The next day passed by in a blur. My head was swimming from the moment I woke up. And no matter how hard I tried, I could not get myself to focus properly. My thoughts are slow and ponderous.
My throat is scratchy and dry, no matter how much snow I drink. My whole body is hurting worse than before. But in a different way. It wasn't the sporadic and concentrated pain of the bruises and injuries. It was a full-body pain. My limbs felt like lead weights.
And it took me a few hours until I finally got the idea to check my temperature. Only to realize I was running a pretty high fever. Either because of a virus or an infection.
But a virus was pretty unlikely. And with the pounding pain of the wounds on my face getting worse by the minute, I figured it was probably an infection.
Even so much as brushing my hand against the cloth covering my wounds hurt. But through gritted teeth and a lot of wincing, I get the cloth off my face. To check on my wounds.
Using a flat rock near the entrance of the cave to make a mirror. By melting some snow and letting it refreeze, as I had done before when I made my spear.
Though I wish I hadn't. The wounds were way worse than I had thought. Way worse than I had feared. My left eye was completely destroyed. The second I saw it, I knew I would never see out of that eye ever again.
If I reach civilization, the best they could do is cut it out. I knew that much. It was beyond saving. The sight was gruesome enough for me to turn away. To avert my one good eye.
Not that the two other scrapes looked much better anyway. They were less cuts and more deep gouges dragging across the side of my face. A bit of my earlobe is missing as well. Not that it mattered overly much.
What mattered was that all the wounds were red and inflamed. Clear signs of infection that even I, in my current delirious state, could see and recognize.
However, there was nothing I could really do about it. I could theoretically reopen them and cauterize them. All I would have to do is heat up the shovel or the pocketknife in a fire and press the hot metal into the open wounds.
But not only did I not want to do that. Because I was fairly certain I wouldn't be able to stand that pain. But more importantly, I had no way of making a fire. Not in my current state.
If I couldn't make it down to the forest yesterday, I was for sure not going to make it down there now. So all I could do was lie back and let the infection run its course. Hoping and praying that I'd survive despite all odds.
And that is what I do for the rest of the day. I just rest. Sweating in my clothes and drinking as much snow as I can collect. Every trip outside the cave to get more snow is a huge ordeal for me.
The rest I get, not being all that helpful either. I slip in and out of consciousness constantly. Sleeping for a few minutes before being jolted awake by a sting or throb from my body. Before I fall back into another fitful nap.
And things are no better on the following day. I feel like death. Barely even capable of lifting my head without suffering. My head feels like it's firmly trapped in a vise that keeps tightening. Like it's about to crush me.
But I do what I can. Because that is all I can do. Fighting to eat and drink to recover my energy before inevitably falling back asleep again.
The second day of my fever also passed by in a blur. And so does the third day. And the fourth. I only started to feel marginally better on the fifth day.
When I wake up a whole seven days after my first fight in this world, I do a bit better. Most of my bruises are healed or only occasionally sting dully. My fever is down a bit compared to a few days ago.
My throat doesn't feel so scratchy anymore. My thumb is still broken, of course. Still standing away at an unnatural angle. And the wounds on my face are still raw and hurt like hell whenever I touch them. But they are no longer red and inflamed.
My body is seemingly fighting off the last remnants of the infection. And just in time, too. Even with all the meat I got from the Skjálfhirta, I didn't have infinite resources. I was running low on a few different kinds of food.
Most urgent of all, meat. But that was a problem I could easily fix. It's still painful and difficult to get up. I still feel like I'm about to keel over once I step outside. But I managed to collect all the freeze-dried meat I had placed outside.
And with it, I was sure I had two more weeks of food. It wasn't good food, mind you. The meat was gamey and chewy. Like eating a sandal or a tire. But it didn't make me sick. And it was edible.
So despite everything that happened. I felt better about my situation than I did before getting into the fight. I mean, I didn't know how I was going to make it up the mountain, missing one eye and having a broken thumb on my dominant hand. But my food situation had improved. And that was a win.
A win I celebrate. By resting some more. Letting the seventh day pass by without moving out of the cave I luckily found.
Most thankful of all for the clothes on my back that stopped me from needing a fire. `If I didn't have those, I would be dead as hell. And I know that. So if I ever get to civilization, I promise I'll have them framed or something.`
But finally. On the eighth day, I felt ready to leave the cave. To attempt to ascend the mountain. I didn't feel well, mind you. But better.
Like I could actually achieve something. My fever was gone. My body barely hurt when I moved it. Only my thumb and the scrapes on my face remained painful. But even them. They were more nuisances I had to be careful with than actual debilitating injuries now.
So I collect everything. Packing the freeze-dried meat into my backpack with everything else. Discarding my one spare spear, so I'm weighed down as little as possible. And also leaving the kettle I had picked up from way back at the ship behind. To reduce weight, and because at this point I know I won't use it.
"Not like there will be anything I can use to make a fire up on the mountain." And while the chance of maybe using it later existed. I didn't want to lug it around with me anymore.
And so with my things collected. My spear is in my left hand. And the side of my face and my thumb were bandaged tightly with strips of clothing. I set out to finally conquer this mountain.
But of course, that's no easy task. It's just as I had assumed. It takes me days. Not just because every step is exhausting. Every step is a battle against myself. But also because of how difficult it is to ascend the mountain.
I constantly have to double back or take different paths than I want to. Every bit of elevation is seemingly followed by a decline that brings me right back to square one.
But I keep at it. Doggedly. Even when my legs want to give out. Even when it feels like I have to move a wall to just keep going. Even with the proverbial weight of this whole mountain on my shoulders, I keep going.
Doing the one thing I'm good at. Keeping promises to myself. Struggling against fate. Struggling against my own weaknesses. Doing everything I can to be better and do more every day.
I even managed to climb some walls using the metal climbing spikes and the rope. Using the shovel as an impromptu hammer to get the spikes into the weaknesses on the wall to ascend.
It's difficult, of course. My whole body shakes with exertion after every meter I manage to climb. But I've come too far to let exhaustion and weakness stop me now. So I take breaks when I need to. Letting myself recover while trusting the rope to keep me safe from falling.
Slowly, steadily making my way up every impossible-to-avoid wall I encounter.
Ascending further and further up the mountain each day. Sleeping during the night in caves or underneath rocks that shield me from the wind and sight. Not because I need to, thanks to my clothes. But more so because of instincts. Not quite able to settle down properly if I'm just out in the open for others to see.
And speaking of seeing things. I do see something awe-inspiring and completely terrifying on my way up the mountain.
It's on the fourth day of my climb, I've made it about two-thirds up the mountain, the terrain steadily becoming harsher as I go, that I finally see another animal.
Luckily, it's pretty far off in the distance. I was just ascending the side of a pretty steep slope when I spotted it. About a hundred meters below and about half a kilometer to my left, I see movement.
A snake. But not just any snake. It's a Drífulangi (Dri-fu-langi). A huge, white-scaled snake. Easily thirty meters in length. Winding through some snow like it's water while it casually descends the mountain.
I'm instantly glad that I'm no longer down there. Just a day ago, I was right where the snake was currently passing by. My luck is looking up for once.
Because there was just no way I could have survived an encounter with that thing. That was a 6-star threat after all. Probably the strongest creature around and master of the Mountain.
A prayer to whoever is looking out for me escapes my lips before I turn around and continue my climb. Knowing that it won't be much longer now before I reach the summit. Maybe just a day or two more, and I'll finally be able to tell if I'll survive this whole mess or not.
The whole mountain subtly vibrates underneath my feet with the power and majesty of the serpent moving against the rocks as it descends further below.