Draconic Awakening

Day one of hunting and Ragnar had begun his journey to getting stronger. At first, after he left the human hive, he did not leave the yard. However, he went towards a distant ship with no sign of any life or anything.

His theory being that, if this place was like Wendigo Crust, every ship would be teeming with monsters, Wretchborns, and even maybe Dreadlings.

Even if the humans had cleared just three ships for their own use, he was sure they did not clear the others, not wanting to spread their forces too thin around the yard.

But still, something was off. And unfortunately, that wasn't Ragnar's recurring goal at the time. He wasn't playing detective, but was set on getting stronger.

The young Lord had finally reached an ideal target for his ventures. It was a massive ship that seemed to have been mostly consumed by the ice, only its upper deck, torn-up sails, and wheelhouse surfacing above the frost.

"A ship that sinks within the ice, what do you think?" Ragnar turned to the entertainment of his shadows.

The dancer shrugged, scared of the sight of the buried ship whose desolate sails creaked abnormally in the hoarse wind.

The prisoner continued to sway and the writer shook its head before going back to its usual habits of writing undisturbed.

Ragnar had no idea why he was even asking his shadows in the first place. Shaking his head at his delusion, he approached the ship stealthily, and when he was just a few feet off, in the area where its parts were scattered ruefully, he summoned into his grasp his Drake Sigil.

The Duskrime formed into his hands — its dark hilt materializing first, then its guard, and finally its long obsidian blade that oozed out shadow-like energy. It was a strange blade, and it reminded him of what Princess Arya's blade looked like, just that this one was much more enigmatic maybe.

Although he was not concerned about the looks, he knew what use the sword had — that was what made it different from his other two blades.

He hoped to find out soon.

Climbing onto the top deck of the ship, Ragnar scanned the entire expanse of it. It was wide, very large, and silent. Apart from the gruesome wind, nothing could be heard — all but his footsteps.

The wooden surface creaked at every step, making his presence more announced. Whatever was on the surface of this ship would have already caught drift of his presence on the deck.

He sent the dancer around to scan the entire expanse, and it did, returning to him in the next few moments with news that made his muscles tighten.

He wasn't alone.

Reaching the midst of the torn-up deck, Ragnar began to hear hitched breaths, creaking from other sides of the surface of the ship.

He turned around — and what he saw was terrifying.

There were men, about five of them, dressed in torn-up coats and boots, or what remained of their wear. They looked decayed, dead even, and the only sign of life in them were the glows in their eye sockets. The crimson, menacing, ethereal light from their sockets gave nothing but a feeling of foreboding.

{Grade One Zombies: members of the crew that remained on the ship despite the curse of the hideous Fiend.}

Ragnar tightened his grasp around his blade, seeing a few other zombies rise up from his side, others from behind, and a few more before him, materializing from the deck of the ship as though they were ghosts.

"Just as I thought, my fate always trails down insanely difficult things!" he thought, taking a stance as the horde started to move towards him.

Two zombies came first, swinging their hands out at Ragnar, aiming to grab him and tackle him to the ground. But he was too fast, sidestepping and avoiding the two's reach.

Then he attacked, swinging his blade, and as though he was cutting thin sheets of paper, his sword tore through their throats, beheading both bodies.

The next set came quickly and Ragnar was able to easily avoid their attacks, dodging then countering.

Compared to Ice Wendigos, the zombies were far weaker and simply empty shells trying to kill him. If he had been a human that had just entered into the realm, then maybe he would have been killed by them. But with his current strength, that seemed impossible.

The only hassle with the zombies were their numbers, as they came together as one to grab Ragnar, some even snapping their rotten teeth to get a bite at him.

"They're too many," Ragnar established, summoning his shield into his hand to block the flooding numbers from one side while he used his blade to defend against another. He kept at this, blocking the majority then attacking another side to get space to move around, but soon the young Lord began to tire out.

Just as he feared, numbers would always prevail over strength in the end.

"If this doesn't work, I'll just have to use my flames to finish off the horde—" A zombie smashed hard into his shield, calling back to light as he almost stumbled back.

Shit!

Ragnar raised his blade again and sliced off the hands of another zombie that tried to grab him. He was getting overwhelmed fast and would soon have to resort to using his flames... However, something strange came up before his gaze before he could do so.

It was a notification...

{Duskrime has finished consuming souls. Your blade has been charged! Would you like to use a skill...?}

Distracted by the information that had appeared, a zombie slipped past his defense, lunging forward with hands outstretched and tackling him straight to the ground.

With a loud thud Ragnar's body hit the deck, his entire being shocked by the fact that he was now on the ground and open to the attack of the entire horde.

It didn't take long before all he saw was darkness — not darkness, but the bodies of the zombies that had blocked the light of day from his gaze.

"Arrrgh! Work, you fucking sword!" With that last yell, he was buried under the horde's might.