Draconic Awakening

From every side Ragnar could feel blows hurting his shield, his legs, his arms. He was even being crushed further into the wall he backed by the force of the Wendigos that shoved his shield back with full force.

Groaning, Ragnar found himself being pressed by his shield towards the wall with a crushing weight. He screamed out in pain, trying to push back with all his force, but that was useless. It wasn't that he had become too weak to push back the horde; however, the number of Wendigos that had piled up before his shield was alarming.

The golden light of the flames that shone before from the top of the obsidian Mesa was no more. All he could see was utter darkness and blood pouring all over him — from Wendigos that got crushed on his shield, and others from him getting wounded by the claws that came his way.

Even if he did not want it, this was the end of him. No more tricks, no way out of it — he was going to be crushed to death.

'In both lives! The world is against me and my dream! Even if I die now, I'll make sure to live once more. It will be an endless circle if so, until I achieve my goal in—' the Lord's eyes flickered as something strange had happened. The shield had stopped squashing him any further, and the noise of growling and claws scratching the surface of his shield had grown somewhat distant.

"Am I dead?" He dropped his gaze to his entire being and activated his Arcana, seeing his entire body reeling in the pain. He could definitely tell he was still alive.

Then why had the horde suddenly backed down from ending him?

There were multiple thoughts that came to mind. Still, Ragnar refused to entertain these thoughts. He groaned, placing his shoulder to his shield and, with all his might, pushed at it to free himself from the Wendigos that were still grounding him.

At first, it proved very difficult to free himself from the tight corner, but soon he managed to push his shield, shoving away what seemed like piles of dead Wendigos down the steep slope, which was coated with even more bodies — his original doing.

Although something was off — very off.

There was another being before Ragnar that he found hard to recognize. Furrowing his gaze, Ragnar stared at the being that stood right before him and his shield. It seemed the strange creature had freed him from being buried by the Wendigo mass.

"Why the hell are you staring!" The annoyed yelling from the person knocked Ragnar out of his thoughts, and he immediately recognized what this being was.

"A human."

It was actually a human... A being like him in Wendigos Crust. This fact baffled Ragnar, who had obliviously forgotten what his race looked like. However, this sight left him a bit gratified to be alive.

Taking his gaze off the first man before him, he saw another behind, fighting off the hordes of Wendigos in the distance. This man fought with two duo blades, killing several Ice Wendigos each second. And whether it was his Arcana or just his appearance, the Wendigos seemed to back off from him every time he attacked.

"Don't worry about Cleaver, he'll be alright," the other man before him offered his hand, face filled with worry and a sense of admiration.

Ragnar was not quick to trust, but he had absolutely nothing to lose — not that he wanted anything more to do with the horde — so he dismissed his shield and grabbed onto the hand of the man, getting pulled up to stand on the bodies of the dead Ice Wendigos there.

"Hope you are in the best condition to climb. If not, I'm afraid you'll have to sleep here with the other animals," the man said, gesturing towards a rope that was hanging on the obsidian wall of the Mesa.

Ragnar kept his calm and nodded, having no choice but to trust the man before him and climb up the rope — which he instantly did without any objections, racing towards the rope and latching onto it desperately.

He began to climb far faster than the man expected he would be able to do with the number of injuries he possessed. But unknown to him, Ragnar had taught himself how to manage and endure pain throughout his stay here.

And when he was a good distance up, the man finally turned around to his colleague, Cleaver, who seemed to be revelling in the massacre of the vile beasts.

The man frowned at it. He hated the cursed Maze and especially the Ice Wendigos that populated it. Still, now was not the right time to fight. "Cleaver! Come!"

Hearing the voice of his colleague, Cleaver's smile turned into a frown. He was enjoying himself, and now a command was given to stop. How tiring.

Cleaver pulled his blade from the skulls of two Wendigos and let out a sigh. "Fucking Wretchborns!"

With that, he began to run towards the obsidian wall to join his comrade, who was already scaling the wall thanks to the help of the rope.

The Wendigos were dazed by his sudden retreat, and in a moment, whatever magical effect that seemed to daze them originally had sufficed into nothingness, and they chased after him with brutal savagery. However, they had moved a little too late.

The young man had started to scale the wall, and with an incredible speed that allowed him to reach the very top of the Mesa within a few minutes of climbing.

Ragnar was the first to reach the top of the Mesa and the end of the rope. Dragging himself from the wall and onto the top of his long-awaited goal, he took in a long breath and exhaled very loudly.

Walking a few feet forward before his legs buckled, giving in and letting him fall to his knees in exhaustion.

'Finally, I made it...' Ragnar's eyes grew and his mouth fell agape. On the obsidian Mesa, there was shockingly not a trace of snow anywhere. He was kneeling in green fields of grass, and it was extremely warm — to the point he almost forgot the tortures of the frostbite of Wendigos Crust.

And at every edge of the obsidian Mesa were torches lit, which explained the golden glow he had seen in the distance.

It was a bit...

"Disappointing, isn't it?"

The voice took the words right off Ragnar's mind, calling his attention.

There, sitting on a rock in the distance, was a majestic being. No... it was a woman. She was extremely beautiful — long silver hair, a very cute face, pink lips that had not tasted a single effect of the cold snow. She looked almost like a goddess, dressed in a very nice garment, and from the smoothness of her skin, it was as though she had experienced a far better side of Wendigos Crust than Ragnar had.

The young Lord was filled with blood, scars, dishevelled hair — he looked almost as though a madman. Well, his actions too would be considered insane, so he wasn't far off the idea of being called a madman.

But this was a lady that seemed like she entered the VIP section of the realm.

"Hello? Please answer me when I talk to you." This time she was more authoritative than being nice.

Ragnar shrugged, a frown forming on his face. "If this is what you call disappointing, then there's no harm going down to enjoy the leisure from the snow. After all, I'm living proof that it isn't that bad."

The thing that came next dazed Ragnar.

The lady burst into laughter, her cute, soothing voice echoing across the top of the obsidian Mesa.

"Sorry, but I'm not sure I would like that experience." She made a joke... but not a funny one.

Ragnar faked his smile. 'Yeah, thanks. I'll remind myself not to try to kill you later on.'

The lady finally stopped laughing, and she pushed the white strand of hair off her face. Then with the sweetest voice she could muster, she said, "Welcome to the gate to leave Wendigos Crust."