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Chapter: 16
At first, a single undead warrior emerged from the dark forest. Clad in rusted Viking armor, it dragged an axe in one hand and carried a dented shield in the other. Moments later, more followed—dozens—until a horde of fifty undead stood menacingly at the tree line.
"Why are they all wearing the exact same type of armor and weapons?" Sigrun voiced the question everyone was thinking. It was one thing to see a Draug, but seeing all of them using identical equipment felt unnerving.
"I've got no clue myself," Erik replied, his brow furrowed. "Every Draug that's attacked this village looks just like these ones. Same armor, same weapons—even the undead orcs have identical features."
Without warning, the undead suddenly broke into a sprint, a grotesque charge toward anything living. Erik barked an order, and all warriors in the clearing raised their weapons, bracing themselves.
Steel clashed with bone. Magic lit the battlefield in bursts of fire, ice, and lightning. The Valkyries moved with elegance and fury, slicing through rotting flesh and blasting apart skeletal ranks. At first, it seemed almost too easy.
But that illusion shattered quickly.
"How many have we taken down already?" one Valkyrie asked, panting. The fight had raged on for nearly an hour, yet the undead numbers had not dwindled. If anything, they were growing.
Every ten slain seemed to bring forth twenty more from the dark forest.
As undead archers joined the fray, supported by rotting orcs, the Valkyries took to the skies with flight magic. They swooped like eagles, raining destruction from above, yet the enemy's ranks remained endless.
Erik Ivarson, the Ironhide, swung his massive, double-edged sword with terrifying force. With every sweep, several Draug were reduced to broken limbs and shattered bones. But even he felt it—an unease deep in his gut.
There's more of them than usual, he thought, sweat dripping from his temple. Something's not right.
Their aggression was unlike anything before. The undead weren't just attacking—they were pressing, adapting, swarming with calculated relentlessness.
"What the hell is going on tonight?"
Nearby, Rossweisse was locked in a brutal duel with an undead orc. She deflected a blow, then countered with an ice blast that froze its chest solid. With a precise slash, she shattered the frozen mass, killing it instantly.
My magic reserves are running low… she grimaced, her breath labored. This battle had gone on far too long, and many of her fellow Valkyries were visibly tiring.
The undead, however, showed no signs of fatigue. Their assault had remained as intense as it had at the start.
"Rose! Watch out for the—!"
Sigrun's shout was cut off as Rossweisse was tackled from the side, crashing to the ground with a sharp grunt. Her attacker raised its axe—but before the blow could fall, a spear pierced its torso, lifting and slamming it aside.
Sigrun rushed in and beheaded the creature in a clean strike.
"You really need to be more careful, Rose," she muttered, helping her to her feet.
"Something's wrong," Sigrun added, driving her blade through another Draug's skull.
"What do you mean?" Rossweisse asked, parrying another strike.
"Erik said these undead are different—more relentless, like they're trying to wear us down."
And then, a sound split the sky.
ROAR!!!
From the treetops, an undead dragon burst forth—a beast of bone and rotted flesh, wings tattered yet functional. Though smaller than the ancient dragons of legend, it was unmistakably a dragon nonetheless.
Thankfully, it wasn't coming for them.
It soared past the battlefield, heading directly toward the unprotected village.
They wanted to chase it, to intercept the monster before it reached innocent lives—but the undead intensified their attacks, anchoring them to the ground. Erik cursed violently. He couldn't leave these young Valkyries behind.
Minutes later, the dragon returned. Clutched in its talons was a writhing figure.
The Oracle.
"AADA!" Rossweisse shouted in horror as the dragon veered back toward the forest.
"HELP ME!" the Oracle screamed, but none could reach her. The undead fought harder than ever, swarming the Valkyries and forcing them to remain grounded.
Rossweisse gritted her teeth. With no time to lose, she launched herself upward, using an orc's shoulder as a springboard. Flight magic flared around her, and she soared after the dragon.
It was reckless. Foolish. But necessary.
Without the Oracle, there was no way back to Asgard—and replacing her would take far too long.
Luckily, she wasn't alone. Five other Valkyries followed, their magic propelling them forward.
"Go for the wings!" one shouted.
They launched volleys of elemental attacks, some striking true. But the dragon pushed harder, accelerating despite the damage. It was trying to escape.
They gave chase, but distance was growing. The forest below blurred as they flew farther from the village.
And then the worst happened.
ROAR!
ROAR!
ROAR!
ROAR!
ROAR!
ROAR!
Six more undead dragons erupted from the forest below, forming an impenetrable barrier. A wall of death.
There was no getting past them. No way to reach the Oracle now.
The lead dragon vanished into the shadows with its captive.
"Fall back!" one of the Valkyries cried out. "We can't win this!"
They say Valkyries are one of the bravest warriors in the supernatural realms. But even the bravest must know when to retreat.
This was a losing battle—and staying would mean certain death. So they retreated.
The dragons roared and began pursuit, obeying their master's command: Leave no intruders alive.
The Valkyries retreated as fast they can, but the undead dragons were getting closer and closer towards them.
"Those lizards are getting really close!" One of the Valkyrie shouted, they all took a look behind them and indeed those undead dragons were not too far behind them.
"Let's hurry!" One of the Valkyrie said and all of them increased their speed.
CHING!
Rossweisse's momentum stopped midair. Something metallic latched onto her foot.
A chain—tight, cursed, and draining her magic.
"What—?" she gasped as the chain yanked her down. She screamed as she fell through the canopy, crashing into the forest below.
The others heard her cry, turned in horror, but the dragons were almost upon them.
They wanted to help. They really do, but...
They couldn't. They could not guarantee that they would make it out alive if they went to save her, especially with the undead dragons who were approaching them at alarming speed.
They had to make a terrible decision.
They fled. Hoping that she could save herself.
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Rossweisse hit the ground with a sickening thud. Pain radiated from her back, and the cursed chain still clung to her leg, sucking away her strength.
Then she saw it.
A massive Draug emerged—towering, muscular, its face crawling with maggots. It held the cursed chain in one hand and wore a spiked gauntlet on the other.
It yanked her forward violently, lifting he up and slamming her into the dirt.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Her vision blurred. Her magic was nearly gone. The chain was draining everything she had left.
The giant Draug raised its spiked gauntlet. Clearly aiming to finish her off.
'This is it.', she thought bitterly. 'Mom... Dad... Grandma... I'm sorry.'
Her world slowly darkened, the spiked gauntlet descended onto her, it looks like this was the end for her.
Then—
FWOOSH!
A stream of fire blasted the Draug, engulfing it. Causing it to take a stop it's attack and makung it take a step back. It turned to face it's attaker.
A deep, growling voice followed.
"Otoydi ot neye, ublyudok!"
(Get away from her, you bastard!)
With that Rossweisse lost consciousness.
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"Papa," Artom asked, "what is she?"
Nikolai looked down at the unconscious girl in his arms, carrying her in bridal style. "She's a girl."
"We know that," Igor retorted. "But what is she? She's wearing weird clothes."
"I have no damn clue," Nikolai shrugged. He'd found her maybe thirty minutes ago—right after he saw six damn dragons fly overhead and heard something massive slamming the ground.
When he investigated, he saw the maggot-covered undead flinging a body like a ragdoll, it was going to slam it's spiked gauntlet on her, but he was not going to let that happen. He went in without wasting a single moment and he got there just on time.
A blast of Fire Breath to the undead's face, engulfing it's entire body aswell. Then several whacks with his sledgehammer until it stopped moving.
He immediately put his focus on the chain around her foot that was definitely cursed—Magic Drain. He dealt with that too. Grabbing the chain, he let the Mist do its thing.
[DIGESTION TIME: 10 SECONDS]
.
.
.
[ITEM DIGESTED]
[ITEM CANNOT BE FURTHER IMPROVED]
He went to check on the girl, he check her heart breathing and then check for her heartbeat by placing his ear on her chest—Her heart was still beating and she was still breathing. She was alive! He took a sigh of relief. She did not seem to have any broken bones or serious laceration, so it's probably because of the magic exhaustion caused by the cursed chain.
After that, he picked her up and decided to bring her back to the cabin, so that she can heal. Bridal carry seemed safest option at the moment.
As they walked towards their cabin, he took this opportunity to inspect her outfit or armour what ever it was. And honestly her outfit was... something else. A white breastplate with gold and pale blue accents, fingerless gauntlets, boots, wing-shaped hair clips, black leotard, thigh-highs, and a blue cloth wrapped around her hips with pink lace.
She do looked like a warrior.
A very flashy warrior it seems.
"Guess we'll ask her when she wakes up," he muttered. The girl in his arms groaned in pain, so he adjusted the way he carried her to make it more comfortable for her.
"I hope she likes meat and potato soup," he added as they walked.
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