FROSTBORN: Rise of the dark legend

FROSTFANG ABYSS

The weather at Frostfang Abyss was especially awful. It never rose beyond -60°c. Today felt worse than other days. Even powerful saint realm cultivators would freeze to death if they dared to brave the elements. 

But Ragnar Storm was outside, tethering dangerously on a jagged edge of the mountain peak. 

Frost bites covered his hands, his lips bruised purple, hands matted with blood that had frozen over. 

Exhaustion was an understatement. He looked down, and his heart skipped multiple beats. Below him was a bottomless pit, covered with icicles, snow, and ice element beasts. 

Ragnar's eyes went to the precious herbs wrapped in the thermal protection wrap, and firmly secured to his body beneath his coat. 

“I can't give up now. Aria is still waiting for the Ice maw nether grass to ascend to saint realm. I have to make it back. She's waiting for me.”

His limbs were losing their functions but he had the tenacity of a tardigrade. Inch by inch, he continued the torturous climb to the summit. 

Hours later, he finally made it to the peak and collapsed on his side. 

Once he regained his breath, he hurriedly checked the herbal parcel. The ice maw nether grass was still intact, alongside the others he picked. 

The rich ice spirit vein in Frostfang ensured that all kinds of powerful spirit herbs grew on it, making it the best bet of anyone searching for ice attribute treasures. 

Few had ever managed to return but Ragnar didn't care. Nothing was more important than his wife. 

He coughed, stale blood spewing out of his lips. The blood froze mid air, turning to ice crystals before it even dropped to the ground. 

Ignoring the bone deep weariness and his badly damaged meridians, he got up and hurried inside the heated retreat house he had reserved for his family to wait while he hunted for herbs. 

The moment he entered the building, a sense of foreboding gripped him. Something wasn't right. 

His legs moved on instinct, towards the stone stairs leading to his wife's room. Clothes were littered along the way, hastily taken off in the throes of passion. 

Ragnar’s heart began to pound ferociously in his chest, his hands trembling. And it had nothing to do with the cold. 

Moans spilled into the passageway, alongside suggestive pants and dirty words. 

“Ah.. Kelvin, right there, harder. Oh…”

Kelvin? His half brother? It couldn't be. Yes, he misunderstood. There was no way his wife would be doing that with his brother. 

Sure, she was close to Kelvin. But she chose Ragnar all those years ago. He definitely misheard. 

The words of denial Ragnar recited to himself didn't help, and he found himself rooted to the spot. 

“Does your useless simp satisfy you the way I do?” The teasing words hit him like a tornado and he kicked the door open. 

The sight before him felt like a punch to his solar plexus, and he staggered back. The herbs in his hands suddenly felt too heavy to bear. 

The woman looked back at him and hissed in irritation. She soared up from the bed like a fairy, slipping effortlessly into her robes, and pajamas. “Why are you back so early? Did you find them?”

She didn't look the least bit guilty, like it was absolutely normal to be caught in bed with your husband's half brother. 

“Aria Kensington!” His roar shook the room, his eyes red like that of a deranged beast. 

The man hissed, looking bored, and leaned back on the bed, slowly reaching for his clothes. 

Ragnar's heart clenched, like someone was squeezing, wringing it dry. 

“Kelvin how dare you? How dare you sleep with my wife?”

Kelvin laughed, mocking, and grating to the ears. He looked at Ragnar like he was looking at the biggest fool in existence, a massive joke. 

“Wife? She's my wife. Mine.” He stood up, unhurried, and took a step towards Ragnar. “And you? You're just her dog.”

Aria chuckled, covering her mouth. 

The herbs fell to the ground and Ragnar launched himself at Kelvin, storms gathering in his eyes. 

Before his fist could connect with Kelvin’s face, a blue string of lightning wrapped around his throat. He gasped in shock, realizing that Kelvin used a spell to restrict his movements. 

Aria shook her head, swiping the fallen herbs into her hands. “Laughable. A loser stuck at the awakened realm, actually tried to fight a saint realm master. Truly useless.”

Air whooshed out of Ragnar's insides, and his blood turned to ice. “Loser? Useless?” He echoed. 

Perhaps it was anger, perhaps it was physics. A burst of energy from his body shattered Kelvin's spell, and Ragnar landed on his feet. 

He turned to Aria, pain turning his blue eyes to a darker color with reddish undertones. 

“Useless? Since we were kids, I provided you with the best cultivation resources, and the best luxury life had to offer.” He pointed at the herbs in Aria's hands. 

“Because the Interspace Directorate offered you a competition spot to join the next elite battalion on the expedition, I booked this trip. People didn't dare to come here because most die without even getting what they wanted, but I braved the Frostfang abyss's minus eighty five degree temperature to find you the ice maw nether grass. Just so you would be able to break past your bottle neck and have a splendid future.”

Tears gathered in Ragnar's eyes as he spoke, his hands trembling. 

“I scoured the ice spirit vein, enduring attacks from poisonous creatures because you told me how much joining the expedition meant to you. Three years ago, I fractured my core while trying to protect you from that sentient beast. I gave you everything in life. I made sure I was the best husband to you. Yet you think I'm useless?”

Aria sneered at him, carefully storing the herbs away. “You're my dog, you're just doing what every good dog does. One more thing, don't you dare refer to yourself as my husband. I don't have a husband as pathetic as you are.”

Something snapped inside Ragnar and energy rings from his body dashed towards Aria. Kelvin reacted instantly, striking him with an enchanted mace. 

The force knocked him off his feet, sending him blasting through the wooden windows like a canon ball. He tumbled, his bones shattering from the impact as he hit the snow capped grounds outside. 

He groaned, feeling his meridians and internal organs shatter from that one attack. The attack was vicious, and precise. Even a saint realm master might not have survived it, much less Ragnar who had been stuck in the awakened tier for unknown reasons. 

Aria landed before him, Kelvin behind her, still holding the mace. 

Ragnar tried to get up, but his bones felt too useless to achieve that. His hands were purplish, cracked from the extreme cold, from the time he braved the extremities, trying to find herbs for Aria. 

“You really have some guts, trying to attack me.” Aria growled, gathering poisonous mist in her hands. “Since you've forgotten how to be a good dog, let me send you on your way.”