Six Months Later
It's been six months since I stepped into Midgard.
Since I left the battlefield and found a bar.
Since I let myself… rest.
This world wasn't always like this.
Fifty years ago, it was just Earth. Quiet. Boring. Fragile.
Then the sky fractured. Nine realms broke through, stitched together by some cosmic hand.
They call it The Realm Collision — like it was an accident.
It wasn't.
Each realm carried its own magic, monsters, people. Some brought peace. Others brought plagues.
And Earth — or what's left of it — became the Tenth Realm.
Now they call it Midgard.
Neutral territory. Trading zone. Graveyard of gods and dreams.
I've listened. Watched. Learned.
There are elves and dwarves here. Dragonkin who wear suits. Murim masters teaching at local gyms. There's even a goblin-owned bakery two blocks from the bar. (Their bread is terrible. Don't tell them.)
They've all carved out a new world together — under a shaky treaty.
But it's working. Mostly.
People smile. People drink. They laugh.
It's strange.
I don't trust it.
But I like it.
I'm not a bartender by nature.
But Brehn needed help. A big man, tough hands, soft heart. Runs the place like a commander and a tired uncle.
He didn't ask questions. Not even when I collapsed outside his bar, covered in dried blood and ash.
He just let me stay.
And I… stayed.
"Hey," Brehn said, walking in from the back.
His apron was soaked. He smelled like onions and fire. The usual.
"Got a message."
Mira glanced up from wiping glasses. I was behind the counter, stacking mugs.
Brehn smiled wide — one of those rare, fatherly grins that start in the chest.
"Your sisters are coming home."
Mira blinked. "Naeun and Saehee?"
He nodded.
"And Ryujin?"
"All three. Touching down next week. Realm gate's already scheduled."
I stopped polishing the glass in my hand.
That name — Ryujin — carried weight.
The Laughing Steel Tiger. SSS-Rank Murim master. Said to have knocked down a giant using only his left foot and a joke.
He took the girls under his wing months ago. Called them gifted. Natural blades.
Now they were gaining fame across the realms as the Two Blade Sisters.
Even Mira, sharp-tongued and grounded, looked a little emotional.
"Good news, huh?" Brehn chuckled, ruffling her hair.
She scowled, but didn't dodge it.
Then it happened.
A crackle.
Not thunder.
The alert crystal above the bar lit up red.
The room went still.
Brehn turned, the color draining from his face. Mira's brows knit.
The message came through, jagged and raw:
"This is a Class 2 Emergency. Dungeon rupture reported in Zone-7 Academic Sector. Multiple mana surges. Defensive guilds en route. Civilian lockdown in progress."
Zone-7.
Nico's school.
Brehn didn't speak at first.
Mira stood up, slowly.
I felt it — her aura flaring beneath the surface like a storm behind glass.
Then I saw Brehn's wife collapse to her knees, her hands shaking as she covered her mouth.
She didn't scream. Just whispered:
"Not again…"
Brehn clenched his jaw. His hands trembled.
No one moved.
Except me.
I walked around the bar and placed a hand on his shoulder.
Not hard. Not light.
Just enough.
He looked up. Eyes red.
"…he's a good kid," he said.
I nodded.
"I know."
We stepped outside together.
The streets were chaos. Sirens. Magic scanners pulsing. Hunter units rushing through air lifts. Civilians ducked into shelters as drones activated lockdown fields.
I could feel it in the air — the break.
Monsters spilling out.
Not high-rank. Not yet.
But the stench of death was already bleeding into the wind.
Brehn didn't ask where I was going.
He just said:
"Bring my son back."
My feet carried me forward.
My mind didn't.
Instead, it went back.
To another field.
I stood among burning ruins. A castle shattered. Ash falling like snow.
My wife's hands cupped my face, tugging me down for a kiss.
"You're getting older," she teased.
"You're getting shorter," I replied.
Our daughter chased birds in a garden we swore we'd protect.
They laughed.
They laughed until they didn't.
Until I held their ashes in my hands.
Until the sky bled, and I stood over the Demon King's corpse, empty.
Back in Midgard… the wind shifted.
The tattoos across my body pulsed — unseen, but ready.
I looked at the golden ring on my finger.
It glowed faintly.
I didn't speak.
I didn't announce anything.
I simply walked toward the school.
And for the first time in six months…
The White King took a step forward.