Fryg smirked at him, and dispelled the uncertainty.

“When else, but when you awoke as a draugr? By southern terms you can consider death the tribulation, and awakening the Immortal Blood the breakthrough. Having experienced death once has also strengthened your affinity for the Stillness of death, which you should be familiar with considering your gun-wielding shield-sister. I was doomed to defeat when I marched against the Smoke Witch, but my powers grew such that I could slay her where she stood after my first death. Subsequent deaths shan’t grant you further strength, so do not play the fool. I had hoped that to be the case, and learned the hard way that it was not.”

“The trait’s name has changed to Hyperborean Heart. It seems to have merged with your inherent Gelum Font as part of the advancement, which in itself has grown enough to have independently advanced to Gelum Wellspring under different circumstances…” Yvonne further confirmed, beaming with pride. She smugly glanced to Fryg, remarking: “Less a black sheep than a dark horse, no? My boy is our clan’s first genius since his grandfather’s generation!”

“What of you and father, or uncle Agnar?"

Both of them laughed.

“I am glad that you hold us in such high esteem, but it took us each a decade what you achieved in a handful of years. Neither myself, nor your father have awakened the Immortal Blood, either, though it is only a matter of time for him, and even if I never reach that state, I’ve already taken measures against death… But we are not draugrs. You are the first since Fryg, not for lack of Runar’s capability to wake the blood. For all we know he might one day decide he’s had enough rest and break out of the burial hall; it’s happened before."

Jorfr was familiar with the saga. It was one of the more popular ones, after all.

"When the Ankhezians thought to invade Borea," he said. "When they reached the first border settlements, they found their armies set upon by honored dead emerging from the burial mounds, each draugr even more powerful than they had been in life... Only to return to their tombs when the threat was repelled."

"Most of them did," Fryg grinned.

Jorfr was also familiar with this part of that same saga. It was often not included in serious retellings or skimmed over due to the focus on re-awakened draugrs finding themselves in farcical fish-out-of-water situations.

"There is one last thing which I wish to ask you about," he said, looking to Fryg. "I have not slept since the feud. I take it that this is not a matter of concern."

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"It is not. A draugr does not require sleep to function, and rather than sleep, we enter a state of half-death wherein we maintain a limited awareness of our surroundings. However, you will find that you recover from wounds and fatigue at a vastly accelerated rate if you let yourself enter the deathly sleep."

"You say that a draugr does not require sleep to function, then tell me that my battle-wounds will heal ten times as quickly if I sleep. Are you sure draugrs do not become senile?"

After this ritual, Jorfr visited Ingvald upon the smith's request. He knew the reason; he had called him to the smithy some time earlier, measuring him and asking him a bevy of questions regarding his combat style and usual tactics. Jorfr didn't exactly have that, given how rapidly is capabilities had changed recently, but he could describe his own current state and how he expected it to develop in the near future. He was fairly certain he could guess what Ingvald had made for him by how long he took inspecting the anchoring runes on the soles of his feet; ginfaxi and gapaldur.

Now, it was time to collect. Or rather, it was time for Ingvald to force him to take what he had made.

They were greaves. What Ingvald had made were full-plate greaves, their design blending elements of Borean and Grekurian plate armor. By their rugged, slightly uneven design, total lack of decoration, and dark, tarnished metal, they could be considered crudely made. That was, however, a purely surface-level reading, and anyone who saw the armor in person would instantly know it to be a great work. They outright radiated an immovable presence, one which Jorfr couldn't quite place until Ingvald insisted that he put them on. The draugr glimpsed the runes on the inside, and instantly knew what mighty magic they contained.

"I'm fairly certain these runes won't work for anyone other than you specifically. Oh, they come with this, too. Still not sure what to call them, so if you get any ideas, feel free."

Ingvald handed over a loincloth of sorts, simple in design and much heavier than its material would suggest. It was clearly filled with armor of some kind.

"The main thing is that your anchoring runes, the greaves and the girdle together form a horseshoe-shaped circuit. Besides the obvious effect of strengthening your ability to anchor yourself, you ought to be able to walk on walls if they're made from a Terra-conductive material. It should work even with ice or other non-earthen material, the effect will just be diminished. The power of the earth further flows upward towards your Aegishjalmr, amplifying your aura and granting you greater protection at all times. There aren’t many mortal weapons that can even put a scratch on you while you wear these, and that’s before we account for the Hulson Clan’s aura magnification arts. Go on, try it right now. Walk up that wall over there, just don't step on my metalprint of Fulguris."

It turned out to be, to both Ingvald's and Jorfr's great joy, a correct assessment. It felt utterly bizarre at first, but he quickly grew accustomed to the feeling. It wasn't just walls, either; ceilings worked just as well.

"Oh, and they're not one-way either. Anything that involves drawing power from the ground or manipulating it will be easier."

That covered a significant portion of Jorfr's arsenal.