The cold wind howled, and Ragnar felt his body quiver from the harshness it portrayed. This single feeling reminded him—he needed to move.
After all, he was in a mysterious land, one he was not familiar with. And from what he recalled from Ragnar's memories, Fang Zhen knew nothing good ever came in the night of the realms.
And he was not hoping to find out what made this one bad.
He rose from where he sat and navigated around the entire vicinity. For as far as he could see were mountains of ice, hills of snow, and the harsh truth that he had been unlucky.
Of all places he could have been dropped in, why had it been within the depths of a frozen river?
'First I need shelter,' Ragnar thought, turning his gaze around again. He could only see as far as the frozen shore, which was covered by snow. Beyond that—nothing.
Then he stared down at his shadows—particularly at the useless dancer.
At a time like this, he needed a scout, and this was the only one he had.
"Hey, Dancer, find me a place to hide. A makeshift roof and hard ground. Maybe a cave—anyone you find is gonna be useful. And don't wander too far or take too long."
As soon as he finished his order, the dancer surprisingly moved without hesitation.
Ragnar thought he would have to persuade it. With the way he had been treating the dancer, he doubted it would even take a single order from him—but it surprisingly did.
However, there was still a chance that the quiet dancer could choose to betray him—leading him to a much more dangerous place to get revenge or just to show Ragnar it deserved more respect.
The young Lord tensed at the thought, 'I hope not.'
It didn't take long before the dancer returned, running back to its master instead of dancing its way back, as usual.
Reaching Ragnar, it bent over and crouched down—like it was exhausted? Shadows didn't get exhausted, that was for sure.
Was it being sarcastic? Or was it really tired?
The young Lord found it hard to tell. 'It's just being dramatic, maybe.'
> {The Dancer: A large set of torn-apart, icy thick rocks up ahead—not too far. Acts like a cave with a roof, but not too deep within to be considered one. However, there is already a tenant you should worry about.}
Ragnar furrowed his brows. 'A tenant?'
He turned to the dancer—it still seemed to be in the same position as when it returned, bent over and exhausted.
"You saw a tenant?"
Asking the shadow, it lingered for just a moment before nodding.
This immediately gave the young Lord a sense of dread.
'What are the odds this tenant is human in any way?'
He doubted that. He highly doubted that fact.
Ragnar raised both of his hands and stared at all his fingers—until he found a golden ring placed on his index finger.
He tapped on the ring with his other hand a few times, and it gave a golden glow in response.
"Clothes," Ragnar whispered to it, as he had been taught.
Immediately, a golden light—almost like liquid—fell out of the ring as though it were sweating gold. The drop, ever so little, left the ring and plummeted to the ground. And as it fell, it grew, taking a strange form.
And when it reached the floor, its form was finally complete. It was a pair of clothing, all black—which was bad for stealth in an ice-filled realm.
Whoever picked out the wear had no idea they would end up in a cruel land covered in ice and snow.
But with the clothes right before him, a sense of warmth staring back at his naked body, he quickly jumped at them and began putting them on.
They were a little bigger than his size, but not too much for him to complain.
After putting on the hooded sweater and the trousers that came with it, Ragnar exhaled.
The clothing didn't do much against the cold, but at least it kept him a little warm. This acted as a cruel eye-opener.
His fingers had frostbite. His entire body from head to toe was already freezing—literally becoming a part of the ice.
He was dying without knowing it.
'And I will die surely if I don't get a shelter against the wind.'
He thought to speak to the dancer but froze up as his teeth clattered uncontrollably.
Luckily, the dancer understood him and began to move in the direction of the shelter.
The young Lord lingered for a bit, shut his mouth, and followed after his shadow.
'I don't feel things instantly. That's why I can't tell how cold it is—or how much my body is freezing,' Ragnar thought, tightening his fists. His fingers and even his wrist felt stiff, hurting only slightly, but they were frozen.
This was one of the abilities of the Arcana Eyes. It dulled his senses a bit at times. This was useful when fighting a battle that demanded enduring a lot of pain and still doing his best to persist. But also quite deadly—if he was supposed to measure how hurt he was, or how close to death he currently was, more appropriately put.
The trek up the terrain of ice mounds was, at first, very tricky—as this was the first time Ragnar—and also Fang Zhen—had trekked through ice.
It confused him how his boots kept sinking deeply into the ice every time he took a step, reaching up to his knees before he stopped sinking.
Another factor was the heart-stabbing pain he got from the cold around his legs every time he moved.
This was not just a trek of sheer strength and determination—but one of insanity.
With the cold air blocking his nostrils, his hands trembling, and his heartbeat palpitating with every reducing inch of temperature, this seasoned Lord was at the brink of utter insanity.
'Will I even make it?' he asked himself—not just once, but repeatedly with every step he took. And his answer was one very obvious to him.
'I was the one that jumped, didn't I? No one pushed me, so I have to pull through this.'
Finally, after a long trek through the heavily padded snow, Ragnar and the dancer reached a dark, surreal part of the icy realm.
A region where there were actual large boulders—torn up and jagged—all around, as though it was another part of the world on its own, yet still half-submerged in snow.
The shadow climbed up one of the many boulders—not too high but still a long climb.
Ragnar let out a groan, walked up to the boulder, and began to climb to the top. It wasn't too steep and had many holds to grab onto, so hard was not the word to use for the climb.
But those holds the young Lord had to grab onto were sharp and jagged. And with his numb, bare hands grasping them, they tore through, bruising red—and with the cold seeping in, it was no good feeling for him.
Still, Ragnar persisted, ignoring the pain as best he could. Even with his Arcana—it was still hell.
Although he finally got to the top of the jagged boulder where the dancer waited, he took a long breath and gasped for air—hot air—not the cold poison that dug heartlessly into him.
Though that was nowhere to be found.
There was no time to rest still. Ragnar raised his head slightly to scout his surroundings. It was a region with many rock-like pillars, many torn-up boulders, and snow that submerged it. It was like a thick forest, in which rocks were the trees and the snow the ground.
Taking a much more detailed scope of his environment with his Arcana Eyes, he could finally spot the cave-like shelter his shadow had talked about—
'So this bastard really conveyed real information... maybe he isn't as useless as I give him credit for...'
However, Ragnar had to keep all his sentiments to himself—as with his new shelter came the one tenant his shadow had warned about.
And there before him, was no human.