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[PR: Ash]

A dragon’s head the size of a hill covered the hole in the wall, its crimson eyes—devoid of any emotion—staring down at the humans. One look from the dragon was enough to make Flynn’s blood go cold. His body refused to move. Not even one finger could be lifted.

The dragon opened its maw, the spikes on its jaw unfurling, revealing its scarlet gums and a pair of sharp teeth. Flynn could feel death looming over him right now.

And then, a gust of air billowed from the dragon’s maw. A deafening shout pierced through the tower, shaking it down to its very foundation.

“Yol Toor Shul!” A scorching stream of fire breath swiftly turned the rocks around the hole into magma, but its prey was nowhere to be seen.

The stranger was firmly dragging Flynn as he leapt into the air and dove behind the wall, barely evading the deadly fire breath. Then the stranger let go of Flynn, the rope around his hands already broken. He stared at the melted wall and made another comment. It was not an accent Flynn had heard before.

“Thanks, mate.” Flynn shuddered in fear and excitement. “You saved my life!”

And yet the man shook his head. He too, hadn’t the faintest idea of what Flynn was saying.

“Not the time for catching up, you two! Now jump!” Ralof looked out the hole only to be greeted by a burning town with nary a single unbroken building in sight. The only safe landing they had was the inn beneath them. Its roof had flown somewhere from the attack, revealing a dilapidated chair and a wooden crate on the second floor.

Flynn and the stranger started running and leapt down the tower. Flynn fell and tumbled away clumsily, while the stranger landed on his feet like a cat. He let the impact from the fall travel away before swiftly standing up, not losing even a bit of balance. This was a special man, Flynn thought. Powerful man.

They jumped down the hole in the ground and came back outside. Ralof was nowhere to be found, but Hadvar the clerk appeared. He was holding a sword and standing guard outside a dilapidated house.

The terrible dragon was lying on the ground a few dozen yards away, breathing fire at its vicinity, turning everything—humans, buildings, structures—into ash. What took their place was a sea of flames.

“You there! Come here if you want to live!” Surprisingly, Hadvar called out to them. There was not a hint of hostility in his eyes. He did not seem to see them as death-row inmates, nor did he worry about the dragon’s attack.

The stranger—by now everyone should have guessed that it was Roy—was staring at the towering creature in the center of town.

‘Alduin

Age: ?

Status: Dragon, ?

HP: ?

Mana: ?

Stats: ?

Skills: ?

Dragon Shout Level ?: A special branch of magic involving the soul, voice, resonance, and time.

Includes Storm Call—A shout to the skies, a cry to the clouds, that awakens the destructive force of Skyrim’s lightning.

Unrelenting Force—Your Voice is raw power, pushing aside anything—or anyone—who stands in your path.

Fire Breath—Inhale air, exhale flame, and behold the Thu’um as inferno.

…

??’

***

What kind of creature is that? “Where the hell is this? What did the grandmasters do after they killed me? Why’s there a dragon here? Coral, Geralt, Triss, Ciri… Everyone, I hope you’re alright.” Questions and concerns welled in his heart, and Roy tried to teleport back to Gryphon. Alas, the reliable skill no longer functioned for him. He could vaguely feel the presence of Gryphon, ascertaining that she was alive. Yet there was a veil of fog standing between them, blurring Roy’s vision.

“The language that guy spoke… It wasn’t Northern Common Speech, nor was it Nilfgaardian or Elder Speech. Wait. No… It can’t be.”

But before he could form a full thought, the guy from earlier grabbed his arm and followed Hadvar. Roy did not fight back. The man did save him when he was unconscious, after all. Not like I can change anything. Might as well find out where I’m at.

An Imperial soldier, a country boy, and a stranger who—unbeknownst to everyone around him— traveled from another world. A strange combination, yet they ran toward the walls of Helgen in silence, passing through scores of burning houses.

“Gods, what are the soldiers doing?” Flynn took a swift glance around him and saw the Imperial soldiers firing away at the soaring dragon. “They’re going to get themselves killed.”

The hail of arrows rained upon the dragon, and yet it did nothing to the creature. Not even a scratch on its skin. Then the creature breathed down a stream of flames, turning the soldiers into ash.

Roy was staring at the creature, wondering if his energy slash could even cut the dragon’s scales open. Wonder if Gabriel can even hurt it. But that was not the kind of questions he should think about. The witcher failed to even glean one of the dragon’s attributes. If I tried to fight this Alduin creature, I might never live to tell the tale. This monster is leagues stronger than Villentretenmerth.

The blood of a dragon was required for Roy to make his potion. The potion to evolve Elder Blood. In his possession, he had the blood of a mage and a higher vampire. The blood of Alduin would be just what he needed, but engaging it in combat was unwise, at least in this situation it was. I need a plan.

Flynn was staring at Hadvar, huffing and puffing. “W-Why’s… the dragon doing this? It’s killing innocent people… Burning their homes down.”

“Perhaps it intends to rescue Ulfric. A bond it shares with the Stormcloak, maybe,” Hadvar answered without hesitation. “They are born to bring calamity upon order, after all.”

Alduin remained high in the sky still, raining down flames and destruction upon the already demolished town.

Eventually, the trio made their way to the other end of Helgen. It was there they met Ralof of the Stormcloaks, who was holding an axe. “We’re escaping, Hadvar!” Ralof bragged, though it was more provocative than anything. “And you’re not stopping us this time.”

Hadvar did not stop them. He merely mocked, “I hope the dragon sends you all to Sovngarde.”

“Oy, you two. Yeah, you. Why’re you standing there?” Ralof beckoned at the men behind Hadvar. “You really wanna follow this guy? He almost got you executed. I have a better idea. You two come with me.”

Hadvar ain’t that bad, Flynn said in his mind. There was nary a hint of enmity coming from the clerk, but the same could not be said for his captain. Her cruel, merciless disposition earned Flynn’s disfavor. And not to mention her tendency to twist stories to fit her narrative. On the other hand, the Stormcloaks at least were proud, honorable warriors who fought fervently for their cause.

The country guy gritted his teeth and gave Roy a look. They then followed Ralof into a sturdy fortress.

***

‘Twas an empty hall. A prison made up of nothing but steel fences. Strewn about were a few lifeless corpses and some dilapidated chairs and tables.

“We shall meet again Sovngarde, brother.” Ralof solemnly closed the eyes of a deceased Stormcloak, a sigh escaping his lips. “Guess we’re the only ones who made it out alive.”

“Where’s Ulfric?” asked Flynn.

“The Jarl is favored by the gods. They shall watch over him. No doubt he has escaped safely,” Ralof answered, though it sounded like he wanted to convince himself that Ulfric was still alive. “I still can’t believe you managed to drag this guy all the way here. Unscathed, even. And he’s been asleep for the whole day.”

Ralof looked at the both of them, especially Roy. No, it was not because of Roy’s outstanding looks, but because of his peculiar eyes. His calm, collected, demeanor, and his upright posture. This is no ordinary man. He thought Roy was a good person for no discernible reason. And Ralof had also noticed the armor this man was wearing. Blue chainmal and a blue emblem with three lions on it. I don’t remember any leaders bearing that crest.

“He saved my life.” Flynn gave the stranger a look of gratitude. “This might sound unbelievable, but I just met him today. And he has a strange accent. Doesn’t sound like he’s from Skyrim at all.”

The looks of curiosity shining within the eyes of these men did not escape the witcher. And so he tried greeting them in Elder Speech, Northern Common Speech, and even Nilfgaardian.

“Ceadmil…”

But the gentlemen exchanged a look of resignation and shook their heads.

“Doesn’t sound Imperial either. Perhaps the tongue of some other race?”

“No. Doesn’t sound like the tongue of Redguards, Argonians, Mers, or even Ka Po’ Tuns.” Ralof shook his head. “And he looks… pretty good. Bit like I was when I was his age. And exotic, too.”

“Told you these Imperial soldiers have no sense of right or wrong. They make up imaginary crimes for us and mistake this foreigner as a Stormcloak.”

Roy was observing these strangers as well.

‘Flynn

Age: Eighteen years old

Status: Farmer

HP: 90

Strength: 8

Constitution: 9

Dexterity: 6

Perception: 5

Will: 6

Charisma: 6

Spirit: 6

Skills:

Dragonborn: ?

Frost Resistance (Passive): Nordlings are resistant to cold weather and ice magic.

Blessing of the Stars—The Lady (Passive): Those born in Hearthfire (September) are friendly, resilient, and patient. +1 to Constitution and Will.’

***

You call this a peasant? He’s almost as strong as an elite soldier. And he even has special skills! For the better part of two years, Roy had been traveling the north, and he had yet to see a peasant as powerful as Flynn. And Ralof too had resistance to cold, but he also had a few more skills of his own.

‘Blessing of the Stars—The Lord (Passive): Those born in First Seed (March) are born with superior constitution and health. +1 to Constitution. They are more resistant to injuries than most people. Healing speed increased by twenty percent.

War Cry (Passive): A latent talent sleeping within Nordlings. Can only be awakened by those who have endured many battles. Their war cries can boost the morale of allies and send enemy steeds running.

Basic Swordplay Level 4: Ralof has mastered eight basic attacks, three ways of holding a sword, four offensive stances, nine defensive stances, and twenty-four tricks of swordplay. He’s a veteran. Barely.

Blacksmithing Level 7, Horseback Riding Level 5.’

Ralof doesn’t have the power of a Dragonborn. No idea what that skill does. But it seems unique. Probably has something to do with that dragon. Roy was lost in his thoughts. Maybe this Flynn guy is actually special.

“Not our problem. We’re still not outta the woods. First we gotta leave Helgen.”

Alas, luck was not on their side. Just then, the steel gates on the wall rose, revealing a pair of Imperial soldiers behind. The one in the lead was that lady captain, her eyes flaring with the flames of fury. “Die, Stormcloak rebel!”

“In the name of Talos, grab your weapons and kill these Imperial dogs!” Ralof shouted into the heavens and clashed with the captain. Even though his enemy was severely outclassing him in terms of armor, the Stormcloak knew no fear. Despite the disadvantage, Ralof held himself well.

The other soldier went around his captain and swung his sword down at Flynn’s shoulder.

Flynn was unarmed. A hint of fear glinted within his eyes, and he rolled away. When he stood back up once more, he saw his new friend producing a sword out of nowhere. And that friend of his charged ahead, clashing with the soldier.

Metals clanged, and sparks flew. Roy stepped ahead, pushing his blade upward and deflecting the soldier’s sword before it could hit him. Then, at the same time, he pushed his blade ahead into the soldier’s throat.

The soldier’s face fell, and he took one step back. A correct decision, but one that was made too late.

Blood splattered Gwyhyr’s blade, spurting from the soldier’s neck. It drenched his chin and armor as he took another staggering step backward. The soldier put his hand on his throat, desperately trying to stop the blood, but to no avail. He fell forward, his eyes wide with shock.

‘Fruuz killed. +40 EXP. Level 12 Witcher (740/12500).’

Roy flicked the blood off his blade as usual, but there was a grim look in his eyes. That was a regular human, but I got double the EXP. And his swordplay was solid. If his stats were higher, he would’ve lasted a whole lot longer.

Flynn’s jaw dropped. That regular-lookin’ guy is a swordsman? And a powerful one at that?

And now it was three to one. Flynn picked up the sword of that fallen Imperial soldier, but he knew naught about swordplay. All he could do was pace around like a cat on hot bricks. Roy, however, did not help. Instead, he watched the battle in silence.

Ralof and the captain were engaged in a deadly battle. Every swing, every thrust, and every jab was aimed at their enemy’s weak points. A dozen feints would swing by before any of the fighters would land a real attack. And yet they remained steadfast. Unfazed. Their battle seemed more like a dance, a waltz of death.

Their attacks were careful. Meticulous. Filled with power and elegance. Their defense was perfect. Immaculate. Every time they moved, the fighters would place themselves in a position most advantageous to them.

Powerful fighters, Roy thought. And their swordplay is a lot more complex than mine. I have a feeling there’s an even deeper system beyond their swordplay.

Once again, Ralof clashed with the captain, and Roy seized his chance to swing his blade down on the captain’s nape. All of a sudden, she let out a roar. A roar magical enough to strike fear into anyone’s heart. It was a roar akin to those of lions. Of bears. Of all fearsome creatures.

Ralof slowed for a moment, but the roar was useless in the face of Roy’s overwhelming Will. His blade swung down without pause, and the captain grunted. That was the last sound she produced before she fell. Forever. And her blood drenched the earth.

‘Imperial captain killed. EXP +40. Level 12 Witcher (780/12500).’

***

“Not bad, lad. Unlike this guy over here. Wait, your sword… the craftsmanship… it’s… Where did you get this? May I have a look? Ah, pardon me. Forgot we had a language barrier.”

Roy showed Gwyhyr to Ralof.

“Thanks. Good sword. Very sharp edge.” Ralof held up the hilt with one hand and caressed the fuller with the other. He looked at the crossguard, the hilt, and the pommel closely, then he moved on to the star-shaped runes and cloud-shaped patterns. “This is not Skyrim blacksmithing, obviously. A soft core and a hard edge, eh? The core got layered a few times, and the edge is made of iron. And it has more than one extra effect too. Did you loot Tullius’ body for this? Lucky bastard. Keep it close.”

Ralof tossed the blade back to Roy and hunkered down to loot a bag of coins from the Imperial soldier, then he entered the gates.

Flynn looked a little sheepish. Fortunately, his new friend did not laugh at his lackluster performance. Instead, he smiled at him.

Roy touched the dead captain’s body, and her armor disappeared. I’m in a new place. Gotta stock up on some good stuff.

The trio passed through an underground passage. During their little journey, they ran into a few Imperial soldiers, all of which were promptly dealt with. And they ran into some Stormcloaks as well. Roy seldom helped. Even if he did, he would just kill off the soldiers with one swift swing of his blade. He chose not to use his Signs or Gabriel. Before he knew what was going on, it was best to keep his cards secret.

But he did Observe a lot of the enemies and allies they came across. Stormcloaks and Imperials were both Nordlings. Both had similar talents that included resistance to cold, war cries, and Blessing of the Stars. Their basic stats were a lot higher than most adults he knew.

So far, Roy had come across four blessings. The Warrior, The Lady, The Steed, and The Lord. All had different effects, though they mostly increased offensive stats and helped with faster mastery of weapons. Yet that simple effect piqued Roy’s interest. He wondered what kind of place would have something that could bless its people with great talent from the moment they were born.

During their short journey, Flynn finally started swinging his weapon around all thanks to Ralof’s threats.

“Don’t let any Imperial escape!”

“You’re not killing them? You do know they’re going to cut your head off and use it as their chamber pot, right?”

“You have strength, but that’s the only thing you have.”

“It’s fine if you can’t swing a sword. Just treat them like your crop. And your sword is your hoe. Hey, a farmer’s stance resembles an offensive stance, you know? Now till the soil!”

All of the above were Ralof’s comments on Flynn.

The trio battled their way through the passage, and blood had gotten all over their body. Fifteen minutes later, they tiptoed their way past a sleeping grizzly bear and finally left the underground chamber. The sun greeted them with a smile.