Conquest
The preparations were complete. I stood at the edge of the dock, the sea wind tugging at my cloak, watching the gathered warriors—Vikings, mercenaries, and exiles alike. The tide was turning, both in the water and in fate.
I raised my voice, letting it carry over the creaking wood and murmurs of uncertainty.
"The day has come—the beginning of our conquest. Hear me now: if any among you betray me, your deaths will be slow, brutal, and remembered only as warnings."
As I spoke, I released my aura, letting its pressure sweep across the dock like a crashing wave. The air grew thick. Warriors shifted uneasily. A few reached instinctively for their weapons. Good. Fear was a sharper motivator than coin.
I let the silence sit for a heartbeat longer, then softened my voice—but not my resolve.
"I know many of you are tense, uncertain about what lies ahead. That is natural. But understand this: I will not betray any of you, nor will I waste your lives in foolish glory. Each one of you stands here today because you are vital to the vision I hold. You are not pawns. You are the edge of the blade I will drive through this archipelago."
A murmur rippled through the crowd—half-relief, half-hardened resolve. I stepped forward, my boots thudding on the damp wood.
"We sail today, and we will not rest until every island bears my banner. Let the world know: I do not seek petty conquest—I seek dominion. And each flag raised will mark the beginning of a new order."
Again I paused. Some warriors nodded; others tightened their grips, bracing for bloodshed. Their fear was still palpable, but now it mingled with grim determination.
"I know many of you were sent from your tribes, the strongest and most cunning your people could offer. I understand the politics that weigh on your shoulders. But hear this well: I will not harm those who surrender after my warning. Mercy will be given to the wise. Vengeance will come for the defiant."
That seemed to ease the tension—slightly. A few loosened their shoulders, and the restless shifting gave way to focused preparation. They knew now what kind of leader stood before them.
I turned toward the sea, eyes set on the horizon.
"Raise the sails. We move now."
The dock burst into motion. Vikings shouted orders over the roar of the surf. Ropes were thrown, crates heaved, and sails unfurled like wings preparing to take flight. The fleet came alive, not as scattered men—but as a single force.
I didn't board the ship. I couldn't—not because I lacked the authority, but because of the curse: motion sickness. A cruel flaw for someone like me.
Instead, I let out a slow breath, wings of shimmering golden brown scales and red fire burst from my back. With a single beat, I took to the skies and landed gracefully atop the back of a waiting Skrill. The dragon gave a low trill of recognition as I folded my wings and settled into place.
I'd asked the system about this curse before—why a minor thing like a boat could unravel me. The answer was maddeningly simple: the sea is always in motion, however subtle, and with my heightened senses—granted by the Dragon-Slaying Fire Magic—even the smallest pitch or roll of the waves became unbearable. I could feel every lurch, every sway, as if the ocean itself was mocking me.
Oddly enough, dragons didn't trigger the same reaction—as long as they weren't flapping too violently. When gliding or cruising smoothly, I could endure it. Barely. I had considered flying under my own power, but conserving mana was more important. There were greater battles ahead.
As the Skrill soared alongside the fleet, I looked down upon the grand armada. Nearly 100,000 warriors. Dozens of ships cutting through the water like blades. And above them, thousands of dragons slicing through the sky. It was a force worthy of legend—and it was mine.
The first objective was clear in my mind: the Northern Alliance. Their leaders had resisted for too long, hiding behind treaties and blood oaths. I would offer them a single chance to surrender. If they refused, they would be crushed—without mercy.
As my gaze swept the ocean below, something massive stirred beneath the waves. The shadow of a titan glided through the deep—the Bewilderbeast. After I killed Drago, it submitted to me. Now, it served not just as a weapon, but a symbol—a reminder that even the most powerful could fall and rise again... under my banner. Its very presence beneath our fleet sent ripples of dread into the sea and into the hearts of any who might oppose us.
Then, my eyes shifted to one ship in particular—the one carrying my summoned warriors. My elite. Each one enhanced by the system, growing stronger with every rank. For every tier they rose, their stats multiplied tenfold. They were my true army—unbreakable, tireless, and utterly loyal.
Among them, the casters were the most valuable. Physically frail, yes, but their magic was devastating. Fire that could melt steel. Lightning that could shatter fleets. Illusions that could break the minds of entire battalions. They would be instrumental in what came next.
I narrowed my eyes on the horizon.
This was not just war. This was the reshaping of the world.
A few days later
"Fire."
My voice echoed like thunder across the burning sky.
The casters stepped forward without hesitation, forming a precise arc. Their mouths moved in perfect synchrony, ancient words spilling out in rhythm. Within seconds, their hands glowed with magic—and then it came.
A single, massive fireball—born from dozens of spells—merged into one colossal sphere of roaring flame. It hurtled toward the enemy stronghold like a falling sun. When it struck, the world turned orange and red.
Half the island disappeared in an instant.
Screams rose, shrill and distant, swallowed by the roaring inferno. My fleet stood in stunned silence. Some gripped their weapons harder, knuckles white. Others looked away, eyes squeezed shut, unwilling to watch the massacre unfold. A few wept. Others trembled with silent rage or guilt. Even the dragons in the sky flinched, wings faltering for a moment in fear—but none dared defy me.
They knew what disobedience would cost.
An hour passed before the flames died down. Smoke curled toward the heavens like funeral offerings to gods who weren't watching.
I guided the Skrill to descend. As it landed amidst scorched earth and ash, I leapt off and landed with a dull thud. My boots crunched over burnt soil and bone.
"Tch… fools," I muttered.
They had seen the fleet. They had seen the dragons—my power in full display—and yet they still refused to surrender. I had given them a choice. I always gave them a choice.
I walked forward, guided by the faint pulse of my Life Sense. Survivors.
I followed the tug of their fragile souls. They were huddled in the ruins—women, elders, children. Their eyes wide with terror, faces streaked with soot and tears. The moment they saw me, the crying grew louder. But they didn't run. There was nowhere to run.
My hand fell to the hilt of my sword. My breath quickened.
This was the moment.
I had to do it. To make an example. To show the world that I was not to be taken lightly. If I spared them, word would spread—I was merciful. Merciful meant weak. And weakness was death in this new world I intended to create.
My sword hissed from its sheath as I stepped toward them, each footfall heavier than the last. The closer I came, the tighter my grip became. My hand trembled.
I raised the blade, slowly, almost reluctantly.
I have to do this. I must. For the future. For control. For—
A hand grabbed my wrist.
Firm. Familiar.
I turned, startled—and saw him.
"Father…"
He looked older than I remembered. Worn. Eyes sunken with disappointment and sorrow. His voice was hoarse, but steady.
"Erik... you're taking this too far."
I stared at him, my face still blank, but my heart cracking.
"No," I replied coldly. "This is only the beginning. If I falter now, I'll never have the resolve to see this mission through."
His eyes darkened. "If Merida were here—"
"Shut up!"
The words came out louder than I intended, sharp as a blade drawn too fast.
"Don't say her name. Don't bring her into this," I hissed. "This is my decision. Mine alone."
But he didn't stop.
"Look around you, Erik," he whispered. "Your men—they don't cheer. They don't praise you. They can't even look at you. They followed you for strength, yes, but also for purpose. And now, all they see is destruction. You forced their hands to kill innocents. And now you want them to stand by while you do the same—alone. What kind of leader is that?"
I looked around.
He was right.
No one stood beside me. My warriors were still. Silent. Some refused to meet my gaze. A few had turned their backs, unable to bear witness. Even the summoned ones looked... hesitant.
"I know…" I whispered. "I know what I'm doing is wrong. But what choice did I have? I gave them a chance. I showed them my power, my army, and my mercy. They refused. They spat in my face."
I raised the sword again, lower this time.
"If I spare them, others will think I'm weak. That I hesitate. And I can't be seen as weak. Not now."
He stepped closer, his silhouette framed by the dying glow of the fire, his voice low and steady—barely audible above the crackling embers.
"There is a time to show strength… and a time to show humanity."
His gaze didn't waver. "You must ask yourself not what you've planned to do… but what you believe is right. Not for your image. Not out of fear. For you, Erik. What do you believe?"
The words sank into me like a blade. My grip tightened, knuckles pale, and for a moment, my hand trembled—caught between instinct and something deeper. Something harder to ignore.
I clenched my jaw. "Tch… Fine," I muttered, the taste of the word bitter in my mouth. "I'll let them live. But this is the only time."
With a sharp breath, I sheathed my blade. The steel slid home with a hollow click that echoed louder than it should have. I turned without another word and walked away.
[Timeskip – Two Years Later]
I sat astride the Skrill as it cut through the clouds, bolts of static dancing along its scales. Below, the sea stretched endlessly, broken only by scattered islands dotting the horizon—remnants of what little resistance remained.
Two years had passed. In that time, my power had barely grown—not because I lacked the will, but because I lacked worthy foes. No one had been strong enough to challenge me. The archipelago was quiet, subdued. Of the dozens of islands I'd claimed, barely a handful had any real human presence, and even fewer had any warriors worth fighting.
There were eleven tribes in total: the Hooligans, Outcasts, Berserkers, the Northern Alliance, Defenders of the Wing, Wingmaidens, Dragon Hunters, Dingwalls, Macintoshes, and the Dunbroch, which had declared itself a kingdom. Each tribe had already surrendered a long time ago, but I still needed to place my flag on their island to claim it as mine.
The system tallied the value of conquest coldly:
Kingdom: 1,000,000 pointsTribe: 100,000 pointsUninhabited or non-militant island: 10,000 points
The numbers added up. The kingdom and tribes had netted me 2 million points. The minor islands gave me another million. I had gained multiple achievements and titles which gave me another 2 million. My total now sat at 39 million system points. Still far from what I needed.
"Tch. This is taking longer than it should," I muttered, narrowing my eyes at the horizon.
My fleet had grown smaller. With each conquered island, I'd left behind men, summons, and constructs to maintain order and guard my claim. A necessary sacrifice—but one that thinned my forces with every step forward.
The next island ahead would mark the final piece of this archipelago. Once taken, the entire region would be mine. From there, I would turn my attention to the continent—a far more promising battlefield.
I had encountered several islands populated only by dragons. Curiously, they had submitted without a fight, bowing beneath my presence as though they instinctively understood what I had become.
That's when the system rewarded me with a new title—
[Title Acquired: Alpha]Grants absolute command over dragons within a certain radius. Obedience is instinctual and immediate.
I flexed my fingers unconsciously, then reached into the folds of my cloak. My hand found the small locket I always carried. I opened it, revealing a delicate hand-painted portrait of Merida. I had painted it myself, during one of the long, silent flights between campaigns. Her smile—fierce and untamed—stared back at me, a reminder of what once was… and what still might be.
"It's only a matter of time before the world is mine," I whispered, eyes never leaving the horizon. "And when it is, I will have the ending I desire. No one will stop me."
Lightning surged beneath me as the Skrill roared, the skies parting before us. The world was vast—but I was patient. It would all fall, eventually.
….
"BWOOOOOOOM!"
The thunder of the battle horn tore through the sky, its echo rumbling across the sea like the roar of a god. I lifted my gaze as the last island came into view—barren, bleak, and waiting. This was it. The final piece of the archipelago. Once taken, this region of the world would be mine.
Riding the crackling back of my Skrill, I guided it down with precision. The wind howled as we descended, and the moment we touched ground, I raised my arm.
"Spread out. Search every inch," I ordered.
My forces moved quickly. We were few—only a few hundred men remained at my side, fifty of them summons. Behind them, a hundred dragons circled the skies or rested on blackened rocks, waiting for my command. Each island I'd claimed had depleted my numbers; I'd left behind a garrison with every conquest—a mage, a clutch of summons, and enough men to build and secure.
Even now, my father's presence lingered near. Always just a few steps behind. I could almost feel his eyes on me, hear his voice echoing in the back of my mind. "Don't cross the line, Erik. I'll be here to stop you—from doing something you'll regret."
But regret was a luxury I had long since discarded.
I turned my gaze toward the jagged cliffs rising ahead. The island looked dead, lifeless… until I caught a glimmer of ice near a shadowed cave in the mountains. My eyes narrowed. That kind of frost, unnatural—could only mean one thing: a Bewilderbeast.
And then I heard it.
Roars. Not just one or two. Not mine. Deep, wild, chaotic calls that vibrated in my bones. I turned toward the cave just as the sky darkened with movement. Not dozens. Not hundreds.
Hundreds of thousands of dragons burst from the cave, wings blotting out the sun.
Without hesitation, I leapt onto my Skrill. Lightning sparked as we surged into the air. And then—I saw them.
A lone figure rode at the front of the swarm. Mounted not on any dragon… but the dragon. The one I would never forget. The one that took my mother from me.
Veins bulged in my forehead. Rage threatened to tear through me. My vision blurred red for a moment, but I forced it down. Not now. Not yet.
I drew closer, stopping at a distance where words could pass between us. Silence held for a heartbeat, then another.
Then the rider spoke.
"Who are you—and what do you want with this island?"
I inhaled slowly, centering myself. My voice was calm, but it carried the weight of certainty.
"I am Erik Horrendous Haddock. And I have come to this island for one reason—your surrender."
They narrowed their eyes. "And what if I refuse?"
"Then you will die," I said plainly. "The dragons… they obey me. Will you?"
Confusion flickered across their face. "What are you talking about?"
I raised a single hand.
"All of you… fly down."
With that single command, every dragon in the sky—mine and theirs—shifted. Wings slowed. Claws reached for earth. And like a wave, the countless beasts landed across the barren island in eerie silence, obeying me.
The rider stared, wide-eyed, stunned. They looked around—at the dragons, at me—trying to understand what they had just witnessed.
I met their gaze, cold and unwavering.
"This world has already begun to bend to my will," I said. "And you… you're standing on the edge of it."
"I ask you again—will you surr—"
Before I could finish the sentence, my voice caught in my throat. My eyes widened in disbelief as the figure before me reached up… and removed their helmet.
It—It was her.
"M-Mother…?" I choked out. "But… how?"
She stood silently for a moment, her expression unreadable, before finally speaking.
"When I was taken by Cloudjumper… he brought me here. This island was a sanctuary. Wounded dragons, abandoned nests, younglings left to die—I saw them all. I realized then that dragons weren't just beasts or tools of war. They loved. They mourned. They protected. So I stayed. I made it my mission to help them… to protect them."
The words struck me harder than any sword. "If you were alive… why didn't you come back?" I asked, struggling to steady my voice.
Her eyes lowered. "I couldn't. I—"
"Valka?" another voice broke in, rough and trembling.
We both turned.
"Stoick…" she whispered, avoiding his eyes.
"Valka… you—you're alive," my father said, his voice cracking. The unshakable chieftain, now trembling like a leaf. He stepped forward, his hands uncertain, as if afraid she might vanish if he touched her.
The moment lingered, fragile and surreal.
[One Day Later]
Mythical Achievement Complete: Conquer an Archipelago/ContinentReward Acquired: 100 System Tickets, 10,000,000 System Points
Current Total:
System Points: 49,000,000System Tickets: 2,300
I stood in the heart of the island, surrounded by quiet greenery and flowing rivers—a stark contrast to the fire and blood that had marked most of my journey. Inside the great cavern, something… strange was happening.
My father had started singing.
Yes. Singing.
To my mother.
I sweatdropped. What in the nine realms is going on? Even Gobber had joined in with some off-tune harmony.
I sighed and slowly backed out. Nope. Not dealing with that.
Wandering further into the island, I marveled at how peaceful it was. Gentle hills, crystalline lakes, and strange glowing flora. It was the kind of place Merida would've loved—wild and untamed, yet beautiful in its silence.
As I explored, something massive moved in the distance. I approached cautiously and found a young Bewilderbeast, nestled near a shimmering waterfall. Ice crystals clung to the surrounding rock. It growled as I neared, low and wary, but I didn't stop.
Though it towered over me, I didn't flinch. I stood my ground.
"Come here," I said firmly.
Being a hatchling, it wasn't bound by my [Alpha] skill. It could resist.
"Tch. Baby dragons really are a nuisance," I muttered. Reaching into my inventory, I pulled out a round, golden-orange fruit and held it out.
The dragon tilted its head, sniffed… then opened its massive jaws. I tossed the fruit in. It caught it with a surprised yelp—and then its eyes sparkled in fascination.
A small, hopeful whine escaped its throat. I smiled faintly and dropped a hundred more fruits in front of it.
I'd been collecting them for someone else.
Merida.
During my conquest, I'd gathered more than weapons and victories. I had hundreds of exotic fruits, thousands of rare gems, and literal tons of gold stored in my inventory—treasures I'd hoarded with one goal in mind:
A dowry when I revive her.
I looked down at the young Bewilderbeast, happily devouring fruit. Then I opened my system interface.
"System, how far is the nearest kingdom?"
Response:The closest kingdom is the Kingdom of Corona. Located on an island connected to a continent.
I nodded slowly, eyes narrowing in thought.
"Good… then it's time to begin preparations."
The world wouldn't conquer itself.