CHAPTER 7: INTO ENEMY WATERS
The icy winds howled through the clearing on the outskirts of Frostholm, carrying the faint scent of pine and frost. The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the gathered crowd. Villagers, orcs, and newly arrived refugees stood in a wide semicircle, their breath fogging in the frigid air as they watched John prepare for another necromantic ritual.
In the center of the clearing, two massive piles of bones, driftwood, and salvaged materials sat in organized mounds. Surrounding the piles, rune-inscribed torches cast an eerie blue light, their glow dancing across John’s shadowed features. His wings stretched slightly behind him, the glossy black feathers shifting as he exhaled slowly, centering himself.
Freya stood nearby, her axe slung over her shoulder. Despite her injuries, she radiated her usual sharp-edged confidence. “You sure this will work?” she asked, her tone even but curious.
John glanced at her, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “It’ll work. The question is whether I can keep my mana from running out halfway through.”
Freya arched a brow. “We’ve got buckets of water and coffee waiting, just in case.”
“Thanks for the faith,” John replied, stepping into the circle. Magnus, standing at the edge of the crowd, chimed in with his usual dry humor. “If you faint, Bone Caller, at least do it dramatically. Collapse into the snow, maybe throw in a noble gasp. The villagers will love it.”
“Noted,” John said, rolling his eyes as the crowd chuckled softly.
He raised his hands, the runes on his arms beginning to glow faintly. The clearing fell silent, the hum of necromantic energy filling the air. Slowly, John began to chant, his voice low and resonant. The torches flared brighter as the first pile of bones and driftwood began to shift, the pieces floating into the air as if guided by unseen hands.
The crowd watched in awe as the materials twisted and fused together. Ribs of driftwood extended into skeletal hulls, vertebrae formed the spines of masts, and skulls embedded themselves into the prows, their hollow eyes glowing faintly with soulfire. The first ship began to take shape, its skeletal structure sleek and menacing. Long oars, carved from femurs, extended from its sides, and its mast sprouted a tattered, ghostly sail that shimmered in the torchlight.
John’s breathing grew heavier as the energy poured through him, but he pressed on. With a final surge of power, the warship settled into place, its hull groaning as it shifted slightly on the snow-covered ground. Its skeletal prow, shaped like a dragon’s head, loomed over the onlookers, its empty sockets glowing faintly blue.
The crowd erupted into murmurs of awe and unease. “That’s... incredible,” one villager whispered. “Terrifying,” another added, though their tone carried more respect than fear.
Freya approached the ship, her sharp eyes scanning its construction. “It’s impressive,” she admitted. “But can it fight?”
John wiped sweat from his brow, a faint smile on his lips. “Oh, it can fight. Give me a moment, and I’ll give it a scout for company.”
He stepped toward the second pile, taking a moment to sip from a water flask handed to him by a villager. The process began again, though this time the structure forming was smaller and more agile. The scout ship took shape quickly, its slender hull designed for speed and maneuverability. Unlike the warship, its prow featured a skeletal wolf, its bared teeth gleaming in the torchlight.
As the second ship settled into place, John staggered slightly, his hands dropping to his sides. Freya was at his side in an instant, steadying him with a firm grip. “You’re done, Bone Caller. No more for tonight.”
“I’m fine,” John insisted, though his pale complexion betrayed him.
“Sure you are,” Freya said dryly, shoving a water flask into his hands. “Drink, or I’ll make you.”
Magnus clapped his bony hands together, his sockets glowing faintly with amusement. “A fine addition to Frostholm’s fleet, I must say. Now all we need is a skeleton captain with a pirate hat.”
Astrid, standing nearby, smirked. “I’d pay to see Magnus in a hat.”
John managed a weak laugh, his breath fogging in the cold air. “I’ll leave the fashion choices to you, Magnus.”
As the crowd began to disperse, murmuring with awe and excitement, John stepped back to survey his work. The two ships loomed like spectral guardians, their glowing eyes reflecting the moonlight. He felt a surge of pride, tempered by exhaustion.
Freya clapped him on the shoulder, her grip solid but careful. “You did good, John. These will make a difference.”
“They’d better,” John replied, his voice quieter now. “Because we’re going to need every advantage we can get.”
The night air seemed to hum with possibility as the ships stood ready, silent sentinels awaiting their maiden voyage.
The Command Headquarters pulsed with energy, its blue-flamed sconces casting eerie shadows on the stone walls. At the center of the room, the map table glowed faintly, projecting a three-dimensional representation of Frostholm and the surrounding territories. John stood at the edge, his wings partially spread as he traced a glowing river route with his finger. Beside him, Freya leaned heavily on her axe, her sharp gaze fixed on the map. Astrid lounged casually against a wall, and Solveig stood with her arms crossed, her wild red hair catching the firelight. Magnus, as usual, loitered with a sardonic air near the door.
“This is the route,” John began, his tone steady but grim. “It’s the shortest path to the supply hub, but it’s also the most dangerous. Varrosk knows the importance of this location—they’ll have defenses.”
He pointed to the glowing projection of the resource hub, a riverside complex surrounded by a palisade and watchtowers. The map labeled it as Korridahl, an old trading post that had been repurposed by Varrosk as a critical supply chain hub.
“Korridahl used to be a neutral trade station,” John explained. “Merchants from different clans came here to trade goods—furs, ore, food—anything that could survive the harsh winters. When Varrosk took it, they fortified it and turned it into a stockpile for their war efforts. If we take this hub, we’ll not only cripple their supply lines but also gain access to the forges, warehouses, and leftover trade goods still inside.”
Astrid leaned forward, her sharp eyes scanning the map. “They’ve had years to dig in. It won’t be easy.”
“No,” John admitted. “But it’s necessary.”
Astrid snorted, tapping her sword against her shoulder. “Defenses like enchanted warships. I’ve seen what those things can do. Rune-powered ballistae, elemental wards strong enough to deflect cannon fire. If we’re not careful, they’ll turn us into driftwood.”
Freya’s grip on her axe tightened. “Then we don’t give them the chance. We strike fast and hard, leave them no time to react.”
Solveig stepped forward, her green eyes narrowing as she examined the projection. “Speed is good, but it’s not enough. The Varrosk forces aren’t just strong—they’re disciplined. They’ll anticipate a frontal attack. We’ll need a distraction.”
Magnus raised a bony hand. “I’d volunteer, but unfortunately, I’m tethered to this delightful village. Pity, really—I’m sure the Varrosk soldiers would appreciate my charm.”
Astrid rolled her eyes. “You couldn’t charm a skeleton, Magnus. Stay here and supervise the soup.”
Magnus gave an exaggerated bow. “Soup it is. A thrilling contribution to the war effort.”
John smirked before turning back to the map. “Solveig’s right. A distraction will help. We’ll divide our forces—Freya leads the ground assault, and Astrid and I take the undead fleet to deal with the warship.”
Solveig tapped the map near the supply hub’s docks. “They’ll have scouts patrolling this section of the river. If we don’t deal with them first, they’ll alert the whole camp before we get close.”
Astrid nodded. “Leave that to me. I’ll take a small team upriver and clear the scouts.”
Freya’s voice cut through the room, sharp and commanding. “This is going to be a brutal fight. We can’t afford hesitation. Everyone needs to know their role and stick to it.” Her gaze swept over the group, lingering on Solveig. “That includes you.”
Solveig smirked, unfazed by Freya’s scrutiny. “Don’t worry, Axe Bearer. I can handle myself.”
The tension in the room thickened for a moment before John interjected. “Good. Then it’s settled. We move at nightfall. Be ready.”
Astrid leaned closer to Magnus with a sly grin. “Since you’re stuck here, Magnus, maybe you can teach the skeletons how to tell a good joke. They’re starting to sound like you—dead.”
Magnus tilted his head, his sockets glowing faintly brighter. “Jealousy is unbecoming, Astrid. Perhaps I’ll take up stand-up comedy. I hear the frost wolves are a tough crowd, but they don’t throw tomatoes.”
Freya snorted, shaking her head. “Focus, both of you. We’ve got a lot to do.”
The mood in the room lightened, and John took a breath before continuing. “Let’s make one thing clear: this isn’t just about supplies or maps. This is about sending a message. Varrosk thinks they can push us into a corner, but tonight we show them what Frostholm is capable of. We’ve fought harder battles, and we’ve come out stronger every time. This will be no different.”
The room fell silent as his words sank in. Even Magnus straightened slightly, his usual sarcasm replaced with a rare note of seriousness.
John nodded, his wings folding neatly against his back. “You heard her. Let’s make this count.”
The group dispersed, each member heading off to prepare. As John lingered at the table, his eyes fixed on the glowing map, Freya approached, her voice quieter now. “Are you ready for this?”
He looked up, a faint smile on his lips. “Ready or not, it’s happening. But yeah, I’m ready.”
Freya smirked. “Good. Because if you screw this up, I’m blaming you.”
John chuckled softly. “Fair enough.”
With that, she turned and walked away, her axe resting on her shoulder. John exhaled, the weight of the upcoming raid settling on his shoulders. The stakes were higher than ever, but as he looked around the Command Headquarters, he felt a flicker of hope. Frostholm was ready for the challenge.
And so was he.
The Frostholm fleet moved like specters down the icy river, the skeletal longships cutting silently through the black water. Their ghostly sails shimmered faintly under the pale light of the crescent moon. Alongside the warships, the smaller scout vessel slipped ahead, its slender hull barely rippling the surface.
Below the fleet, hidden from view, the Bone Golems marched along the riverbed. Their glowing eyes pierced the darkness, each lumbering step reverberating faintly through the water. Their massive frames, bristling with jagged bones and runes, served as a hidden defense against any ambush that might emerge from the river.
Onboard the lead ship, The Specter, John stood near the prow. His wings folded neatly against his back, and his glowing runes cast a faint blue light across the deck. He was flanked by Astrid, who commanded the ship with sharp efficiency, and a squad of 40 skeletons stationed in formation, each armed with throwing spears. Fifteen warriors stood ready behind them, their weapons at the ready.
Astrid’s voice cut through the cold night air. “Keep those lines tight! I want no gaps in our formation!” She paced the deck, her sword resting on her shoulder as she cast a critical eye over the crew.
“Skeletons are incapable of sloppiness,” John said lightly, earning a chuckle from the nearest fighters.
“Maybe, but your skeletons haven’t been up against enchanted warships,” Astrid retorted. “Let’s make sure they’re ready.”
On the second ship, The Revenant, Freya commanded the forces. Her sharp voice carried across the deck as she drilled the warriors. “Spears at the ready! If we’re boarded, I want every throw to count!” She moved with purpose, her injuries from the previous raid hidden behind her commanding presence.
The Revenant carried another 25 skeletons and 20 warriors—mostly humans and a few refugees who had quickly proven themselves in training. Freya’s presence kept them steady, her unyielding confidence bolstering the morale of those who glanced nervously at the darkened riverbanks.
The scout ship, The Shade, was helmed by Solveig. Her sharp eyes scanned the horizon, her mace resting by her side as she kept the ship on a precise course. Ten skeletons and ten warriors were spread across its deck, their formation tighter due to the vessel’s smaller size.
Solveig stood at the helm, her voice low but steady as she addressed her crew. “Eyes open. If we spot anything, we signal the fleet immediately. No hesitation.”
She paused to glance at the orc warriors stationed at the bow. “Your strength might break a line, but out here, sharp eyes and quick thinking will keep us alive. Don’t let me down.”
One of the orcs, a burly figure with a braided beard, grinned. “We won’t, Solveig. Orcs don’t back down from a fight—or a challenge.”
The fleet pressed on, the rhythmic creak of oars blending with the occasional splash of water. John stood at the prow of The Specter, his mind half-focused on the ships above and the Bone Golems below. The faint glow of their soulfire eyes, visible only to him, reassured him as they kept pace.
QUEST GENERATED: CUT THE FLOW
Objective: Disrupt Varrosk's critical supply chain by striking a key hub along the river. Neutralize defenses, secure resources, and ensure Frostholm’s strategic advantage.
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Primary Goals:
1. Reach the Supply Hub: Navigate enemy-controlled waters and avoid detection or destruction.
2. Neutralize the Hub: Eliminate enemy forces and disrupt Varrosk’s logistical operations.
3. Secure Resources: Capture weapons, food, and intelligence to bolster Frostholm's defenses.
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Bonus Objectives:
1. Prevent Major Fleet Damage: Ensure all vessels survive with minimal structural loss.
2. Capture Key Intelligence: Obtain maps, troop movements, or plans for Varrosk’s future operations.
3. Demonstrate Leadership: Ensure Freya, Solveig, and Astrid actively contribute to the mission’s success.
The Frostholm fleet moved like specters down the icy river, the skeletal longships cutting silently through the black water. Their ghostly sails shimmered faintly under the pale light of the crescent moon. Alongside the warships, the smaller scout vessel slipped ahead, its slender hull barely rippling the surface.
Below the fleet, hidden from view, the Bone Golems marched along the riverbed. Their glowing eyes pierced the darkness, each lumbering step reverberating faintly through the water. Their massive frames, bristling with jagged bones and runes, served as a hidden defense against any ambush that might emerge from the river.
Onboard the lead ship, The Specter, John stood near the prow. His wings folded neatly against his back, and his glowing runes cast a faint blue light across the deck. He was flanked by Astrid, who commanded the ship with sharp efficiency, and a squad of 25 skeletons stationed in formation, each armed with throwing spears. Fifteen warriors—ten humans and five orcs—stood ready behind them, their weapons at the ready.
Astrid’s voice cut through the cold night air. “Keep those lines tight! I want no gaps in our formation!” She paced the deck, her sword resting on her shoulder as she cast a critical eye over the crew.
“Skeletons are incapable of sloppiness,” John said lightly, earning a chuckle from the nearest fighters.
“Maybe, but your skeletons haven’t been up against enchanted warships,” Astrid retorted. “Let’s make sure they’re ready.”
On the second ship, The Revenant, Freya commanded the forces. Her sharp voice carried across the deck as she drilled the warriors. “Spears at the ready! If we’re boarded, I want every throw to count!” She moved with purpose, her injuries from the previous raid hidden behind her commanding presence.
The Revenant carried another 25 skeletons and 20 warriors—mostly humans and a few refugees who had quickly proven themselves in training. Freya’s presence kept them steady, her unyielding confidence bolstering the morale of those who glanced nervously at the darkened riverbanks.
The scout ship, The Shade, was helmed by Solveig. Her sharp eyes scanned the horizon, her mace resting by her side as she kept the ship on a precise course. Ten skeletons and ten warriors were spread across its deck, their formation tighter due to the vessel’s smaller size.
Solveig stood at the helm, her voice low but steady as she addressed her crew. “Eyes open. If we spot anything, we signal the fleet immediately. No hesitation.”
She paused to glance at the orc warriors stationed at the bow. “Your strength might break a line, but out here, sharp eyes and quick thinking will keep us alive. Don’t let me down.”
One of the orcs, a burly figure with a braided beard, grinned. “We won’t, Solveig. Orcs don’t back down from a fight—or a challenge.”
The fleet pressed on, the rhythmic creak of oars blending with the occasional splash of water. John stood at the prow of The Specter, his mind half-focused on the ships above and the Bone Golems below. The faint glow of their soulfire eyes, visible only to him, reassured him as they kept pace.
As the fleet rounded a gentle bend in the river, a silhouette loomed on the horizon. A watchtower, its wooden frame dark and weathered, jutted into the night sky. It appeared abandoned, the torches on its platform long extinguished.
Freya’s voice crackled over the magical communication runestone John carried. “See it? Looks deserted.”
John narrowed his eyes, his gut telling him otherwise. “Skeleton scouts ahead,” he commanded. A quartet of skeletons slipped over the edge of The Specter and disappeared into the water, moving silently toward the shore.
From the helm of The Shade, Solveig kept her eyes fixed on the tower. “Deserted or not, I don’t like it. Could be a trick.”
The skeletons returned quickly, emerging from the river and scrambling back onto the deck. John knelt by one, focusing on the faint flashes of memories it carried back. His runes flared as the images formed: figures moving in the shadows behind the tower and a brief glimpse of a signal fire being prepared.
“It’s a trap,” John muttered, rising. “Varrosk forces are using the tower to call for reinforcements.”
Astrid tightened her grip on her sword. “Then we can’t let them finish that signal.”
Freya’s voice came through the runestone again, calm but firm. “Do we press on or deal with it?”
John glanced toward the tower, his mind racing. “We’re too exposed to stop now. If we attack, we risk being pinned down when reinforcements arrive. If we push through fast enough, we might be able to outrun them.”
“Your call, Bone Caller,” Astrid said, her tone steady. “But make it quick.”
John turned to the crew. “Skeletons, prepare to return fire. Warriors, keep your spears ready. We’ll move fast and break through before they can rally.”
As the fleet passed the watchtower, a torch suddenly flared to life on its platform. Moments later, a fire arrow streaked into the sky, its arc leaving a trail of sparks. The signal was sent.
Freya’s voice crackled over the runestone. “They’re calling for reinforcements. Whatever’s coming, we’ll be ready.”
John nodded grimly, his focus sharpening. The first test of their resolve was about to begin.
The Frostholm fleet moved cautiously through the narrow bend in the river, the dense forest on either bank casting long shadows across the icy water. The air was tense, the quiet broken only by the steady creak of oars and the occasional splash of water. Overhead, the pale moonlight struggled to penetrate the canopy, leaving the fleet shrouded in darkness.
John stood at the prow of The Specter, his wings partially unfurled as his glowing runes pulsed faintly, illuminating his sharp features. The Bone Golems, marching unseen along the riverbed, moved in eerie unison, their massive frames a silent reassurance of strength lurking beneath the surface.
“Stay sharp,” John called back to the warriors and skeletons onboard. “This bend is perfect for an ambush.”
On The Revenant, Freya gripped the railing tightly, her axe gleaming in the dim light. Her sharp gaze scanned the treeline. “Spears at the ready! If they hit us, we hit back harder!”
The warriors murmured their assent, their throwing spears clutched tightly. Each warrior and skeleton in the fleet had been equipped with the lightweight yet deadly weapons, ensuring that even from the decks, they could strike at the enemy.
On the smaller Shade, Solveig crouched near the bow, her sharp green eyes fixed on the riverbank. “Something’s off,” she muttered, her voice carrying just enough for her warriors to hear. “Be ready for anything.”
A sudden, sharp whistle cut through the air, followed by a fiery streak arcing toward the fleet. The first arrow struck the river, hissing as flames erupted across the surface. Moments later, a volley of flaming arrows and magical projectiles rained down from the trees on both banks.
“Ambush!” Astrid’s voice rang out from the helm of The Specter. “Shields up!”
John raised his hand, the runes along his arm blazing as he commanded the Bone Golems to surface. The water erupted in a cascade of spray as the towering constructs emerged, their jagged frames bristling with runes and glowing eyes. They moved to shield the ships, raising massive arms to deflect incoming arrows and magical blasts.
The golems retaliated with devastating precision. From their hollow chests, spikes of necrotic energy launched toward the treeline, obliterating patches of forest and scattering the enemy forces.
Freya seized the moment. “Boarding party with me! Clear the left bank!” She leapt onto a smaller skiff attached to The Revenant, landing heavily but with practiced grace. Warriors followed her, the skiff cutting through the water as arrows hissed around them. Despite the lingering pain from her injuries, Freya’s commands were sharp and confident.
The skiff reached the shore, and Freya led the charge up the embankment, her axe cleaving through the first enemy soldier with a single swing. “Push them back!” she roared, her voice cutting through the chaos.
On the opposite bank, Solveig had taken her team ashore from The Shade. Her heavy mace swung in devastating arcs, each strike sending enemy soldiers crumpling to the ground. “Hold the line!” she shouted, rallying her warriors. An orc near her let out a war cry, smashing his shield into a soldier’s chest and sending them tumbling down the slope.
Solveig’s presence galvanized her team, her fierce strikes and unyielding stance inspiring even the most nervous fighters. When an enemy mage began hurling firebolts toward the river, she broke through the enemy line, her mace crushing the mage’s staff and sending him sprawling into the dirt.
“Not so dangerous without your magic,” Solveig growled, her tone as sharp as her blows.
On The Specter, John commanded the skeletons and remaining warriors with sharp efficiency. “Focus fire on the treeline! Keep them pinned!”
The skeletons moved with eerie precision, their throwing spears arcing through the air to strike down hidden archers. John raised his hand, summoning a volley of Shadowflame Barrage. The dark fire streaked across the river, exploding against the banks in bursts of necrotic energy.
A magical projectile hurtled toward the ship, but a Bone Golem intercepted it with a massive arm, the impact sending a ripple of energy through its frame. The golem retaliated by hurling a jagged bone spike, impaling an enemy ballista.
Astrid grinned fiercely as she directed the ship’s maneuvers. “Keep it tight, people! If they board us, they’ll regret it.”
The battle raged for what felt like hours but was only minutes. Freya and Solveig’s forces pushed back the attackers on the banks, their combined strength breaking the enemy’s lines. Freya’s axe cleaved through another soldier, her movements precise despite her lingering injuries.
“Left bank clear!” she shouted into her runestone, her voice strained but triumphant.
Solveig raised her mace, her voice carrying across the right bank. “Right bank secure! Back to the ships!”
The two teams regrouped, their skiffs returning to the fleet as the Bone Golems waded back into the water, their massive frames disappearing beneath the surface.
As the fleet moved beyond the ambush site, the warriors and skeletons worked to extinguish small fires and patch minor damage. The ships bore scorch marks, and several spears jutted from the hulls, but they remained seaworthy.
Freya, her armor splattered with blood, leaned heavily on her axe as she returned to The Revenant. “That could’ve gone worse,” she muttered, glancing at John through the runestone.
John, pale but steady, nodded. “It’s a warning. They know we’re coming.”
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Solveig, standing at the helm of The Shade, wiped blood from her mace and gave a sharp nod. “Let them know. We’ll face whatever they throw at us.”
EXPERIENCE GAINED
As the fleet pressed on, translucent system prompts flickered in John’s vision:
* Experience Earned: Ambush Defense
* Bone Golems: +1,500 EXP (counterattacks and shielding the fleet)
* Skeleton Forces: +1,200 EXP (kills and defensive maneuvers)
* John Harper: +2,000 EXP (direct attacks and strategic commands)
Quest Update:
* Progress Toward Supply Hub: 80%
* Fleet Status: Operational, moderate damage sustained
John dismissed the prompts with a sigh. The cost of their journey was already evident, but the goal ahead made it necessary. With the ambush behind them, the Frostholm fleet pressed onward, the river carrying them closer to their ultimate target.
LEVEL UP!
John leaned against the railing of the ship, the cold night air brushing against his face as the Frostholm fleet drifted steadily downriver. The rhythmic creak of skeletal oarsmen accompanied the low hum of his thoughts. His body felt a familiar surge of energy—a telltale sign he’d come closer to mastering his necromantic powers.
A translucent system prompt appeared in his vision.
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[Level Up!]
Current Level: 16 → 17
Skill Points Earned: 3
Attribute Points Earned: 2
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John exhaled, his fingers flexing unconsciously as he pulled up his character sheet.
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[Character Sheet]
Name: John Harper
Race: Draugr Ascendant
Class: Necromancer – Path of the Deathcaller
Attributes:
* Strength: 5
* Dexterity: 7
* Intelligence: 25
* Charisma: 10
* Mana: 250
* Points Available: 2
Skills:
* Death Lash (Level 1)
* Gravebond (Level 1)
* Tactical Spearplay (Level 0)
* Bone Armor (Level 0)
* Mana Regen (Passive, Tier 1)
* Bone Wall (Level 3)
* Soul Anchor (Level 0)
* Minion Cap Expansion (Level 16)
* Bone Armory (Level 1)
* Bone Sentinel (Level 0)
* Gravebind (Level 1)
* Bone Golem (Level 3)
* Necrotic Reclamation (Level 0)
* Command Aura (Level 0)
* Necrotic Surge (Level 0)
* Soulfire Volley (Level 0)
* Soulfire Cascade (Level 0)
* Shadowflame Barrage (Level 0)
* Flight (Level 1)
Experience to Next Level: 6,300 EXP
Points Available: 3
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John tapped the attribute section, his wings shifting slightly in anticipation. His recent battles made one thing clear: he needed to outthink his enemies and react faster to their movements.
“Intelligence and dexterity,” he murmured, sliding one point into each. His body responded immediately to the changes. His mind felt sharper, his mana reserves slightly more robust, and his wings flexed with renewed agility.
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Attributes:
* Dexterity: 8
* Intelligence: 26
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With a flick of his hand, he opened the skills menu. Minion Cap Expansion drew his eye immediately—it was the backbone of his command style, and increasing it would give him more undead forces to deploy in the coming battle.
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[Upgrade: Minion Cap Expansion]
Current Level: 16 → 18
Effect: +10 Minions (5 per level)
Cost: 2 Skill Points
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John confirmed the upgrade, a faint glow surrounding him as the system recalculated his undead capacity. “Eighty-five wasn’t bad,” he mused, “but ninety-five sounds better.”
Finally, he browsed the remaining skills. The upcoming battle against Varrosk’s enchanted warship would require more than numbers; it needed precision and the ability to cripple their magical firepower. His eyes locked on a new skill that was exactly what he needed.
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[New Skill: Rune Breaker]
Effect: Unleash a focused blast of necrotic energy to disable magical constructs, enchantments, and barriers within a targeted area.
Cost: 1 Skill Point
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“Perfect,” John said, selecting the skill. A cold, buzzing energy coursed through him as the knowledge of how to wield the spell settled into his mind.
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[Skill Added: Rune Breaker – Level 0]
Focus a burst of necrotic energy to unravel enemy enchantments and constructs.
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He closed the system prompt, the river’s dark waters rippling below him. The fleet’s soft creaking and Freya’s distant commands grounded him as he leaned on the railing.
“You’re getting stronger, Bone Caller,” he muttered to himself. But in the back of his mind, he knew strength wasn’t enough. The battles ahead would demand every ounce of strategy, courage, and leadership he could muster.
The Frostholm fleet glided silently down the moonlit river, the skeletal oarsmen propelling the ships with an eerie synchronicity. The smaller scout vessel led the way, its low profile cutting through the dark waters like a shadow. The bone golems walked along the riverbed beneath them, their glowing eyes visible through the ripples above as they kept pace with the fleet, ready to emerge at a moment’s notice.
John stood at the prow of the flagship, his wings folded tightly against his back. The faint hum of necromantic energy surrounded him, his connection to the undead fleet a constant buzz in his mind. Ahead, the faint glow of torchlight began to appear—an ominous beacon marking their destination.
“Varrosk’s supply hub,” Freya said, stepping up beside him. Her voice was steady, but her fingers tightened around the haft of her axe as she surveyed the fortified depot.
The hub sprawled along the riverbank, a maze of timber buildings and storage yards surrounded by palisade walls. Torches illuminated the bustling depot, where Varrosk soldiers patrolled in organized shifts. Cranes hoisted crates onto flat-bottomed boats moored at the docks, and a massive warship loomed in the distance, its hull inscribed with glowing runes.
“That’s going to be a problem,” Astrid muttered, nodding toward the warship. She leaned casually on her sword, though her sharp eyes scanned the defenses with precision.
John’s attention was drawn to the rune-inscribed cannons mounted on the ship’s deck. “Enchanted warship,” he murmured. “If those cannons fire, they’ll tear our fleet apart before we get close.”
Solveig joined them, her heavy mace resting across her shoulder. “We’ve seen those before. They’re powerful, but they take time to charge. If we’re fast enough, we can disable them before they fire.”
John nodded, his mind already working through the options. “We’ll need a diversion,” he said. “The skeletons can draw their attention to the walls while we split our forces.”
He pointed to the map projection on the interactive table mounted in the center of the deck. A much smaller and simpler version of the one located in the Command Headquarters. “Freya, you’ll lead the ground assault on the depot. Take Solveig and half of the warriors. The rest of us will deal with the warship.”
Freya studied the map, her brow furrowed. “They’ll reinforce the depot quickly once they realize it’s under attack. We’ll need to hit hard and fast.”
“I’ll assign two squads of skeletons to your team,” John said. “They’ll hold the choke points while your group focuses on the key targets.”
Freya smirked. “Good. I’ve been wanting to test these skeletons in a real fight.”
Astrid glanced at the warship, her expression grim. “And what’s your plan for that monstrosity?”
John tapped the map near the dock where the warship was moored. “We’ll take the scout vessel a squad of skeletons. Astrid, you’ll lead the boarding team. The Bone Golems will provide cover and create openings for us to disable the cannons.”
“Sounds risky,” Astrid said, though a spark of excitement lit her eyes.
“It is,” John admitted. “But it’s our best shot. If we take the warship, it’ll cripple Varrosk’s river operations.”
Solveig grinned, a fierce light in her eyes. “Then let’s make them regret ever building it.”
The Frostholm fleet anchored just beyond sight of the hub, hidden in the shadows of the forested riverbank. Skeleton scouts slipped silently into the water, their soulfire eyes dimmed to avoid detection. John closed his eyes, channeling his awareness into their minds as they approached the hub.
Through the scouts’ eyes, he saw the layout of the depot in sharper detail. Soldiers patrolled the walls in pairs, their movements methodical. The warship was heavily guarded, with two squads of Varrosk warriors stationed on the docks.
“There’s a weakness near the north wall,” John said, relaying the information to Freya and Solveig. “A storage yard with minimal guards. If we hit that first, we can push through to the main compound.”
Freya nodded, adjusting the straps on her armor. “Then that’s where we’ll start.”
Astrid stepped forward, her sword glinting faintly in the moonlight. “And the warship?”
John’s eyes glowed faintly as he summoned a translucent system prompt. The skeleton scouts began retreating from their positions, their recon complete.
“We strike simultaneously,” he said. “Freya’s attack will draw their forces away from the docks. That’s when we move in.”
Freya’s voice carried across the deck as she addressed the gathered warriors. “This is it. Remember why we’re here. Hit hard, move fast, and don’t stop until the depot is ours.”
The warriors responded with a quiet but determined cheer, their breath fogging in the cold night air.
John turned to Astrid, his wings spreading slightly. “Ready?”
Astrid grinned, gripping her sword tightly. “Born ready.”
As the raiding party prepared to disembark, John’s gaze lingered on the glowing runes of the warship in the distance. The battle ahead would be brutal, but the stakes were clear. Frostholm’s survival depended on their success.
The icy river shimmered faintly under the moonlight as the Frostholm fleet split into two groups. Freya’s force moved silently toward the north wall of the supply hub, shadows melding with the forested bank. Meanwhile, The Shade, led by Astrid and John, veered toward the docks where the enchanted warship loomed like a malevolent specter.
John stood at the prow of the scout ship, his wings partially unfurled as his glowing runes pulsed faintly. A squad of 25 skeletons was arrayed in tight formation on the deck, their soulfire eyes glowing dimly in the darkness. The Bone Golems followed just beneath the surface of the river, their jagged forms casting faint ripples.
Astrid tightened the grip on her sword, her voice low but sharp. “That thing’s a fortress on water. How do you want to play this, Bone Caller?”
John’s gaze never left the warship. “We disable it piece by piece. First the cannons, then the crew. If we’re lucky, we can force them to surrender without destroying the whole ship.”
Astrid smirked. “Luck’s not usually my thing. But I like the plan.”
The warship’s silhouette grew larger as The Shade approached. Its rune-inscribed hull glowed faintly, an ominous blue light emanating from the enchanted ballistae mounted along its sides. Soldiers patrolled the deck, their movements precise and disciplined.
“Skeletons, prepare to board,” John commanded, his voice resonating with necromantic authority. The skeletons shifted as one, readying their throwing spears.
Below, the Bone Golems moved into position. John’s connection to them buzzed in his mind, a constant awareness of their strength and precision. “Golems, disrupt the cannons. I don’t want a single one firing.”
The golems surged upward, breaking the river’s surface with a spray of icy water. The sudden appearance of the towering constructs threw the enemy crew into chaos. Shouts rang out, and soldiers scrambled to man the ballistae, but the golems were faster. One raised a massive arm, hurling a jagged bone spike that pierced the hull just below the nearest cannon. Another golem swung its arm in a wide arc, shattering a section of the deck and sending soldiers sprawling.
“Now!” John shouted. “Astrid, take the boarding team!”
Astrid didn’t need further encouragement. She led a group of skeletons onto a narrow gangplank extending from The Shade to the warship. Her blade cut through the first line of defenders with ruthless efficiency. The skeletons followed, their spears striking with mechanical precision, driving the enemy back.
John remained on The Shade, his hands raised as he unleashed Shadowflame Barrage. Dark fire streaked across the warship’s deck, igniting crates and forcing the crew to scatter. One of the ballistae, its runes glowing as it charged, was consumed in the flames, its enchanted mechanisms crumbling.
“Focus on the cannons!” John barked, his voice carrying over the din of battle.
A soldier raised a glowing staff, chanting a spell that sent a bolt of fire streaking toward John. He countered with Rune Breaker, a pulse of necrotic energy unraveling the enchantment mid-air. The backlash sent the mage reeling, and a skeleton finished him with a well-placed spear.
Astrid’s voice rang out from the warship’s deck. “Cannons on the port side are down! Push them off the starboard!”
From her position on The Revenant, Freya saw the chaos unfolding at the docks. Her assault team had broken through the north wall, drawing reinforcements away from the warship. “Keep the pressure on!” she shouted to her warriors. “They’re splitting their forces!”
Back on the warship, the remaining cannons began to charge again. John gritted his teeth, summoning a Bone Golem onto the deck. The massive construct barreled through the enemy ranks, its heavy steps shaking the ship. With a swing of its jagged arm, it smashed the nearest cannon, the runes along its surface flickering and dying.
The warship’s captain, a grizzled Varrosk officer, stepped forward, his sword crackling with energy. “You think you can take this ship?” he growled, his voice carrying a mix of anger and disbelief.
John met his gaze, his own runes glowing brighter. “I don’t think—I know.”
The captain charged, his blade arcing toward John in a blur of light. John sidestepped, his wings flaring to propel him backward. With a swift motion, he summoned Death Lash, the shadowy tendril wrapping around the captain’s arm and wrenching him off balance. A skeleton moved in, disarming the captain with a precise strike.
“Stand down,” John said, his voice cold and commanding. “Your ship is lost.”
The captain hesitated, his gaze darting to the destroyed cannons and the chaos around him. Finally, he dropped to his knees, his hands raised in surrender. The remaining crew followed suit, their weapons clattering to the deck.
Astrid let out a sharp whistle, signaling the skeletons to stand down. She turned to John, a fierce grin on her face. “Told you I liked the plan.”
John exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Secure the ship. I want those cannons salvaged if possible.”
As the Frostholm forces took control of the warship, John turned his gaze to the docks, where Freya and Solveig’s teams were finishing their assault on the depot. The flames of battle reflected in his eyes as he prepared for the next phase of the raid.
The Varrosk warship was theirs, but the fight was far from over.
The Varrosk supply depot was a chaotic tangle of smoke, fire, and shouted orders. The palisade walls were breached, and the once-organized stockpiles of crates and barrels lay in disarray as Frostholm’s forces moved with purpose. The eerie glow of soulfire illuminated the night as John’s skeletons stood guard, their glowing eyes scanning for any sign of resistance.
Freya stood near the shattered gates, blood streaked across her armor, though none of it was hers. Her sharp gaze swept the yard as she barked orders to her warriors. “Load everything we can carry—food, weapons, anything that looks remotely useful. Solveig, secure the eastern storehouse!”
Solveig was already moving, her mace resting across her shoulder as she led a group of warriors into the burning structure. The orc warriors followed her lead, their strength invaluable in clearing debris and dragging heavy crates toward the waiting skiffs.
Astrid paced the docks, coordinating the loading of supplies onto The Revenant and The Specter. Her sharp tone kept the skeletons and warriors moving efficiently. “No wasted space! If it doesn’t fit, leave it behind!”
John stood at the heart of the depot, his wings folded tightly against his back as he knelt beside a Varrosk officer slumped against a shattered crate. The man’s leg was twisted unnaturally, and his face was pale from blood loss, but his eyes burned with defiance.
“Why not just kill me?” the officer spat, his voice hoarse.
John’s glowing eyes fixed on him, his voice calm but cold. “Because you have information we need. Maps, troop movements, supply routes—I’ll give you one chance to cooperate. After that...” He gestured to a nearby skeleton, its soulfire eyes glowing brighter as it stepped forward.
The officer flinched, his bravado faltering. “Fine. There’s a map in the command tent. It has everything you’re looking for. Just... keep them away from me.”
John nodded, signaling a nearby warrior to retrieve the map. “Wise choice.”
As the soldier hurried off, John’s gaze shifted to the fallen Varrosk soldiers scattered across the depot. He rose, extending a hand toward the nearest body. The runes along his arm flared, and a faint green glow enveloped the remains. Bones shifted and rose, assembling into skeletal warriors that joined the others standing watch.
Freya approached, her axe resting on her shoulder. “Cleaning up the mess?” she asked, her tone tinged with grim humor.
“Reinforcements,” John replied simply. “We’ll need every advantage if their reinforcements catch up.”
Her gaze lingered on the newly raised skeletons before she turned back to the yard. “We’ve lost three warriors. Solveig’s team found maps and supply manifests in the eastern storehouse, but there’s more to load than we have time for.”
John’s jaw tightened. “Take what we can carry and destroy the rest. If we can’t use it, Varrosk won’t either.”
Freya nodded. “Already on it.”
At the docks, Solveig arrived with the maps in hand, passing them to Astrid. “These should help,” she said, her breath fogging in the cold air. “Freya’s right—there’s too much to take. We need to move before they regroup.”
Astrid studied the maps briefly before tucking them into her satchel. “Understood. Let’s finish this.”
John made his way to the docks, his voice cutting through the noise. “Everyone, listen up! We’re leaving in five minutes. Load the last of the supplies and get on the ships. If it’s not ready by then, we burn it.”
The Frostholm warriors moved with renewed urgency, dragging crates and barrels onto the waiting ships. Skeletons worked alongside them, their movements eerily precise as they carried heavy loads without pause. The Bone Golems stood at the edge of the docks, their massive frames a silent warning to any would-be attackers.
As the last of the supplies were loaded, John turned his attention to the captured Varrosk officer and the warship captain, both bound and under guard. “You’ll come with us,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re more valuable alive—for now.”
The warship captain sneered but remained silent, his defiance tempered by the destruction around him.
Freya joined John at the edge of the docks, her voice low. “We’re ready to move.”
“Good,” John replied, his gaze lingering on the depot. Fires crackled and smoke billowed into the night sky, the destruction a testament to Frostholm’s resolve. “Let’s make sure this loss stings.”
With a final signal, the Frostholm fleet began to pull away from the docks. The Bone Golems waded back into the river, their glowing eyes the last thing visible as they disappeared beneath the surface. The Varrosk supply hub, once a symbol of strength, now burned behind them, its loss a critical blow to the enemy.
As the ships drifted downriver, John’s mind turned to the battles yet to come. They had struck a decisive blow, but the cost weighed heavily. The maps and intelligence they had secured would be vital, but he knew Varrosk would not take this lightly.
The Frostholm raiders moved silently into the night, their stolen supplies secured, their losses mourned, and their resolve hardened for the fight ahead.
The Frostholm fleet drifted downriver under the cover of a dark, starless sky, their stolen supplies stacked high on the decks. Smoke from the burning Varrosk supply hub hung low in the air, a stark reminder of their victory—and the price it might bring. The icy wind bit at their faces, but the warriors remained alert, their eyes scanning the treeline and riverbanks for any sign of pursuit.
Freya stood at the prow of The Revenant, her axe resting against the railing. Her gaze swept the dark waters ahead. “They won’t let us leave this easily,” she muttered, her voice carrying to Astrid, who stood beside her.
Astrid grinned, though her hand tightened on the hilt of her sword. “Good. I was starting to think this raid was too easy.”
Freya shot her a sharp look. “Don’t tempt fate.”
On The Specter, John stood near the helm, his wings folded tightly against his back. His glowing runes pulsed faintly as he monitored the Bone Golems marching silently along the riverbed beneath them. They were his hidden line of defense, ready to emerge at a moment’s notice. Skeletons lined the ship’s rails, their spears gleaming faintly in the moonlight. The tension in the air was palpable.
A sharp whistle split the night, followed by the distant sound of oars cutting through water. Moments later, a series of fiery projectiles arced into the sky, illuminating the riverbank. Varrosk skiffs, sleek and fast, emerged from the shadows, their decks bristling with archers and mages.
“Here they come!” Astrid shouted, her voice ringing out across the fleet.
“Shields up!” Freya bellowed. Warriors on all three ships raised their shields, forming a makeshift barrier against the incoming arrows. The first volley struck with a series of sharp thuds, several arrows bursting into flames on impact.
“Bone Golems, surface!” John commanded, his voice calm but firm. The river erupted as the massive constructs rose from the depths, their glowing eyes and jagged frames casting an eerie light over the water. The golems moved to intercept the skiffs, their massive arms deflecting projectiles and hurling bone spikes at the enemy.
On The Revenant, Freya rallied her warriors. “Keep those spears flying! Don’t let them get close!” The warriors unleashed a barrage of throwing spears, striking several skiffs and forcing the Varrosk archers to take cover. One spear struck a mage on the nearest skiff, sending him tumbling into the water with a splash.
Astrid, standing on The Specter, called out to John. “They’re trying to box us in! We need to break their line!”
John’s mind raced as he analyzed the terrain. The river narrowed ahead, flanked by steep cliffs and dense forest. “We’ll use the choke point,” he said, his voice carrying to the rest of the fleet through the magical runestones. “Bone Golems will block the narrowest part of the river. We’ll force them to fight on our terms.”
Freya’s voice crackled through the runestone. “If this doesn’t work, we’re all dead.”
“Then it will work,” John replied, his tone unwavering.
The fleet surged forward, the Bone Golems falling back to the narrowest point of the river. As the Varrosk skiffs closed in, the golems formed a defensive line, their massive frames creating a makeshift dam. Water surged around them, but they held firm, their glowing runes flaring brightly as they absorbed and deflected magical projectiles.
The chaotic battle stilled for a moment as the river ahead began to churn unnaturally, the water boiling as if in defiance of its icy surroundings. A low hum resonated through the air, sending a shiver down the spines of even the most seasoned warriors. From the shadowed cliffs above, a figure stepped forward, cloaked in black and wreathed in flickering crimson runes.
The figure raised a staff adorned with what appeared to be a twisted amalgamation of bones and dark crystal. His voice, smooth yet laced with venom, echoed across the river. “So, this is the infamous Bone Caller I’ve heard so much about. John Harper, the necromancer who thinks he can defy Varrosk.”
The figure’s face was partially obscured by a horned mask, but his burning red eyes gleamed with malice. He raised his free hand, and a pulse of crimson energy shot into the sky, casting the river in an eerie light. The Bone Golems nearest the cliffs began to tremble, their glowing runes flickering erratically as the magic disrupted their stability.
Freya’s voice crackled through the runestone. “John, who the hell is that?”
John’s jaw tightened. “Someone we weren’t expecting.”
The figure stepped closer to the cliff’s edge, his silhouette sharp against the crimson glow. “I am Malrik Dravok, First Necromancer of Varrosk, and you are nothing more than a pretender. A lost soul clinging to borrowed power.” His voice dripped with disdain, yet his tone held an undercurrent of amusement. “Did you really think you could steal from Varrosk and not face its true might?”
Dravok extended his staff, and with a sharp motion, summoned a surge of undead warriors from the forest. Unlike John’s skeletons who were clad in bone armor, these were clad in rusted armor, their eyes glowing an unnatural red. They moved with unnerving precision, their weapons raised as they marched toward the river.
“You claim to command death,” Dravok continued, his voice rising. “But death is not a tool, Harper. It is a master. And you have yet to learn obedience.”
John’s runes flared as he took a step forward, his voice calm but laced with steel. “I’ve learned enough to know you don’t get to decide who wields it.”
Dravok laughed, a cold, hollow sound that echoed across the battlefield. “Brave words for a man standing on the edge of defeat.”
John raised his hand, summoning Shadowflame Barrage. The dark fire streaked toward Dravok, but he swept his staff in a wide arc, dispersing the flames with a barrier of crimson light.
“Is that the best you can do?” Dravok taunted. “No wonder they sent me.”
Freya’s voice broke through the tension. “John, we don’t have time for this. We need to move, now!”
John’s jaw clenched, but he nodded. “Bone Golems, collapse the dam and retreat!”
The golems responded instantly, their massive arms tearing into the riverbed. The makeshift dam gave way with a thunderous roar, sending a surge of water and debris hurtling downstream. Dravok’s forces, caught in the chaos, scrambled to hold their ground. The Varrosk skiffs were swept away, their crews shouting in panic as the torrent engulfed them.
Dravok watched impassively from the cliff, his eyes narrowing as the Frostholm fleet surged forward, carried by the current. He raised his staff again, the crimson energy flickering ominously. “Run while you can, Bone Caller. The next time we meet, you’ll understand what true power looks like.”
The Frostholm fleet pressed onward, the moonlight glinting off their battered hulls. Behind them, the river calmed once more, the wreckage of Varrosk’s pursuit a testament to Frostholm’s determination—and to the dark force now shadowing their every move.
The first rays of dawn spilled over the horizon, casting a pale golden light across the Frostholm docks. The Frostholm fleet, battered but victorious, approached the shore, their skeletal oarsmen pulling in eerie unison. Behind them, the enchanted warship loomed like a spectral giant, its rune-inscribed hull now bearing the marks of Frostholm’s resilience.
Villagers gathered at the docks, their faces a mix of relief and apprehension as the ships docked one by one. Murmurs rippled through the crowd as they caught sight of the towering Bone Golems unloading supplies with mechanical precision and the captured warship gliding silently behind the fleet.
Freya was the first to step ashore, her armor dented and bloodied but her presence as commanding as ever. She planted her axe firmly in the snow, surveying the gathered crowd. “It’s done,” she announced, her voice carrying over the murmurs. “We struck a blow to Varrosk they won’t forget.”
A cheer rose from the villagers, though it was tempered by the sight of the wounded being helped ashore. Several warriors limped from the ships, their injuries a grim reminder of the cost of their victory. Freya’s sharp eyes caught every face, her determination hardening with each step.
John followed, his wings folded tightly against his back. His glowing runes flickered faintly as he descended from The Specter, his gaze fixed on the captured warship moored at the edge of the docks. The massive vessel, its runes still glowing faintly red, drew a mix of awe and unease from the villagers.
Magnus, who had been waiting at the docks, clapped his bony hands together. “Well, well, you actually brought it back. I must say, Bone Caller, your flair for dramatics never ceases to impress.”
John ignored him, turning to the gathered warriors and villagers. “This warship isn’t just a trophy—it’s a weapon. With it, we can strike deeper into Varrosk territory and protect Frostholm from their attacks. But first, we need to understand it.”
The captured Varrosk captain, a wiry man with a sharp glare, was bound and seated near the longhouse. His face was bruised from the fight, but his defiance remained unbroken. Beside him, the wounded officer from the supply depot sat slumped, his expression a mix of pain and resignation.
Freya loomed over the captain, her voice icy. “You’re going to tell us everything about that ship. How it works, what those runes do, and how to disable its weapons.”
The captain spat at her feet. “You think you can just steal from Varrosk and get away with it? You’ll be nothing but ash when they come for you.”
Freya’s hand tightened on her axe, but John stepped forward, his calm voice cutting through the tension. “You’re not in Varrosk anymore. You’re in Frostholm, and we’re giving you a choice. Help us, and you might live to see another day. Refuse, and… well, let’s just say I have other uses for the dead.”
The captain’s bravado faltered, his eyes flicking to the glowing runes on John’s arms. The officer beside him groaned, his head dropping. “He’ll talk,” the officer muttered. “He’s just too proud to admit it.”
Freya’s smirk was sharp. “Good. Start talking.”
As the interrogation continued, villagers and skeletons worked side by side to unload the stolen goods. Crates of food, weapons, and precious materials were carried to the longhouse, where Egil oversaw their inventory. The enchanted warship’s cannons and rune-inscribed components were carefully dismantled and studied under John’s supervision.
Astrid moved among the warriors, offering sharp quips and steadying hands where needed. Solveig coordinated the orcs and villagers, her commanding presence quickly winning the respect of those who hadn’t yet fought beside her.
“This haul will keep us alive through the winter,” Egil muttered to Freya as they watched the supplies pile up. “But it won’t mean much if Varrosk retaliates.”
“They will,” Freya said grimly. “And we’ll be ready.”
As the sun climbed higher, John secluded himself in the longhouse, pouring over the captured maps and intelligence. The documents detailed Varrosk’s troop movements, supply lines, and, most importantly, references to a figure at the heart of their necromantic efforts—Malrik Dravok.
John’s jaw tightened as he traced the lines on the map. The battle with Dravok on the cliffs replayed in his mind, his taunts ringing in his ears. “The next time we meet, you’ll understand what true power looks like.”
“We’ll see about that,” John muttered, his runes flaring faintly as he committed the details to memory.
By evening, the docks had grown quiet, the villagers retreating to their homes after a long day of work. John and Freya stood at the edge of the pier, the icy wind tugging at their cloaks. The captured warship loomed behind them, its dark hull a testament to their victory—and the battles still to come.
Freya broke the silence first. “We did what we had to, but it cost us. Too many good people didn’t make it back.”
John nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “It’s always a cost. But what we’ve built here—it’s worth fighting for.”
She glanced at him, her sharp features softened by the dim light. “And Dravok?”
John’s runes pulsed faintly. “He’s not done with us. But neither am I.”
Freya’s smirk was faint but resolute. “Good. Because we’ve got a lot more fighting to do.”
As the last light of day faded, the two leaders stood together, their bond forged stronger by the trials they’d faced. Frostholm had survived another battle, but the war was far from over. And as they turned back toward the village, the glow of the enchanted warship behind them, they knew the next fight would test them like never before.
QUEST COMPLETE: CUT THE FLOW
Rewards:
* Experience:
* John Harper: +6,500 EXP (direct kills, strategic planning, and leadership)
* Skeleton Forces: +3,200 EXP (kills and defensive maneuvers)
* Bone Golems: +2,700 EXP (blocking and counterattacks)
* Resources:
* Food: +600 units
* Weapons: +120 units
* Enchanted Components: +15 units
* Maps: +1 set (Varrosk supply routes and plans)
* Settlement Points: +3
John leveled up, the notification glowing faintly in the corner of his vision, but for now, he let it rest. There would be time to grow stronger. For tonight, Frostholm stood—and so did he.