The mighty Realm Beast stood just before Ragnar, its monstrous white milky eyes fixated on him—yet not being able to see made it dormant... for now.
Although this small hesitation, the young Lord would not let slide.
Ragnar gritted his teeth. Grabbing the hilt of his sword with both hands, he pulled back and let his sword cut into the air with a sharp sound.
The Realm Beast, at this moment, sensed the noise and snarled—jarring open its suffocating maws, ready to attack Ragnar as it pulled back its head for a massive bite forward. But its reaction had come a second too late.
Ragnar's blade landed first, and with a sickening noise, it flew into the mouth of the Ice Wendigo through its hard palate, stopping momentarily after breaching it.
The sword had not come out through the Realm Beast. However, one thing was sure—the blade had breached its brains, and unless it could live without a brain, it was surely dead.
The Ice Wendigo let out a bloodcurdling shriek at the attack—it was enraged. Not that it could do anything more, as its death was certain.
However, this was where the young Lord realized he had made a mistake...
"Oh nO!" he cried out as the Ice Wendigo raised both its hands up to him and latched its disgusting, horrid claws to his sides just beneath his arm, then began to lash out at him—quickly peeling off his skin.
"God! Oh God!" he screamed, jerking his head back as he let go of the hilt of his blade in pain and instinctively thrust his elbow at the chin of the Realm Beast with all of his strength.
His attack was nothing but infuriating and useless—his hand basically bounced off the beast's tough frame, returning to him.
'Fuck! Arrrgh! I'm dying!' he thought, feeling the pain triple as the icy, jagged claws roughly tore past his flesh and could clearly be felt hitting the surface of his rib bone, threatening to break through it any moment from now.
But thankfully, the little strength the Ice Wendigo had sufficed, and it all of a sudden fell sideways to the ground—limp. Ragnar followed after, as the claws of the Realm Beast still lay buried in his ribcage.
"Damn you! You fucking blind pig..." Ragnar insulted in a low, condescending tone. He found it hard to ignore the pain; however, the thought of a rock surface away from the snow and blistering cold wind gave him some bliss.
Some, to be precise.
{Congratulations}
{You have successfully slayed a Grade 3 Wretchborn}
{Arcane core: 3/500}
Ragnar watched the multiple messages pop up and was, for one, strangely surprised.
His gaze widened as he stared back at the Ice Wendigo, whose body seemed to be deteriorating quickly.
'This bastard was a Grade 3 Wretchborn? How the hell?'
Wretchborn were at the very bottom of the type of Realm Beasts one could find in the realms—and back on Earth, they might be at the bottom, but that did not mean they were weak to humans.
A Grade 1 Wretchborn should be enough to wipe out a group of five humans like him that just entered the realm—not humans that had already absorbed Arcane, though.
But a Grade 3 should still have been a huge problem.
That was why Ragnar was lucky. He had just killed a Grade 3 that had been so badly injured—handicapped by a long shot—and now he gained the rewards from it.
Whoever had injured the monster had probably died in battle, but Ragnar was grateful.
He reeled in the thought of his gain from the kill. Arcana was the ability everyone in this world possessed, and to get stronger one needed Arcane to do so.
The only ways to get Arcane were to absorb the cores of Realm Beasts one had slain or bought—but strangely, he got three without even absorbing the core.
Which was strange.
Well, Ragnar kept all his suspicions for later. Raising his hands up to his ribs, he disconnected the Wendigo's nail-like claws from himself and pushed its already stiffening, decayed hands off him. Rising to his feet, he inspected his injuries.
Strangely, they had already stopped hurting and were somewhat… healing.
'How come? Is this my Arcana or the effect of the Arcane from the kill?' Taking another look at his kill, he shook his head. 'No, it must be my Arcana—it's gotten stronger thanks to the Arcane, I guess.'
Arcane increase gave humans two things: one was a stronger Arcana, and another was a stronger body physique. Both the young Lord could already feel as a slight change in his body.
After his short pondering, he turned to the dead Realm Beast. Pulling his sword, he used the blade to take apart the gut and chest of the beast for any beast core.
None could be found apparently. It was as he suspected—killing the Ice Wendigo, he had automatically absorbed its essence.
{The poet has written new words about you}
Ragnar's eyes furrowed as he read the information.
{Faceless son of darkness, hath you no honour, simply plunging a horrid blade into the soul of a blind helpless. Wretch of cowardice}
The young Lord frowned, "Blind helpless? Wretch of cowardice?"
'A helpless bastard almost dug through my bones.' He threw out a fuck you gesture to the shadow and grimaced. "Honour and loyalty, do I strike you like the type to care about shit like that?"
With that, he turned around to the large boulder before him and stared at it for a while in exasperation.
'This again.'
He frowned at the climb, turning to the dancer, "Any alternative up?"
The dancer shrugged and gave no reply. This confirmed Ragnar's answer.
"Damn it!" he growled, walking to the base of the rocky boulder and climbing up. Despite all his pain, he ignored them all and continued his own pacing up.
The climb felt more effortless for some reason—like he had gotten stronger. Well, he did get stronger from killing the Ice Wendigo and getting three Arcane to his core. But that did not mean the pain had diminished.
One was the cold that had crept past his skin and flesh—he could literally feel it deep within his organs, like a menace threatening to devour him. Another was the pain under his right arm where the ledge had struck him. Thirdly was the clawed parts of his flesh—or should he say, ribs. And lastly, his hands, peeled by the sharp rocks.
Not to forget, this was only his first day in the realm—and he was this beat up.
'Fuck me!' he groaned, finally throwing himself up the top of the wall and then gazing at his new home.
He jumped off the top and let himself crash onto the snow, sneaking into its cold embrace that instantly threatened to take his life.
The young Lord jerked himself back up and then he curled up from the cold. 'At least I found something useful to do with this snow.'
He thought to himself, walking towards the cave. Now up close, he could see how large and well-sheltered it was.
It was truly worth the hassle over with the Grade 3 Wretchborn.
But as Ragnar's gaze searched the cave further, he came to a halt. His heart palpitated, and he was immediately stunned by what he saw.
Deep within the cave was another being—and he was standing right in the open, before it—and its eyes were directly placed on his.
"Shit—"