, or just it being dramatic.

"What did you see?" Ragnar asked.

{Dancer: An army of Wendigos are heading to a corpse of a prehistoric buffet. A large pillar for you to waltz all night—which most Wendigos cannot reach—not too far away.}

Ragnar nodded at the information. "—most."

He slowly got off the rock he stood on and headed down to the snow once more. "I guess the representation of buffet means a large beast has been killed. For so many Wendigos to be heading there, it probably means they'd all have a share of the spoils that was killed."

The young Lord could not imagine the size of the behemoth that was killed to feed such numbers—and did not want to imagine it.

{Something is coming.}

Another message appeared just as Ragnar reached the snow, jolting him. It was a message from the dancer at his feet, and if it was able to spot something, that meant it was really close.

Ragnar took action immediately and ran towards the large rocks, hiding behind one of them in haste. It wasn't a perfect hiding spot, but with the little time given, it was the best he found.

And soon, the reason for danger came into sight.

Three Wendigos—Wretchborns, all seemingly grade two from how bulkier they were compared to grade ones—were passing by.

He was lucky he had run when he did...

Ragnar could not fathom how hard it would have been to face three grade two Wendigos on his own.

He had not even faced one grade two Wendigo on his own originally, so he had no idea what the increase in strength between a grade one and two would be.

Well, he knew it wouldn't take long to find that out... and probably soon, he would be up against one.

However, Ragnar's eyes caught something very troubling before him. The rock he was on seemed very different from the ones he had been on beside the cliff.

Well, he was still right next to the small cliff, but the rocks on the other side next to the massive wall he peered over before were like grime, and were much fairer than the usual rocks—maybe even hollow.

Ragnar turned his gaze to his left and could see five more boulders the same way. His gaze turned to the base of his footing—no... he could see his foot. He wasn't in the sinking embrace of cursed snow but on uneven, rocky ground.

He was on solid ground.

Nothing about this felt good.

"I have a bad feeling about this," he gulped, turning his gaze around once more. Then his eyes finally caught it.

It was hard to spot because of its colour blending with its environment, but thanks to his Arcana Eyes being activated, Ragnar could see it.

A large Ice Wendigo—its size quite bigger than a grade two—with rock-like skin that allowed it to camouflage with its surroundings. It was as large as a grade one Dreadling, but still had nothing in common with one.

This made Ragnar cautious as to what type of realm beast this was.

{You have encountered a grade three Wretchborn… Mother of the Birthed… Welcome to her nest.}

Ragnar's eyes flew back to the strange rocks and then to the massive rock Wendigo at the other side of it. "This isn't good, no! This isn't good one bit."

If he ran outside, he would end up facing three grade two Wretchborns. If he stayed, he risked waking up a very angry, powerful mother.

Another thought flew into his mind at this point.

What if the three Wendigos were coming his way… to their mother? What would that mean?

All in all, this was the worst possible case scenario—and he was the star of it all.