Draconic Awakening

The cold wind started to dissipate evidently as night drew near over the vast expanse of the First Realm. And over Wendigo's Crust, Ragnar sat on his bottom and slowly pushed away the grade one corrupted Wendigo off his being.

He let out a sigh of exhaustion and turned to the writer with an uneven grin, "Was that honourable enough for you?"

The writer gave no reply, almost paying him no attention as it continued to scribble in its strange shadow book.

'What the hell does it even write in those pages?' Ragnar asked himself, oblivious to the habits of the Shadow Writer. No matter how long Ragnar spied on it, it seemed like the writer never stopped once in its scribbling—it wrote endlessly on the pages.

But that did not bother him much. After all, each of the three strange shadows had their own weird quirks they kept at—like the Dancer dancing every now and then, and the Lonesome Prisoner standing in his chains like a deranged psycho. Who really cared?

{Congratulations}

{You have killed a Grade One Corrupted Ice Wendigo}

{You have killed the Mother of the Nest}

{You have killed a Grade One Corrupted Ice Wendigo}

Ragnar could at least grin at the set of notifications. The battle had been tough, and he rose to the top as the winner of it all—and not just that...

The young Lord's face seemed to lighten up as he stared at another piece of information the system displayed.

{You have received a new Ember Mark}

Ragnar hurried to access more information on what the system had given, particularly starting with the information of lesser importance.

{Arcane Core 11/500}

The young Lord smiled. 'I gained almost twice the number of my original Arcane. This should at least give me a boost in my healing speed and efficiency—not to forget my physical prowess.'

That was true. Thanks to the increase in Arcane in Ragnar's core, his body was already evidently healing faster than it usually would, and his being on the outside had changed slightly—not noticeable to him, but he had gotten a bit more muscular than when he first stepped into the realm.

Ragnar proceeded to check his dragon cultivation to see if it had increased like his Arcane Core, although it did not. The original Ragnar did not have much information on how cultivation worked—still, not many knew, as this was information only accessible to the Awakened. And last time he checked, he was nothing but a mere human trying to survive the dangers of his First Realm.

'Or can cultivation be like that of my first world, where one needs to either draw in nature energy or draw out energy from mystical relics to grow stronger?' Ragnar considered all factors that came to mind. When he was done, he decided to try all his theories when he got to safety or found another shelter to rest and hide from the passing Wendigos.

"Let's see if this battle really paid off well," Ragnar gulped hard and summoned his Ember Marks.

{Blood Sucker}

{Cloak of the Fox}

The names of his Ember Marks were not encouraging at all. But the names wouldn't really matter in battling a beast, would they? Ragnar ordered the system to display further information, and it did once more.

{Cloak of the Fox: Be able to hide in plain sight if user stays still. No beast or being will be able to detect you whether by sight, smell, or any other senses. But be warned—not many will be fooled by the tricks of a coward.}

Ragnar was mesmerized by this. "An Ember Mark similar to what the grade three Mother of the Nest could pull off. This is truly great, especially for hunting and traveling through the maze."

{Prisoner: The question is—Is the maze the end of the realm, or does it go further?}

Ragnar read the notification from the Prisoner and then lingered there for a moment. He wanted to believe it was, but something deep within him told him otherwise.

Finally, the last lights of the day disappeared and everywhere was encased in a consuming darkness.

And unlike the other nights Ragnar had gone through, this one was different—as it was nothing short of noisy, with groups of Wendigos passing by the nest, growling and sometimes having small squabbles between each other.

He would sometimes get a bit agitated thinking those squabbles would reach the nest, and then he would have to battle a few Ice Wendigos on his own, which surely would have ended up disastrous. He got lucky with the Mother of the Nest, but with a few grade twos or grade ones, he wouldn't stand a chance.

But those squabbles never reached the nest. Clearly, the other Wretchborns could tell it was a nest—and a dangerous one at that—as none dared get too close.

Hours passed, and finally it was morning again, far quicker than Ragnar thought it would be, as he had stayed up all night once again, refusing to get a wink of sleep.

'Comfort is the single enemy of man...', he made sure to remind himself, and his two shadows—the Prisoner and the Dancer—seemed to tilt their heads a little bit at his words.

"Comfort builds weak men with no goals and dreams to show for it. Discomfort saved me... in both lives," he said, rising to his feet.

Ragnar's being was not as sore as it had been last night—it actually felt much better than it usually did. But still, the cold gale and dried blood on his body reminded him differently.

He took his eyes off his body. "How much my siblings would kill to see me in such a sorry state... the great Fang Zhen, demon of cultivation." He forced a laugh at himself and shook his head in shame. Then he turned to the Dancer and nodded for it to show him the way.

The Dancer nodded and disconnected from his foot, racing out of the nest. Ragnar followed at a steady pace.

If he was to spend days, maybe weeks or months in this wretched Crust filled with Wendigos, he would do all in his power to get stronger—killing as many of these beasts as he could. He would become his own hunting party and get out of this Realm as a powerful Awakened.

That was it. He would make it out alive.